by Darrell Case
Alison's breath came in gulping ragged gasps. She stopped and bent over her hands gripping her knees. Shaking from exhaustion and fear, the FBI agent in her marshaled her thoughts. He would not give up until she was dead. There was only one solution. She would have to kill him.
For now, however she had to hide, stay out of his sight until she had the advantage.
Lights glowed in the distance. To the west lightning flashed in long, jagged streaks. Thunder popped like distant cannon fire. The air smelled damp. Possibly the rain would wash away her tracks. She started across the dew drenched fields. The flimsy orange jumpsuit and shower shoes she’d donned a million years ago hung on her in various stages of filthy deconstruction. As grungy as Allison felt, she was glad the dirt and mud had darkened the traffic cone colored fabric.
Within a mile, she came to a blacktop road. She crouched down as headlights blazed across the field almost framing her. The glow became a sea of light. She raised her head. Hope filled her heart. Semis were lined up like battleships at port. Trucks chugged in and out of the truck stop. The roar of their engines filled the night with music to Allison’s ears. She crouched lower praying the field of weeds hid her. She waited until a car passed, then hurried across the highway.
The smell of greasy burgers made her belly lurch. She was famished, yet the thought of food made her ill. At the shadowy edge of the property, she spotted a rusted hydrant. She forced the handle. The creaking sounded like a train cars coupling. The water gushed out brown at first, and then gradually started to turn clear.
Alison quenched her thirst drinking slowly from her cupped hand as the water cascaded into puddles on the ground around her. She crouched under the stream shivering in the freezing flow. She washed her face and arms, soaking the tattered jumpsuit and shoes. She was oblivious to any discomfort.
Refreshed, she searched for a means to escape. Then she saw them--two car transports, both loaded with GMC cars and SUVs. Staying in the shadows, Allison gingerly climbed the steel crossbeam of the first trailer’s bottom tier. Balancing awkwardly, she tried the rear door of a black Jimmy. The door opened and the dome light flashed on. She scrambled in, closing the door softly. She stretched out on the floor, exhaling heavily. Rain began to bounce softly off the carrier’s framework.
Allison breathed in the fresh smell of the SUV. She fought the urge to get up on er knees and peek out. If he was around and saw her, it was all over. She lay perfectly still but impatiently, longing for movement.
Five minutes. Still she waited. She shifted onto her back. The thought struck her. The driver might be sleeping in the cab. She rose up ready to flee. She had to stay mobile. The assassin could be searching the truck stop for her right now.
Alison heard a thumping. She cringed, then relaxedand lay back down as she recognized the sound. The driver was checking the carrier's tires. He was using a small club to test their soundness before hitting the road.
A tall, thin man's head bobbed past the SUV's window. As he turned away, she dared to glance. He was alone. He looked to be around 40 and reminded Alison of a drawing of Ichabod Crane that she had seen as a child. Satisfied with his tire check, the driver headed toward the front of the truck.
A few minutes later, they were on their way. Where the semi was going, Alison didn't know or care. With every turn of the wheels, the distance increased between her and her predator increased. She closed her eyes, and lay her head down on the carpet. The gentle swaying of the SUV soon rocked her to sleep.
Allison snapped awake with the sun in her eyes. The SUV rumbled and shook. A loud bang startled her. Someone cursed.
Looking up she saw a huge sign.
Silverman's Chevrolet
She was trapped. If they discovered her, she would be returned to jail and her nightmare would start all over again. That is if she lived to get to the jail.
Risking all, she scrambled over the back seat into the cargo area landing on a pile of carpeting meant for extra covering for this vehicle or another. Quickly she pulled it over her. She lay still, her heart pounding. A head appeared at the window. A man wearing a blue uniform a man climbed onto the carrier’s skeleton. He opened the door to the SUV, climbed in and started the engine. Looking over his shoulder, he backed the vehicle off the carrier. Allison's head bounced as the Jimmy was driven across the lot. The SUV skidded to a stop. The man killed the engine, jumped out and slammed the door.
“Joe, costumer’s comin' in for this one in a little while. Give it a quick wash would ye?” he said, walking away.
“Sure thing. Soon as I finish this one. Gotta get more soap,” a man in an identical uniform answered.
Allison dared to peek out the window. A short, gray- haired man was striding with his back to her in the direction of a large white building.
Allison rolled over on the seat. She pulled the door handle and gently pushed open the door. She saw that the SUV was parked right at the edge of a wooded area. Crawling out onto the hot asphalt, she lay for several seconds watching and listening for any cries of alarm. Hearing nothing but the call of birds, she leaped to her feet and darted into the underbrush.
Joe was back. Standing at the rear of the Jimmy, he absently picked up the hose and squeezed the trigger. The stream of water hit the open rear door’s panel and splattered into the SUV’s interior, soaking it.
Yanking the hose away, Joe shouted, “Who left the back door open?” No one answered him. He threw down the hose in disgust peeled a wad of paper towels off the roll. Muttering to himself he opened all the door and began mopping up.
The costumer wouldn’t get it at one.
Sean sat in the Taurus drumming his fingers, his mind whirling like a hamster on a wheel. He watched the vehicles entering and leaving the truck stop. He was aggravated, a rare feeling for him. Just before the rain came, he had tracked her to this place. Then the trail went cold. He knew she had either hidden in an unlocked trailer or convinced a driver to give her a ride. But which way? He dared not ask in the restaurant. It was best to let law enforcement to find her. Yet he didn't want to admit failure.
He wasn't concerned about his employer. He had covered his tracks well enough. His hand was another matter. It was red, swollen and throbbed harshly with every beat of his heart. It needed immediate attention. The bullet had passed through causing little permanent damage. However if infection set in he would have to seek help beyond his first aid kit. Hospitals were out, but there was a retired doctor who worked with the criminal element. Sean would let the police handle Allison Stevens for now. After they captured her he would step back in. He went into the truck stop and bought a throwaway phone.
He made the call as he headed south. Steel wasn't happy Keaton was livid.
He shouted at Steel. “What do you mean he lost her?” He popped a nitro. He tried to calm down. His chest hurt. If the pills didn't work he was going to wind up in the emergency room again.
“Just that. He tracked her to a truck stop and lost her,” Steel said as he sawed at his thumbnail with the gold file. Specks of blood sprouted from the fingertip. “She either hitched a ride with some driver or hid in one of the trucks.”
Keaton mused for a moment, his expression an odd mixture of anger and puzzlement. “Are we sure Dickerson had a journal?”
“Yes. He kept it in his desk in a drawer with a false bottom.” Steel sighed. “And before you ask we believe Stevens found and hid the journal before she was arrested.”
“This is great, just great,” Keaton muttered. “The one person who can tie us to all these murders and you let her slip away.”
“We'll get her. It's just a matter of time. I have agents conducting searches in every truck stop within five hundred miles. And I also have an agent at statio
ned at the entrance of every one to question incoming drivers.”
“So in the meantime we just sit and twiddle our thumbs and wait for her to surface?”
“Her photo has been distributed to every law enforcement agency in the United States. As far as the media is concerned she is a dangerous criminal.”
“And what if some little country bumpkin cop believes her and wants to make a name for himself?” Keaton rose to his feet. “I'll tell you Tony, if this thing blows up in our faces I'm not going down alone.”
The attorney general stalked out. Steel stared after him.
“Be careful Keaton,” he said under his breath. “I am not going to prison.”
Steel stepped to the antique cabinet, unlocked and opened the door. He reached in and switched on the small black box. Keaton's voice came through his words crisply, his words clear and precise. A twist of the knob and Steel was listening to Jerold Robbins talking to his secretary in the Oval Office. The tiny bug was the size of a fruit fly and virtually undetectable. Tony had hidden the backup recorder in the workshop in of his home.
Standing at the window overlooking at the Capital, Steel made a decision Alison wasn't the only one to be eliminated.
Chapter 25
