Disclosing the Secret

by Vincent Amato

  The radio crackled with Chris’s voice. “I’m not imagining that funny looking chopper on our asses am I?”

  Jake paused. “No, it’s definitely trailing us. But I have an idea… You remember that game where you shuffle a ball under three cups then you have to pick the cup hiding the ball?”

  Mark felt a rising uneasiness. He was almost afraid to ask. “We’ve got this space-age helicopter following us…that no-one has ever seen before…not to mention it looks like it just flew out of the movie Tron! And YOU want to talk about games?!”

  Jake knew Mark would get it in a few seconds. He slipped a hand under his jacket to retrieve the cylinder. Waiting a moment to time the next opening between cars, he slung over a lane to position himself inches away from Chris, so close that their knees touched. Not an easy stunt at speed.

  “Here!” Jake passed the cylinder to Chris, who reacted instantly, shoving it into his jacket, not wanting let go of the handlebar for more than a millisecond.

  Their eyes met again for an instant. Chris nodded in acknowledgment. He understood perfectly.

  *

  “Sir! The target just handed an object to the second bike.”

  The support agent’s handheld touchscreen showed a zoomed image of the two lead bikes coming together. From their elevated angle over Jake’s shoulder his right hand could be seen to momentarily let go of the handlebars and reach over to the other biker after a short pause. The second bike then fell back to meet the third, but this time there was an object clearly visible in the rider’s hand.

  The agent felt a pulse of exuberance, zooming in to fill his screen with the foreign object. “It appears to be…a dirty-looking…cylinder?”

  “That’s it! Stay on it!” Like a hawk locking onto its unsuspecting prey, Sabre’s eyes trained on the object that was now being passed from bike to bike.

  “Hang on a sec.” The support agent’s inflection elevated an octave. “There are two objects!”

  The agent’s brow furrowed as he watched the second last bike pass the object to the last rider then seemingly pass another object back to the bike in front. With a frantic swipe, he zoomed out to get a better overall view. The bikes looked as if they were now randomly coming together, sporadically pairing up to momentarily bump into one another up and down the formation, only to switch positions again randomly to pair up with someone else.

  There are more objects? Or are they faking it? thought the support agent.

  The support agent felt like he was trying to keep his eye on a playing card while the deck was being shuffled.

  Sabre’s jaw tightened, his words audibly being squeezed through clenched teeth: “Keep an eye on it!”

  *

  Although the traffic had thinned out, allowing the bike formation to spread out, the chase was starting to get dangerous. So far they had run two sets of traffic lights and weaved passed dozens of cars. With two patrol cars and three SUVs on their tail, it didn’t look like they would lose their pursuers any time soon.

  A mile ahead loomed an eight-way intersection; from the sky the intersection looked like a giant asterisk, and was infamous for peak hour traffic delays when each direction competed for a green light.

  Checking his mirrors again Jake saw that the SUVs had caught up to the two patrol cars, looking as if they were trying to muscle the police out of their way.

  “Time to split,” Jake crackled through the two-way.

  “Great place to do it. You sure you can’t find anything a little more dangerous?” Chris’s words dripped with sarcasm through the two-way.

  Jake was confident. “All we need to do is make a spectacle; everyone else will see us and get out of our way. Nobody wants their car messed up.”

  TJ was skeptical. “Are you really sure about that?”

  There wasn’t time for banter. Jake continued, “Paul, you go hard right… Chris, hard left… TJ, to the right… I’ll veer to the left toward the hills, and Mark…”

  “Let me guess,” Mark cut in, finishing the sentence, “straight up the middle.”

  “All make sense?” Jake asked.

  Paul acknowledged, “Yeah, we got it. Do what you gotta do – we’ll lose the tails.”

  “It’s been nice knowing ya, buddy.” Mark wasn’t convinced.

  “All you need to do is visualize the opening in the traffic; you can do it, Mark. Just tell us when to break.” Jake tried to sound as calm as possible, despite the seconds running out.

  “Seriously, Jake, don’t be sad, it’s been a privilege… Really!”

  “Mark, trust me. You can do it. Visualize the traffic opening.”

  Then it happened.

  Mark’s eyes rocketed wide as if he had just been punched. The rapidly approaching cars before him decelerated as if they were all in slow motion, moving through water. He watched as an opening in the traffic materialized. What followed next felt like a daydream. Mark watched himself punch through the traffic opening, reaching the other side safely. It was as if he had left his own body, seeing the rear of his bike, and the back of himself, reveal the safest path through.

  “MARK?!” Jake barked through the radio, jolting Mark back into his body.

  The traffic opening then appeared, just as it did in his premonition.

  “Break NOW!” Mark yelled.

  The group’s reactions was instantaneous. Paul and Chris sliced across the front of Mark from opposite directions in a blur, narrowly missing each other, instantly followed by Jake and TJ as they cut across the nose of Mark’s bike in successive blurs, again narrowly missing each other. Before the four bikes had a chance to clear their path Mark had already gunned his engine, the punch of acceleration kicking up his front wheel in reaction.

  *

  Mr. Sabre could not believe the sheer audacity of the group.

  From above their little stunt resembled a well-choreographed fighter pilot maneuver. It was like watching stunt jets cross each other’s paths as they broke formation in different directions to form the shape of a star, their exhaust leaving a growing trail that extended in each direction of a compass.

  Each speeding off in a different direction, the bikes left behind a scene of chaos. The cross traffic had screeched to a disorganized halt in an attempt to miss the hooligans who had run the red light and clearly had no respect for public safety.

  The police cars were the first to run into grief; the first patrol car was sideswiped by diagonally crossing traffic trying to enter the intersection. The second patrol car swung around its partner’s collision only to itself be rammed by cross traffic from an adjacent direction. The two incidents then set off a cascade of smaller collisions from vehicles trying to escape the anarchy. The entire intersection transformed into a panel beater’s pay day.

  Two of the black SUVs were forced into a skidding stop. The third SUV managed to swerve onto the footpath to maneuver its way to the other side.

  Shaking his head, Mr. Sabre peered down at the crash site, the right side of his lip curling in disgust. Two out of the three SUVs sat motionless, queued nose to tail, not attempting to traverse the blocked intersection.

  “Goddamn FBI! Couldn’t track an elephant through snow… Even if it was bleeding!” Mr. Sabre’s retort was thick with grit and disdain.

  He switched his radio over to the band used by the SUVs. “Stay on the best friend; he’s the last in the procession, the one that went straight through. If it’s not too much trouble for you!”

  *

  After successfully finding his opening to punch through the cross traffic, Mark did his best to weave through the cars on the other side.

  He was electric with adrenalin. Did I just do that?

  Always the conservative rider, Mark would never have dreamt of attempting stupid stunts like that, and now after completing two for two he didn’t want to push his luck too hard on a third.

  Behind him his mirrors showed a single black SUV gaining. The traffic ahead was getting crowded, too heavy to speed through.

>   I need to find a way out!

  Sweeping to the left and right, he passed inside and outside the traffic, wherever he could fit, trying to stretch out the distance between himself and his pursuer.

  Then it happened without warning.

  A car rushed out of a small side street without seeing the approaching bike. When the rapidly approaching silhouette caught the driver’s peripheral vision, he instinctively slammed his brakes hard, bringing his car to a complete stop, and inadvertently blocking most of the road ahead of Mark.

  Time slowed down as Mark weighed up his options. Swerving to the left would mean hitting the gutter and flying into the air toward a bus stop sign ahead. He thought if he were to be catapulted into the sign it could amputate his arm and leg off one side. Another option was to swerve right, but he would most likely topple over and be sent sliding with one leg trapped beneath his machine and grind the skin off his pinned leg.

  There was one last choice, something he had never attempted. He lifted himself to raise his center of mass as far back as he could and crunched the front brakes hard. The front wheel locked intently, sending him skidding toward the stationary car while his rear wheel lifted off the ground.

  Locking the front wheel was a dangerous move, as it caused most riders to lose control Mark knew this only too well as he fought to keep his balance, as well as keep the center of his mass as far back as possible so as to not be flung over his front wheel.

  The motorbike slowed, skidding toward the car, its front wheel smoking and rear wheel raised. He brought the bike to a skidding stop by impacting the car with a light thud, indenting its side door.

  The collision was relatively minor. A moment had passed before he realized he was still standing, now with both wheels and feet firmly planted on the road, and staring directly at the petrified driver.

  I did it!

  He checked himself to make sure everything was in the right place and that he was not hurt. But by the time he dismounted, Mark found himself completely surrounded by hefty, armed soldiers with aggressive looking assault rifles levelled. He was astonished by how many there were, or more to the point, how many of these burly figures could be packed into a single SUV.

  “Raise your hands in the air and step away from your vehicle,” he heard one of them bark.

  He collected himself mentally, put the bike on its stand, dismounted and then raised his hands. Mark was not only astonished at how many machine guns were leveled at him, but also at how many guns were still holstered. He’d never seen so many weapons brandished by so few.

  As he gazed at the sea of armament aimed at him, Mark took off his helmet and scratched his head. “Are you sure you brought ALL the guns?”

  *

  The density of the inner city buildings had thinned out into suburbia now that Jake had put some distance between himself and the wide eight-way intersection. He was now flying through a residential area spread over small hills with long winding roads.

  He geared down to pass over the next crest. The road ahead dropped away to reveal a long steep hill, meandered ahead into a long sweeping bend to the valley below then continued to curve up the next hill on the horizon. A river cut its way through the valley; gentle parklands cushioned its banks on both sides. The water glistened in the sunlight as a rowboat approached the bridge. Sporadically clustered groups of locals were out by the river enjoying the sunny afternoon, either spending their time sun baking, fishing or jogging – until Jake’s thundering machine disturbed the tranquil scene.

  *

  The unit’s team leader completely disregarded Mark’s remark and stepped toward him.

  “Hey!” Mark shrieked as he was whirled up against an adjacent wall with a force that was clearly more than required.

  “I’m no lawyer, but isn’t there something you need to read to me before you can do this?”

  “Shut up!” The soldier forced Marks arms and legs out wide before searching him. Mark’s entire body jolted with every forceful pat-down. While he was being searched he noticed that the soldiers were all dressed head to toe in black.

  The soldier found the old cylinder tucked down the front of Mark’s jacket. Peering down the lidless tube he could see it was empty.

  *

  The last remaining ground unit’s report came through Mr. Sabre’s headset: “Sir, the subject is clean.”

  Sabre looked over to his pilot and motioned in the direction Jake took. “Catch up to Marcel!”

  The sun shimmered off the exotic-looking helicopter as it turned. It dipped its nose in Jake’s direction and accelerated away.

  *

  Almost at the bridge now, Jake banked his bike low to negotiate the sweeping bend leading up to it. A familiar silhouette shot overhead, appearing abruptly over the crest behind Jake. It overtook him to bank into a wide arc over the valley, turning back to face him. It reduced its speed and approached the bridge from the far side. The whine of its turbines added another layer of disruption to the peaceful riverside setting being enjoyed by the locals moments earlier.

  The aircraft landed gracefully at the end of the straight segment of road that led up to the bridge from the far side. Its double counter-rotating blades slowed as its turbines wound down.

  Jake crossed the bridge, approaching the helicopter. He slammed on his rear brake, an ineffective method of slowing the bike as it only sent the bike skidding in a straight line toward the helicopter. But that was Jake’s intent. He kept skidding in a perfectly straight line, slowing his approach to get a better view of the now stationary aircraft.

  There were two main characteristics that gave the helicopter an odd appearance, or a sense of being non-conventional. It had two layers of rotary blades, one above the other, which spun in opposite directions. It also didn’t have the smaller rear rotary at 90 degrees to the axis of the main rotary blades, which served to stabilize conventional helicopters by counteracting the “equal and opposite” spinning effect generated when the turbines drive the main rotors.

  Coming from a military family, Jake was familiar with most types of operating aircraft. But he had never seen the likes or configuration of the sleek aircraft before him.

  Whichever military branch these guys are from, they are obviously very well funded.

  Three men leaped out of the helicopter. Two were mountainous soldiers, heavily armed. Ahead of them walked a suited man who carried an air of unquestionable authority. He was unmistakably in command.

  With a delicate touch, Jake used the front brakes to bring the bike to a sliding halt, stopping his front wheel barely inches short of the dark-suited man now lighting his cigarette. The trio didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest by Jake’s skidding stop.

  So much for making an impression, Jake thought.

  CHAPTER 42

  The suited man in command inhaled his cigarette. He studied Jake intently as he remained seated before him on his bike.

  Jake felt a rising sense of uneasiness. The fitted black suit worn by the man did nothing to hide his broad chest and shoulders, suggestive of a man that had seen combat. Jake could feel his intense eyes boring into him. The man’s powerful presence gave Jake the distinct impression that, in terms of military branches, this group was at the top of the food chain.

  The man blew smoke in Jake’s direction, maintaining his piercing stare a few moments longer.

  Finally the man spoke. “Jake Marcel, I think you may have something in your possession that does not belong to you.”

  Jake’s heart skipped a beat.

  He knows my name.

  One of the armed soldiers lifted Jake off his bike with ease, forcing his hands on his head while he searched Jake’s pockets then patted him down.

  The suited man then motioned the second soldier to investigate the bridge.

  Jake thought his body search was unnecessarily rough, but also thought it was best to not say a word. It was then that he noticed a fourth figure, also armed, who looked like he was holding position to guard th
e helicopter.

  Patiently waiting while Jake was being aggressively searched, the dark-suited man looked up at the surrounding hillsides, savouring his cigarette. He seemed to be taking it all in; the winding road down the little hill, the bridge over the river, even the little rowboat heading downstream on this sunny afternoon.

  *

  Two girls wearing bikinis had their beach towels spread out on the river bank by the bridge. Natasha was sunbaking, her MP3 player blaring in her ears. Jackie had just returned from the river, dripping wet from a refreshing swim.

  As Jackie bent down to pick up her towel, she was startled by a mountainous shadow that suddenly stretched over the two girls.

  She instantly spun to face the intruder, covering herself with the towel. “Are you right there?!”

  Jackie was not expecting to find a heavily armed figure towering over her. The man looked like a weightlifter carrying an assault rifle. The soldier eyed her up and down intently then focused on Natasha and the area around their towels.

  Jackie was yet to meet a man who could intimidate her. “HELLLLOW? Did you lose something?”

  The soldier ignored her. His large frame slowly moved past her. He appeared to closely inspect the scantily clad girls and their surroundings, then looked over to consider the old man causally rowing his boat away downstream. Jackie felt like a life raft being passed by a super oil tanker.

  Natasha now used half of her towel to cover herself from the enormous figure’s prying eyes.

  Jackie had had enough. “Obviously you don’t speak English. Do you have a term for ‘personal space’ where you come from? Or how about ‘pervert’?”

  The large soldier reacted instantly, spinning to face her, visibly annoyed by her condescending insinuation. He fixed her with a gaze clearly intended to intimidate. Jackie didn’t flinch. Then with a deep grunt, the armed soldier turned and walked back up the bank toward the road.

  *

  Jake had tried not to look anxious when the second soldier headed for the bride, but then felt a wave of relief when he heard the first soldier’s radio crackle to life. “The bridge is clean, sir. Heading back.”