by Graham Smith
Life in Mashpee is moving with the gentle pace of a retirement village, or perhaps a vacation destination. Nobody has any sense of urgency and people are travelling around in languid fashion as they potter about their business.
Alfonse delivers the details for the nearest car rental place and as soon as I read his email I know what to do.
The guy behind the counter at the Enterprise branch hardly gives us a second glance. His attention is focussed on the red-haired, fish-lipped secretary who’s using one hand to hold a phone and the other to twirl her hair.
The car we get is nothing special, but that’s perfect. We’re trying to hide, not draw attention to ourselves.
40
The Bourne Bridge spanning the river, or canal, has arched metal framework. Instinct makes me want to speed across it, but I play it cool and drive slow enough for Cameron to launch his submachine gun into the crisp blue water.
The map on my cell had shown there were only two bridges that cross this river, or canal, or whatever it is. Both are ideal bottlenecks for those looking to catch up with people driving away from Cape Cod.
As I cross the bridge, I maintain the same vigilance I’ve had for the last twenty or so miles.
I haven’t seen any person or persons who could be watching for us, but I’m not James Bond: I don’t know what I should be looking for beyond the obvious. Put me in a bar and I can tell within five minutes where the trouble lies, who’s most likely to kick off, and which order I should deal with people. Spotting tails, however, is not my area of speciality.
Behind me, Cameron lies across the back seat out of sight. I’m now wearing a bright red shirt, baseball cap and a pair of cheap shades. As disguises go, it’s not the greatest, but it was the best I could do without wasting a lot of time.
Our passing across the bridge goes smoothly, and I am approaching the turn for a highway when my lizard brain starts dumping hormones throughout my body.
There’s a car sat by the highway and there is an SUV beside it. A young woman is chatting to an older guy who is changing a wheel. Her hair flutters in the breeze and she wears her boredom like it’s the latest designer outfit.
The scene is so innocuous that I look elsewhere, until something draws me to look back at the girl, and what appears to be a gallant old gent who’s stopped to help her.
Neither are looking our way, but when I look at them I see her put a foot on the wheel that’s just been removed from her car. Her foot rests on the tyre, and she straightens her leg until she’s lifted from the ground, supported only by the foot on the tyre.
She’s standing on the tyre that’s just been changed because it’s flat. However, the tyre doesn’t buckle under her weight; it doesn’t even give a little. That means it’s fully inflated. Which means the girl and the guy aren’t really changing a wheel.
They are a plant. A reason for the SUV to be parked by the road.
I make a point of not staring at the SUV, but I look at it as much as I can without making it obvious. There’s someone in the passenger seat and he’s not watching the Good Samaritan. This guy is young enough that he should be doing the work rather than the older guy.
The back windows of the SUV are blacked out, but I’m sure if I could see through them, I’d see a car filled with muscled heavies, with a penchant for mindless violence.
I take the turn and head away from town. It’s bad enough that Cameron and I may be at risk, but I’m not going to speed around streets where innocents may get hurt.
My plan was to head north until I got on a road to Boston, then follow that until I found a motel where we could hole up.
With the surveillance operation on the bridge potentially identifying us, I now need to get on the back roads and do a lot of direction changes so I can throw off anyone who decides to follow us.
A glance in my rear-view mirror confirms that the SUV has re-joined the flow of traffic. It’s not certain they’ve pinpointed us yet, but I’ll know in a minute or two.
41
I grip the wheel a little tighter and check my rear-view mirror again. The SUV is where it has been since re-joining the road.
It’s three cars back and seems to be content with just following us for the time being. Although the road isn’t too busy, there is enough traffic for them to worry about witnesses.
I figure they’re either waiting for us to drive somewhere remote, or they’re just keeping tabs on us until reinforcements arrive. Neither of these scenarios appeal to me so I decide to do what they will least expect.
There’s a chance I’m wrong about the SUV, and I should stop jumping at shadows, but I need to know one way or another.
The rental car slows as I remove my foot from the gas. I check the mirror and see the car behind me indicate and pull out to pass us.
Now there’s just one car between us and the SUV.
Another look in the mirror sees the final car pull out without signalling.
The SUV is hanging back. Its pace matches ours.
If they are tailing us, they’ll know they’ve been made.
The SUV creeps past us, its driver doing a scant mile per hour more than I am. He doesn’t look at us but I’m sure that, behind the blacked-out windows, his buddies are giving us a thorough examination.
I should have followed my original instinct and hidden Cameron in the trunk. When I hired the car, I pulled what I’d hoped would be an effective deception: hiring one car in my name, and a second, from a different company, in Cameron’s name, using his card.
The car I’d hired in his name was an ice-blue suburban, whereas the one we’re in now is a tan compact.
We dumped the suburban at a marina, two miles from the rental office, in the hope of convincing our pursuers we’d gone back to sea.
Now I realise that all we’ve achieved is a waste of time and money.
The SUV pulls in front of us and slows, so I have to choose between slowing further or overtaking it.
There’s no way I’m prepared to let him draw us slower and slower, so I wait for a gap in the traffic, indicate, and pull over.
I draw past him at a steady pace and when it’s time to pull back into the slower lane, I stomp on the gas.
The traffic ahead has thinned so it’s not long before I have the compact up to seventy. I’d much sooner be driving my Mustang than this crappy rental thing, but there’s no point wishing for something I can’t have.
I check the mirror; the SUV has pulled into the same lane as me and, from what I can tell, the driver is trying to close the gap.
There’s a turn ahead so I take it as fast as is safely possible. Again, I wish I was driving my Mustang. Not only is it fast enough to outrun the SUV, but I’ve put it through its paces often enough to know its limits. With the compact, I don’t know how hard I can push it in the corners before passing the point of no return.
Cameron says something but I tell him to shut up and keep down as I don’t have time to deal with his questions.
The SUV appears in my mirror as I swing the wheel left and head for a back road. There’s a squeal as the tyres protest at my sudden change of direction, but they get us around the corner with only a little bit of understeer.
I straighten up the car and try to push the gas pedal through the floor.
A check in my mirror shows the SUV has made the same turn.
There is no point trying to cling on to faint hopes; the SUV is officially following us. Now I know for certain, I can plan how to deal with it.
‘Cameron. You might as well get up now. There’s an SUV behind us. I’m pretty sure it’s your friends.’
My use of the word friends is laden with sarcasm, but I’m not terribly worried about hurting Cameron’s feelings. If we get out of this alive, he and I are going to have serious words – once he has done right by John. Should he not say the right things, I plan to hurt a lot more than his feelings.
The SUV looms in the rear-view mirror as Cameron hauls himself up.
His fac
e is grave, and he casts a look out of the rear window.
‘I bet you wish I still had that gun you made me throw away.’
I’ve been thinking the same thing, but my intentions were right at the time and, if nothing else since meeting Cameron, I’ve learned that you can’t change the past, regardless of how loud its echoes reverberate into the present.
I squeeze on the gas even harder, but the compact is no match for the SUV, which is now hanging a foot from our rear fender.
The SUV’s driver knows this, and slows a little, then accelerates until the SUV’s front fender rams into the back of the compact.
42
The SUV hits us hard enough to shake the compact but, other than a little squirming, the impact isn’t hard enough to cause any major problems.
I’m sure the driver will learn from his mistake. Next time he hits us he won’t hit the full width of the car. He’ll target one side or the other.
Maybe he’ll pull alongside us and slam into the rear wheel area.
I don’t intend to wait and find out.
There’s a bend ahead that I take as fast as I dare. The greater weight and higher centre of gravity force the SUV’s driver to ease off before he can catch us.
This teaches me a valuable lesson: he might have more straight-line speed than me, and better acceleration, but I can get around corners a lot quicker than he can.
A car appears in front of me as I throw the compact around the next corner.
I swing out, and pass it before its driver has the chance to even register I’m behind him.
When I check the mirror, I see Cameron’s face. He’s wide-eyed as he looks back and forward.
I’m pushing the compact to its limits and taking stupid risks as I hurl it round blind corners.
I glance in the mirror again and see only Cameron’s head.
‘Sit at one side or the other. I need to see.’
I hear a rustle as he moves across. There’s also the click of a seatbelt being fastened. It’s the smartest thing I’ve known him to do.
The SUV looms large in the mirror, but I overtake a panel van and use the manoeuvre to buy myself a little time.
There’s a junction ahead so I swing the wheel right and join the new road in a four-wheeled drift that I’ve only got the merest control of.
Behind me I hear Cameron gasp in fear. He’s mumbling something but I doubt it’s the rosary he’s saying. A selfish, conniving, inconsiderate prick like him isn’t the kind of person who worships another.
Taking this turn was a mistake. We’re on a wider road, which is dead straight, there’s little traffic to protect us, and there are deep ditches at either side of the road.
The SUV appears behind me and I can imagine its occupants smiling as they realise there is little I can do by way of defence, let alone mounting a counter attack.
There’s a crack and I hear Cameron throwing himself down on the back seat.
I take a glance in the rear-view mirror and see the guy in the SUV’s passenger seat hanging out of his window.
It’s the gun in his hand that gives me the greatest concern.
43
To throw off the gunman’s aim, I swerve from side to side as much as I dare. It’s a risky tactic and it bleeds some of the compact’s speed.
The driver of the SUV only needs to nudge the rear of the compact, at one end of my sweeping arcs, for me to lose control.
With ditches at either side I have nowhere to go but forward.
The SUV holds left as I veer right, and a surge of power from its engine sees it gain enough ground to prevent me from cutting back to the left.
I see a vicious smile on the passenger’s face as he points his gun at the rear of the compact.
Whether he’s trying to kill Cameron, or shoot out our tyres, is a moot point. At a range of five feet, the odds of him missing are low.
There is only one course of action available to me, so I take it.
My foot slams down on the brake, causing the SUV to fly past us. There’s a shot fired by the passenger but I don’t hear the bullet striking the car.
As soon as we’ve slowed enough to turn, I wrench on the wheel and plant my boot back on the gas.
The SUV will catch us again, there’s no doubt about that, but at least I’ve bought us a couple of minutes.
I look in the mirror and see they have turned and are coming after us.
The move won’t work a second time, but I’m not done yet.
As the SUV hangs on our rear again, a truck lumbers into view. It’s laden with a large bulldozer, which overhangs its trailer-bed.
I weave a little but there is no sign of the gunman now the truck is here. I have the beginnings of a plan, but it’s risky at best; downright suicidal if it goes wrong.
As I weave, I increase the amount I cross the road. The truck is still approaching, and the SUV is hanging at the centre of the road as the driver waits for the optimal time to give us a nudge that will send us careering either into the oncoming truck, or one of the roadside ditches.
I keep this up until the truck is less than fifty yards away.
The compact is on the right-hand verge of the road when I stamp on the brakes for a second time. I have to give the SUV driver credit when he reacts a fraction of a second after I do. Just as I had hoped he would.
He’s too late though. We’re side-by-side now, with him between us and the truck.
While he’s still braking, I haul the wheel left and slam the side of the compact into the SUV.
My foot is hard on the gas and I am holding the wheel over, forcing him towards the truck.
The SUV brakes.
The truck swerves.
I keep pushing the SUV towards the truck’s chrome fender.
At the final second before impact, I tease the wheel right and disengage the compact from the SUV.
It takes me a second to bring the compact fully under control, and when I look in my rear-view mirror I see the SUV’s crumpled front end and the truck’s brake lights.
For the time being, the SUV is out of action.
The damage to the compact will cost me at least a couple of thousand bucks when the rental company gets it back but, so far as I’m concerned, it’s worth every cent. We’ve survived and that’s all that matters.
As Cameron straightens in his seat I realise that my mouth is dry and I have sweat oozing from every pore.
Like the damage to the compact, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.
It’s now time to start thinking about our next step. ‘Cameron. Use my phone to find out where we are and how far away Boston is.’
44
Cameron doesn’t like the way Jake has taken over, but he knows that challenging him would be a bad idea. Not only has Jake proved resourceful – saving their lives twice now – he’s also beyond furious at the way his girlfriend was killed.
For the time being he has to go along with Jake, and wait for a chance to arise for him to slip away.
Since the incident with the SUV, his son has been quiet and aloof. Cameron is sure that Jake is plotting their next move, as well as trying to come to terms with the girl’s death. As he knows he’s due some blame, he keeps his mouth shut and tries to figure out a way to regain his control over events.
Dusk has now fallen and the faithful little compact’s engine has never missed a beat as they’ve travelled north. When they stopped for gas they examined the car, and saw that one side and the rear end were dented far beyond the talents of even the best panel-beater. A headlamp was also smashed and the front fender now hangs lower than it should.
The car’s wounds are superficial but they are noticeable, so he agrees with Jake when he parks the compact in a multi-storey car park and leaves it to its fate. As a rental car it’ll have a tracking device, so the company will find it in a day or two.
They’re in a town near Brockton, twenty or thirty miles south of Boston. Their exact location isn’t important to Cameron. What is importan
t, is that they have escaped their pursuers, and for the time being they are safe.
Jake uses his phone to find a motel, and his charm to borrow a charger from the receptionist. The only bags they have are Jake’s backpack and the laptop case Cameron uses as a briefcase.
‘First we eat. Then we sleep.’
Those six words are the most Jake has spoken to him in an hour, but Cameron doesn’t take offence; he might have, if he cared what Jake thought of him.
All of Cameron’s thoughts are on how to rebuild his life. With what amounts to a death sentence hanging over him, should his employer catch him, his options are somewhat limited.
Not exhausted though.
Cameron still has a few cards up his sleeve to enable him to start anew in relative safety – providing he picks the right location and deals himself the right hand.
Jake leads him out of the crummy motel and along the street until they find a diner. They look at the menus in silence, only speaking to give the bored-looking waitress their orders.
‘Look, about what happened on the boat with Tanya. I’m sorry. I didn’t for one minute think they’d shoot when there was a woman in front of me.’
‘Her name was Taylor. Not Tanya.’ Cameron sees Jake’s fists clench and unclench. ‘Now sit there, and don’t say another word about her, because if you do, I’ll be coming over this table and condemning John to death by beating the living shit out of you.’
Cameron heeds his son’s warning and doesn’t speak. Getting the girl’s name wrong was a tad clumsy, but he’s seen enough of Jake’s determination and resourcefulness to know that he’s more than capable of carrying out his threat.
As soon as Cameron finishes his food, Jake stands and nods towards the door. ‘Let’s go.’
As much as Cameron wants to discuss their next move with Jake, he can tell his son is hanging on to both his temper and his composure by the slenderest of margins. One wrong word or another ill-timed comment will be more than enough to tip Jake’s scales towards violence.
