“There’s one…” Without finishing, he pushed through the crowd. It was the one. Whatever Jessie’s plan had been, apparently he wasn’t following it as she called out for him to wait.
Mo’s bus was right there—just ten yards away. It hadn’t reached the head of the line yet, but was next to move forward. How could they stop this when the bus was already here? All it would take was Mo doing whatever it was he did to start the explosion. Now, because of his damn dream, not only would all the people originally here die, but also all those who came to stop it. Including Jessie. And his dad. Oh God. He wouldn’t let it happen. It was as simple as that. He would drive the bus right into the lake on purpose.
The message to the police officer from his dream must have been delivered because although the bus in front of Mo’s had moved out, clearing the way for his bus to move forward, the bus just sat there and no officer approached. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad for the deviation from his dream or worry about the implications. What if other things changed?
Mark rushed the doors of the bus, digging his fingers into the weather stripping. Another difference. What if he couldn’t get into the bus? It could explode any second. Maybe it was his determination or a miracle or maybe it was just the thick cable the snaked out the bottom of the door and ran beneath the bus and broke the seal, but he didn’t care, as long as it allowed his fingers to curl around the edge of the door and yank it open.
He turned sideways and squeezed into the small opening before Mohommad could react. Mo grabbed the door lever and yanked on it, causing it to close on Mark’s chest, momentarily trapping him, but Mark shoved against the folding door and fell all the way into the stairwell on his side. Clawing his way up the steps, his only goal was to get Mo. Rage blinded him to anything but wrapping his hands around Mo’s throat and squeezing the life from him before Mo could pull the trigger on the explosion.
“Get off! You can’t stop me!” Mo kicked out, catching Mark in the shoulder. Mark grabbed Mo’s foot and twisted it until Mo had to turn onto his stomach or get his ankle broken. Stumbling on the top step, Mark lost his grip on the shoe, but put his hand out, regaining his balance as he caught the handrail that angled down the steps.
Mo recovered, turned and pulled a gun from his pocket, aiming it at Mark. Instinctively, Mark froze, but only for an instant. He had no choice. Whether Mo shot him or the bus exploded, he was going to die. It made his next decision easy. He lunged across the short space separating them and grabbed Mo’s gun hand, pushing it down while trying to pull him from the driver’s seat at the same time.
“Give it up, you crazy bastard!” Mark yanked Mo from the seat but the backward force caused him to fall against the front of the bus. Something jammed into Mark’s lower back and he grunted as he pushed away, using the momentum to knock Mo into the passenger area of the bus, where he fell, his wrist hitting a barrel and knocking the gun from his hand.
The bus lurched and Mark tripped on one of the cables that crisscrossed the floor of the bus. Falling to one knee, he caught his balance on the chrome-covered pole just behind the driver’s seat. The gun was between him and Mo. They both made a dive for it at the same time, but Mo beat Mark by a hair.
The bus bumped again and Mark felt the vibration of the bus moving over pavement. It rolled and picked up speed. He ducked Mo’s incoming fist, receiving a glancing blow on his head, but it was the same place he’d been shot and he was blinded by a white burst of pain. He sagged, but shook it off as he slammed the heel of his hand up against Mo’s chin, feeling the other man’s jaw snap shut.
He wrenched the gun from Mo, but before he could bring it to bear, Mo lunged toward him. Mark toppled backward onto the driver’s seat and lost his grip on the gun. The bus continued moving forward and Mark tucked his legs against his chest and kicked out, catching Mo full in the abdomen and propelled him down into the stairwell. Still lying sideways on the seat, Mark grabbed the steering wheel, and was able to turn it enough to avoid a group of schoolchildren. His evasive maneuver sent the bus careening down the road. Mark clutched the wheel and tried to gain control while keeping an eye on Mo, who sat up and charged again.
Mark stiff-armed Mo in the throat, and the other man fell to his knees gagging. After a few seconds of recovery, he crashed into Mark’s shoulder, sending him hard against driver’s side wall. Mark reached for the steering wheel, pulled on it, attempting to take the corner. Beyond the corner, Lake Michigan dazzled on a few feet away. Sunlight glinted off the waves. Unable to make the full turn with only one hand and wedged sideways on the seat, Mark was unable to reach the brake. The bus hadn’t blown up yet, so Mo must not have been able to activate it. At least, he hoped that was the case. It could be on a timer, but the first dream had shown it exploding almost immediately. Mark had changed things and the bus hadn’t exploded. He had to trust that was the reason.
Hope flared. There was still a chance he could stop it from going into the lake. He braced as the front wheels hit the curb and popped the front end of the bus into the air. It landed with a bone-jarring crash, and he felt blood flood his mouth from biting his tongue. He tried to keep the steering wheel tight in his hand, but lost his grip when Mo punched him in the eye. Suddenly, the bus hung in mid-air while Mark’s stomach felt like it flew up to his mouth as the bus rolled across the narrow barrier, and into the frigid waters.
The plunge left him weightless for a fraction of a second before his head hit the roof of the bus. The impact threw Mark back down against the steering wheel, sending shooting pain through his ribs. The breath knocked from him, his head reeling, he lay draped over the wheel, stunned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mo had been tossed against the front of the bus and lay in a heap against the windshield, his head towards the door.
Water rushed into the bus, and already, the stairwell was full. Mark pushed off the steering wheel and grabbed the door lever. The pressure of the water already made opening the door difficult and he was only able to open it six inches before the bus shifted and tossed him towards the door. He slipped down the steps, and reached for the rail in a blind panic to stop his fall. His fingers brushed against cold denim. Mo’s leg. Mark’s momentum carried him past Mo, and he snagged Mo’s foot, slowing his fall, but in the process, spun the other man off the front of the bus to land with a splash in the water rapidly filling the front of the vehicle. Mark hit the door with his shoulder and felt something pop.
Mo floundered, attempted to stand, and shook water out of his eyes, sputtering. Mark watched through a red haze of pain as Mo stood with his head almost touching the ceiling, one foot braced on the dash, the other on the driver’s seat.
Turning to look out the back of the bus, Mo sighed, his body sagging. He faced Mark and said, “I failed. Again.”
His left arm hanging limp, Mark found the railing and pulled himself out of the stairwell, his feet slipping and sliding on the floor of the bus as he reached for the chrome support bar, but the metal was slippery and he couldn’t hang on. If Mo was looking for sympathy, he was searching in the wrong place. “You might plan on going down with your ship, but I don’t.”
Mo glared at Mark, then burst into laughter and reached down, catching Mark under the arm. Mark flinched, but all Mo did was haul him up to a standing position. Nodding, Mo said, “I guess it is more of a ship now.”
Confused at the gesture, Mark just clung to the pole and stared as he tried to catch his breath.
“We need to get out the back!” Mark pointed to the emergency exit.
Mo shook his head. “It won’t open. I welded it shut.”
The weight of the barrels in the back of the bus pulled that end down, making trying for the emergency exit a moot point. Panting, the water up to his waist, Mark looked for something to break a window out, but there was nothing. The gun. He tried to look through the water to find it, but with all the jostling, it was likely long gone. They had to get the side door open. He slogged past Mo, who still balanced on the wheel and bar, onl
y his feet in the water. He pushed the door lever. It gave another inch. “I think we can squeeze through!” Mark swiped water out of his eyes and tried to catch his breath. Knife-like pains in his ribs made taking a deep breath impossible.
Mo jumped off his perch, landing beside Mark. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s not going to matter very much if we get out. This stuff isn’t stable when it’s wet.”
Mark tried to see how far away from the pier the bus had floated. He’d felt the sensation of drifting as well as sinking, but he doubted they had gone far. If the bus exploded, at least the water would mute some of the explosion. Not that Mark would ever know if it had. He pushed the thought out of his mind. It hadn’t exploded yet, so there was still a chance. “Go!” He gave Mo a shove in the back, pushing him towards the opening. Mo resisted. “Get your ass out of the bus!”
Mo held firm against the push. “Why do you care if I get out?”
Mark didn’t have the breath to launch into a speech so he just locked onto Mo’s eyes, and gave another nudge. “I’m crazy, that’s why, now go!”
A light flickered in Mo’s eyes and he finally took the edge of the door and pushed it open wider, slipping out a second later. Mark tried to follow, but the bus shifted, sinking even deeper.
Floating now, his head against the roof, Mark reached up with his good arm and tried to push off the ceiling and dove into the water to reach the door. His ribs protested the deep breath, but he ignored the pain. He found the door in the murky water, but was unable to pull his body through it. The bus had come to rest against an old piling and it wedged against the door preventing it from opening far enough.
Three times, he popped back up to take another breath, only to return to the door, but he was unable to get through. He let out all of his pent-up air and finally squeezed through the small opening. Just as he did, the bus sank further into the lake bottom, and the door slid forward against the piling, trapping his foot in the door. With no breath left, darkness crawled into the edges of his vision. He bent and tried to wrench his foot free, but he had no leverage in the water. He twisted and turned, to no avail. His head felt ready to explode from his efforts to hold his breath. The surface was a silvery white, and so close, he could raise his arm and almost break through it.
A shadow crossed over him. Dimly, he felt the door shift a fraction, and hands tugged at his ankle, freeing his foot. He kicked hard, striving for his goal so close, but the breathing reflex triggered before he could reach it. His mouth opened as if of its own accord and water rushed in.
Chapter 27
“Mark!” Someone slapped his face. He turned his head away. “Come on, Mark! I can’t do this alone. You have to help me.”
Arms gripped his middle and jerked against his upper abdomen. Mark retched. The arms jerked once more, making him vomit again, and sending daggers of pain through his ribs. He groaned and sent an elbow against whoever was holding him. The arms released with a curse. Mark sank, water rushing over his face. He kicked, struggling to stay afloat, but it was the hand grabbing his jacket collar that kept his head above water.
“Mmm…” Awareness filtered in, and his limbs felt leaden. An arm circled his throat, tilting his head back, but Mark clawed at the arm, feeling as if it was going to choke him.
“Stop fighting me, Mark.”
The voice. He recognized it and knew he shouldn’t trust it, but he had no energy to fight. His teeth chattered and his body shook with cold. He tried to open his eyes, but sunlight stabbed into his pupils and he slammed them shut. Rhythmic tugging at his neck confused him, but he didn’t fight it anymore, allowing his body to float. Distant shouting penetrated his mind, but it was too far away. Not his concern. Something grabbed the collar of his jacket again and he moaned when his left arm was pulled up, sending pain lancing through him.
“Grab him and get back! All of you, get ba—”
The earth shook and Mark felt his body lifted as if on a giant wave of air. He landed on top of something soft. He shivered, unable to do more than lie there with his eyes closed. Water splattered all around him, surprising him since the sun had been shining so brightly before. When had it started raining?
* * *
Sirens cut through his head and Mark opened his eyes. A plastic mask hissed a stream of oxygen at his face, and he swiped at it, rebelling at the sensation of having his nose and mouth covered. The movement triggered a cough, and someone pulled Mark’s hand away from the mask.
“Leave it on.”
He turned his head to see a paramedic leaning over him and placing a stethoscope against Mark’s chest.
“Yeah, definitely leave it on. You sound pretty wet in there.”
Mark had no idea what he was talking about but, was too tired to argue. Trembling with fatigue and cold, he tried to piece together what had happened. After leaving the bus, it was all fuzzy, except he knew his foot had been trapped, but he vaguely recalled the relief when it had come loose. Someone had been there with him. The sunlight bothered his eyes and with nothing to see but the paramedic and blue sky, he closed them again.
A warm hand touched his right shoulder. “Mark?”
He turned his head. “Dad?” All he could make out was a dark shadow. “What happened?” A cough interrupted his questions, and he swore when the spasm passed. “Were you here? Where’s Jessie?” His eyes adjusted and he noticed his dad was all wet too.
“Slow down. She’s with Jim. They’re meeting with the Chicago Police and clearing your name. Jim told them that you had been working undercover for him the whole time, but he couldn’t divulge it and blow your cover.”
The tension that had been building over the last several days melted off him. He could go home again. “Sorry I got my stitches wet again.”
His dad laughed. “You have to stop giving your old man so many scares. I’m almost completely gray already, but I swear I felt what little pigment I had left in my hair drain right out when the bus blew up.”
“Blew up?” Mark struggled to sit up, but his dad maintained pressure on his shoulder, not allowing him the freedom to sit. “When did it blow up?” He pulled the mask off, not caring about the paramedic’s warning.
“Just after you got out of the water, but it did very little damage.”
Mark craned his head, hearing the activity behind him. “I don’t remember.” He rubbed his forehead in confusion. He should be able to remember something like that. “Mo said the bomb could be unstable in water…”
“Don’t say another word, Mark.” The tone of his father’s voice startled him.
“What? Why?”
His dad glanced at the paramedic, who had his stethoscope while getting Mark’s blood pressure, and then over his shoulder. “I just think you should tell Jim what you know first.”
“Know? I don’t know anything. Just before we escaped, Mo said—“
His dad snapped the mask back over Mark’s face and gave him his most stern look. He wanted to tell his dad that it had been a long time since that look had intimidated him, but instead, he gave a tired smile and closed his eyes again. “Fine.”
His dad didn’t speak again, but his hand remained on Mark’s shoulder as though on guard. Mark let his mind drift. He couldn’t ever remember being so exhausted. The background sounds faded.
He awoke with a start when the noise became more than background noise and centered above him. Four paramedics crouched, two on either side of him.
“Okay, on my count, let’s move him to the gurney.”
Before he knew what was happening, they used a blanket that had been under him and lifted him onto the cart. “Whoa. I don’t need a gurney.” Where was his dad? “All I need is a hot shower and some sleep.”
One paramedic placed a belt over Mark’s chest, but before any other belts could restrict him, he pushed on it, sliding it closer to his waist and sat up. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Jim Sheridan.”
The first paramedic he’d seen tried to calm him down,
but Mark was having none of it. “I know I don’t have to go if I don’t want to. I have rights.” Or did he? Was he under arrest?
“What’s going on?” Jim stopped beside the gurney. He was wet too, his clothes smudged with dirt. “Are you giving these guys a hard time, Mark?”
Mark struggled with the buckle of the strap. “I need you to tell them that I can’t just leave. I have to talk to you first. I have a ton of questions, and I also want you to take me to wherever you’re holding Mo so I can ask him why he came back to save me.” The buckle finally came undone and he swung his legs over the side of the cart. He was breathing hard but tried his best not to show it.
Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around at the paramedics gathered beside the gurney. “Could you guys give us a few minutes?”
After the medics stepped several feet away, Jim looked at Mark, and then out over the lake. He didn’t speak for so long, Mark wondered if he had forgotten whatever it was he had planned on saying. Sorrow shadowed his eyes when he finally focused on Mark again. “Mohommad didn’t make it.”
Shock hit him in the stomach, knocking the breath from him. “What? How? I was sure he freed my foot.” Mark searched his memory. Was he mistaken? He shook his head and scrubbed his hands down his face. No. He was sure. It had been Mo’s voice he’d heard. There was no mistaking that accent.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how he got you loose, Mark. I was sure you were both dead, but Mohommad surfaced for a moment. After taking a few breaths, he dove back under the water.” Jim made a circling motion with one hand. “One of the tour boats was coming around to try for a rescue, the one your dad was on, in fact, but when Mohommad went under, it was hard to pinpoint the location of the bus, and they stopped too far out. I thought Mohommad was escaping by trying to reach the docks over there.” Jim pointed to a pier a few hundred feet away. “But then he popped up again with you. He swam over to the ledge right there and we pulled you up just as the bus exploded. The shock wave threw Mohommad into the seawall head first.”
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 89
