Time to fly off a bridge.
Karen felt the wheel jerk and the car accelerate. She pressed the brake pedal.
Nothing!
The vehicle continued to accelerate. She struggled to steer to the shoulder of the highway and into a barrier but failed. She tried to downshift. She was stuck in drive. She had lost complete control of her Jaguar. Someone else was driving. But who? Why?
What did the message mean?
She heard the door locks disengage and then reset. She grabbed the door handle. It was disabled.
She then remembered that work was being done on the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge over the Potomac River. It was being made into a piggyback—three times the height of the original.
She tried to use her phone. It wouldn’t operate through the car. She took it out of her purse, fingered to the settings and shut off the Bluetooth. She dialed the only person that came to mind, Edna Cotton—her childhood nanny.
When the opportunity arose for Edna to take care of the Krystal children and be employed by one of the wealthiest families in Virginia, she jumped at the chance. More than just Karen Krystal’s nanny, Edna Cotton, or Aunt Edna as the Krystal sisters called her, took on the role of Karen’s friend, mentor, and confidant.
Raising the two girls brought joy to Edna. Being childless, she considered the Krystal sisters her own. And Leonard Krystal gave her complete access to everything in the house, trusting her implicitly. She was present at both sister’s dedications and when President Burke, then Professor Burke having grown up in Middleburg, was made Sharon’s godfather.
Although never attending college, Edna was well read. Not only did she study the classics, but she read numerous novels along with textbooks on business management, architecture, electronics, and entrepreneurship. She continually bussed back and forth to the library, toting fifty pounds of books each way in her wheeled, luggage carryon. She could converse on almost any subject, and her vocabulary was extensive. Her mind was sharp and Karen learned to use her as a sounding board to help her sort through problems.
“Aunt Edna, I have a problem,” Karen said upon hearing Edna answer the phone.
“What, child?” Aunt Edna said in a calm and soothing voice.
“My car’s been hacked, and whoever’s controlling it is steering me toward the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge.”
“Karen, darlin’ how did—”
“A State Police car’s pulling up behind me. I have to go.” Karen had spotted the flashing lights in her rearview mirror.
He stayed on her tail as she was driven onto I-66. Another vehicle pulled up alongside. The officer was pointing to Karen and the side of the road. He wanted her to pull over. She looked at her speedometer—she was cruising at 90. For all he knew, she was speeding. She tried to roll down her window. It worked. He dropped his.
“Pull over,” he yelled.
“I can’t,” Karen yelled back.
“Pull over.”
“I can’t. The accelerator’s—”
“Turn off the engine.”
Karen had already tried to do that but to no avail. “It won’t,” she yelled back.
“Brake,” he hollered.
Karen stepped on the brakes again. “No brakes!”
The officer spoke into his microphone, “We have a runaway vehicle on I-66 heading to the District.”
Karen yelled out her window, “My car’s been hacked. It’s being driven remotely. It’s heading to the new bridge over the Potomac.”
The officer relayed the information and was joined by two more members of the force. Another two cars were ahead of Karen’s Jaguar, clearing the way, heading for the unfinished overpass spanning the water.
Karen tried to think. She tapped her display a couple of times. She had fifteen miles to go before her car would crash through the barricades and end up in the river.
“Unless I sprout wings, I’ll never survive the crash.”
Her cellphone rang.
The voice yelled, “Karen, this is Nathan.”
“I can’t talk right now,” Karen yelled back.
Nathan yelled, “Your aunt Edna called President Burke. I’m in a helicopter approaching your location.”
“What good can you do?”
“We’re trying to figure something out.”
She had a beep on her phone. She looked at its screen. She yelled, “Nathan, I have to go.”
The speed the government moves, I’ll be able to drive to Canada before they come up with a solution.
“Aunt Edna, you called Burke?” Karen said.
“Yes, but listen, don’t you periodically run a diagnostics check on you car.”
“You ask me that now?”
“Karen, think. Maybe you can use that device somehow.”
Karen hesitated, thought for a second, and then said she had to go.
She disconnected. She didn’t have to drive the car, so she reached into the back seat for her computer and accessory bag.
She opened her laptop and called up a roadmap program that highlighted the DOT projects. It showed that thirteen miles away was the unfinished Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge that linked the banks of the Potomac River.
I think Aunt Edna had the right idea.
She popped open her glove compartment and pulled out the portable scan tool. She pulled off the cable from the device and plugged it into a USB port on her computer. She then reached beneath her dashboard under the steering column above the gas pedal and plugged the other end into the OBD2 port.
Immediately her computer reacted with a “new hardware detected” message. Karen quickly opened her “Jaguar” folder and skimmed through the files.
Maybe I can disable their connection by activating the “Basic Mode” program.
She was looking for a PDF she had saved over a year ago.
“Ah, there it is,” she said and opened it. She quickly scanned it for the information on how to force the Jaguar into “Basic Mode.”
She looked at her speed—110.
***
The reporter in the WTTG news helicopter said to the audience, “It’s not going to matter once the driver breaks through that barrier. Traveling at ninety miles per hour, she needs about two hundred yards to stop. Based on our airspeed, we think she’s traveling near that or faster. It’s just two hundred yards from the barrier to the edge of where the road stops. Then it’s a forty-foot plunge into ‘The Nation’s River,’ the Potomac.
“According to what we’re hearing on the police radio, whoever is controlling her car is giving her instructions on the car’s touch screen that if she tries to disable the camera, they’ll drive her into oncoming traffic. She needs about six hundred feet to stop the car.”
The cool-voiced news reporter in the helicopter above Karen, caught up in the drama and speaking faster than normal, continued, “The Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Bridge was originally opened in 1964, and it was recently determined that it was time to expand the lanes. The only way the engineers decided to do that was to create a second tier. If the person in the car flies off the end of the highway, the project will probably be delayed indefinitely until they can figure out how to prevent this from happening again.”
The patrol cars escorted Karen to the new bridge. As they reached the barricades, two skidded to a halt and two continued following. Both the news and Homeland Security helicopters hovered overhead.
Karen entered the code into the blinking field on her diagnostics connections and pressed enter. Everything went dead. She felt the wheel relax. She had the steering control back sans power. She crashed through the barrier. Her touch screen was dark. She threw the transmission into neutral. The engine was whining down. She pressed the brakes. They were live. But they weren’t power.
The car was still traveling at ninety miles per hour. She had only a football field and a half to stop.
“I’ll never stop in time.”
Karen turned the key off and then on again. The engine fired. The
power steering returned, and so did the brakes. She slipped the car out of neutral and into drive and pressed with all her might on the brake pedal. The tires dug into the newly-paved roadway, but it was covered with gravel.
Karen used her steering-wheel paddle to downshift. The tires slid across the grit and Tarvia. She slapped the lever again and slipped into a lower gear. She fought to keep the car facing forward.
The news helicopter raced ahead and pivoted back so the camera could get the full effect of the Jaguar exiting the bridge and splashing into the river.
Karen raced toward the edge of the unfinished highway. She tried the door. It unlocked. Maybe she could jump out at the last minute and land on the Tarvia, only slide a little and not fall to what would be certain death. She’d break an arm or a leg, and her face and head would get skinned, but she’d be alive.
Why was someone trying to kill her? Who was trying? Before and during the Labyrinth incident, she was at risk. But what was she doing now that warranted such an extreme action?
Her cellphone rang. She glanced between her legs to the seat to see the screen. “Sharon.”
She doesn’t know what’s happening. I hope she’ll be all right if I don’t survive. I hope she finds out who killed Dad.
It was like trying to negotiate a slide tackle from a soccer opponent—score and not hit the goalie. Running full speed, trying to avoid a collision with a defender. Pulling out all the stops.
Karen was standing on the brakes—with one hand on the wheel and the other on the door handle. The timing has to be precise. The ball was coming. A score will win the game. A miss will mean disaster.
Karen opened the door.
Everything seemed to slip into slow motion. She could hear the grinding of the sand beneath her tires. She looked up ahead and spotted the hovering news helicopter and above that, Mallory. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.
Her back was pressed into her seat, her leg extended and her foot was firm on the pedal as if she were trying to keep her plane’s rudder steady.
The storm is about the slam my Piper into the earth.
She thought of her father, Aunt Edna, her mom. Her left foot was scraping the ground.
The car kept sliding. The grinding sound of the gravel seemed to lessen and be replaced by Karen’s thoughts. She looked up. The news helicopter was hovering just ahead. She could hear its blades cutting through the air. They seemed to move in slow motion.
Off in the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard. They were pulsing, each one just a little off key with the other like an orchestra, each member playing a portion of the upcoming piece before the concert master comes on stage to tune them.
She was poised to jump. She could see that there was no rail to grab.
I’ll need that angel on my shoulder.
Karen thought of her dad.
CHAPTER 11
Karen spotted the end of the gravel.
But wait, the road’s shiny. Oil!
The rear wheels began fishtailing to the right. The Jaguar quickly slipped into a spin. The door slammed shut. Karen twisted the steering wheel. She could hear her Diver’s Ed teacher: “Stop accelerating, keep the pressure on your AntiLock brakes, and steer into the slide.”
She watched the sides of the bridge pass by, then the trailing police cars as the front of her Jaguar pivoted in a 360º spin. She fought the wheel and kept pressure on the brakes. The vehicle began another gyration as it moved ever closer to the edge of oblivion.
She had the wheel turned into the spin. The pivot began to slow. Another full twist, but this time the car straightened out—once again targeting the end of the bridge.
She survived the spin and focused all her strength on the brake pedal. The oil ended. The steel-belted radials grabbed hold of the Tarvia but then let go.
Oil still on the rubber.
Karen’s world returned to real time. She reopened the door.
She could feel the tires trying to grip the road and prevent a dive off the end of the highway. She could see the far bank of the river and the widening expanse of the water. She could feel the pulsing air on her face from the helicopter blades. She could smell the scent of fish in the waterway. She could sense the anticipation of the news reporters getting ready to broadcast the live-action shot of her death.
The Jaguar’s tires screeched sporadically as they approached the point of no return and the fall into the Potomac.
Karen’s eyes were wide.
Will it stop? Should I jump?
She reached for the clasp of her seatbelt. The wires from the interface cable were in the way. She tried to push them aside.
Karen’s world slipped into slow motion again.
The Jaguar was still sliding. Parts of the radials were still coated with oil.
It’s going over!
The tires rolled beyond the edge of the overhang and the car’s undercarriage met the road. The convertible slid forward and came to rest on the frame midway along the length of the car.
Although it stopped, Karen could feel it begin to teeter forward. She cautiously set the emergency brake, turned off the car, and grabbed hold of her seat lever, forcing the chair back into a reclined position.
The Jaguar slowly seesawed back. But it then began to slide forward again. The edge of the road was giving way.
Karen pulled herself into the backseat and the car began righting itself again.
Two policemen came running up and placed their feet on the rear bumper.
Karen eased out of the vehicle and looked up at the news helicopter.
I swear they look disappointed.
She looked behind her. The tire marks were as far back as she could see. And almost as long was the path made by her shoe on the bridge.
She looked down at her feet. “The shoe’s ruined.”
The police vehicles pulled up and Nathan Mallory’s helicopter landed on the bridge. Mallory stepped out, walked over, and coldly told Karen that Etheridge was waiting for her.
“Well, I’ve been a little busy or did you think I was just out for a joy ride?” Karen said, her eyes mimicking a preying cat.
“Who did this?” Mallory asked.
“Who did this? I have no idea.”
Mallory looked at Karen’s Jaguar, its frontend hanging over the bridge and asked, “You want to leave it here and ride with us to the offices? We can take care of it for you.”
Karen looked at her vehicle and decided she’d rather drive the rest of the way into the District. She didn’t want the FBI or Homeland Security messing with her transportation.
It’s bad enough, the Swan Nest cabin and the Krystal Vision offices are bugged—and probably my Piper.
“No, I’ll meet you there,” she said, fingering her ignition fob.
Mallory had learned not to argue with Karen. He turned to walk back to the helicopter when he was stopped by one of the state police officers.
Mallory pulled out his ID.
“So, what was that all about?” the officer asked.
“A highly sensitive operation,” Mallory said without flinching.
The officer looked at Karen and asked, “She’s one of yours?”
“She’s been working with us for about a year. Maybe you can help her get back on her way. She has a meeting with the head of Homeland Security as soon as she can get there,” Mallory said and climbed back into the helicopter.
Karen watched as Mallory rose and banked northeast toward the District.
The officers asked if Karen needed assistance.
“I want to move my car off the edge and back onto the highway.”
The one officer said, “We’ll attach a chain to your bumper and to our cars and stabilize the vehicle before you get back in it.”
Karen waited until the line was fastened and taut. She then carefully slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The instrument panel came alive. She shifted the car into reverse.
As soon as her backup lights lit, the state poli
ce cars pulled Karen’s Jaguar away from the edge of the bridge.
She left the “Basic Mode” cable plugged in just in case. She looked at her LCD screen. All the Jaguar’s functions were nominal. The officers unhooked the chain and Karen thanked them, turned around, drove down the ramp and headed to the District.
She dialed her phone.
“Karen, is all okay?” Aunt Edna asked.
“Yes. And thank you for reminding me of the diagnostics tools. That’s what got my car back under my control.”
“Are you driving it now?”
“Yes. I have a meeting at Homeland Security.”
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll, whoever they are, control it again?”
“I have the “Watchtower” software plugged in. It’ll block any attempt.”
“Any idea who did it?”
“None.”
Edna was silent for a moment and then said, “What’s the meeting at Homeland Security?”
“I think they’re going to try to convince me to work with them?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you later.” She hung up and called Sharon and told her what had happened. Sharon told her she was seriously thinking of moving home.
They said goodbye and Karen continued to Homeland Security.
***
Mogadishu, Somalia
Atwah was beside himself with anger. “Son-of-bitch, I told you she was dangerous.”
“You mean because she’s smart,” Fadhil said.
“She’s brilliant. And she’s gotten even more dangerous since the Labyrinth. We’ll have to find another way to get rid of her.”
“Why do we need to spend any more energy on her at all?”
“If she joins Homeland Security, they’ll assign her to seeking us out and foiling our plans. Bet on it,” Atwah said, pointing.
Fadhil just shook his head and walked away, puffing on his cigar.
Atwah began pacing and talking to himself.
***
Washington, D.C.
Karen arrived at the Nebraska avenue complex in the District and was immediately escorted to the Homeland Security offices. Carl Etheridge, the head of Homeland Security leaned over his large wooden desk and greeted Karen with an outstretched hand.
Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2) Page 6
