Michael folded the memo back up and slipped it into his leather notebook.

“As of right now, the second your truck leaves this federal enclave, the county deputies have orders to pull you over and haul you straight down to the night court basement.”

“They’ll have trouble getting past the military gate,” Richard said.

“That only holds as long as you stay on this side of the guard shack,” Michael said.

“The minute you set foot on a public road in Tennessee, you’re a fugitive felon on paper.”

Richard glanced at the white door of room four and heard a tray rattle faintly inside.