by Steve Richer
“Actually, yes. So feel free to snoop around, I’ll be back later.”
The mercenary grabbed his laptop case, the backpack, his keys, and he left the apartment.
“That went well,” Jasmine said with false cheer. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.
Gervasi’s hand snaked into his Aloha shirt and came out with his pistol. Without a word, he stole the car keys from Jasmine’s hand and strode out of the apartment.
“What are you doing?” Jasmine shouted after him.
Too late. He was gone.
Chapter 47
Gervasi raced down the stairs. The thought of not being careful and twisting his ankle briefly crossed his mind. He didn’t care, he had to go fast. He was on a mission.
His hand squeezed the handgun so hard that the butt was starting to get slick with sweat. He conscientiously kept his index finger out of the trigger guard to avoid an accidental discharge. The last thing he needed was to give himself away.
At last, he was down the stairs. He traversed the small lobby, desperate to reach the exit. He yanked the door open and was assaulted by the sun bearing down on him, an uncomfortably hot blanket smothering him. His eyes squinted and he pulled on his aviator sunglasses.
He looked in the direction of the Land Cruiser and sure enough McSweeney was getting in. His target was 30 yards away. Gervasi raised his weapon to eye level and took a bead on the young man. His finger took out the slack on the trigger.
He was ready to fire the moment he had a clear shot.
“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.
The problem was there was no clear shot. McSweeney wasn’t stationary and the pedestrians were sizable obstacles. Nothing would be gained by firing at him. Not right now. This meant he had to haul ass to the Mitsubishi if he was to have another chance at this.
The SUV was parked two blocks away, he remembered. Without wasting a second, he tore himself away from his target and peeled off in the other direction, holstering his firearm on the way.
As he got into the car and turned on the ignition, Gervasi tried recalling the layout of the neighborhood. He had studied Katogan maps in his search for McSweeney and now more than ever he needed to recall how the streets were set up. The young man had a head start and he silently prayed he’d be able to catch up.
~ ~ ~ ~
Preston was still dumbfounded about these federal agents tracking him down to Africa. Thinking about them took his mind off the mission at hand and for that he hated them even more. He certainly didn’t need the distraction, not today.
Stopped on a red light, he took a deep breath and forced himself to forget about them. He had to stay focused. Just as he shifted into first gear, he caught some movement in the rearview mirror.
About a quarter mile back an SUV rounded a corner fast enough to lose a hubcap. Preston could see from the way the car drifted sideways around the corner that a maneuver involving the parking brake had been employed. This meant the driver knew what he was doing.
And this could only mean one thing: the federal agents were after him. The SUV got close enough for Preston to see there was only one person in it and it was that Gervasi man.
“What’s wrong with this guy?”
There was no time to inquire. Preston had a revolution to lead. He pressed on the gas. The chase was on.
~ ~ ~ ~
Jasmine didn’t quite know what to think. Sure, she had expected their suspect to deny the whole thing and maybe even try to avoid capture although they had no legal right to arrest him. Her plan had been to have the local authorities take care of it once it became unavoidable.
What she hadn’t expected was for Gervasi to pull out a gun and chase after McSweeney. That was something they hadn’t discussed and it took her by surprise. It was like he had done a personal offense against the ATF or something.
She quickly surveyed the apartment. There was nothing out of the ordinary. There were no documents lying around, no computers to offer any insight. Her law enforcement instinct told her she shouldn’t touch anything and then she realized she wasn’t officially here as a cop so it didn’t matter.
The moment she heard tires squealing, she headed to the nearest window and looked down. Not surprisingly, it was her Mitsubishi SUV speeding down the road. What was with Gervasi?
She pulled out her cell phone, oblivious to the long-distance charges. Then she froze.
“What’s his number?” she whispered.
She had never been a fan of her phone’s speed-dial feature. She had seen so many criminals being caught because of information found on a SIM card that she was herself a tad paranoid. She preferred to keep her numbers in a little address book. A little address book she had left in her hotel room.
In the end, she dialed another number she knew by heart.
“Hey Joe, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Still jetlagged, she wasn’t even sure in what time zone she was and had no idea what time it could be back home.
“Wake me?” Joe replied, his voice groggy. “Of course you didn’t wake me. Didn’t you hear? It’s hip not to sleep at two in the morning in California nowadays.”
“Sorry about that,” Jasmine offered genuinely. “When I’m back at the office I’ll let you drop all the doughnut crumbs you want on my desk.”
“Super, I’ll hold you to it.”
“Listen, I need a favor from you. You know that ATF guy I’m working with, Paul Gervasi? I lost his cell number and I need to call him. I think the number ends with 5-7 but I’m not sure. Could you look it up for me? I’ll hold.”
She looked out the window some more to see what was happening. The cars had disappeared.
Chapter 48
The little boy could barely believe his luck. First, there had been the candy and now he had his very own show to watch. Two 4x4s were speeding down the street in front of him, just like he’d seen in American movies, the few he’d seen anyway.
He peeled off the wrapper off a new Tootsie Roll, already soft in the blistering heat. He smiled as he popped the candy into his mouth, his eyes glued to the leading vehicle which only had a small head start in what was obviously a race.
For his part, Preston was severely pissed off. Looking at his watch he saw that the seconds were quickly ticking away, reducing his prep time for the operation. Moreover, he found himself doubling back into the city trying to lose that son of a bitch.
And the guy was good too. He easily kept up with him through the high speed and sharp turns. After months of living in Katoga, Preston now had a feel for the city. He knew about the layout, about the general sentiment of pedestrians and their disregard for traffic rules.
Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.
With an eye constantly darting to the rearview mirror, Preston found his cue, gauged his speed, and with a silent prayer he jerked the steering wheel to the left. The Toyota cut across the two lanes of incoming traffic and entered a narrower side street.
Here came the tricky part. He knew this street very well since it was home to a neighborhood market where cars rarely ventured. That was where he got all his fruit. The people were friendly and he hoped that nobody would get hurt.
He hit the brakes in front of a crowd of people totally unfazed by the motor vehicle encroaching on their territory. Yes, this was a roadblock and there was a good chance the federal agent would catch up to him. Preston however counted on his knowledge of the area to escape while the other guy would get bogged down.
Operating the steering wheel with only one hand while the other rhythmically pumped the horn, he maneuvered the car around the group of people only to find himself facing a stall advertising meat products with dead chickens hanging from a hole-riddled awning. Again, this was expected.
He looked back into the mirror and the other SUV had disappeared.
People had moved back into the street behind him. They were like water, taking available space and filling vacuums effortlessly. Preston counted on p
eople doing exactly that.
Slowly, he zigzagged through the street, going around stalls and families. A few people shouted what could only be curses but for the most part they remained oblivious. The thought of ditching the car and escaping on foot occurred to Preston.
In this confusion, he wouldn’t have trouble disappearing into the crowd and good luck to the ATF Special Agent with finding him again.
While this could serve his immediate goal of avoiding capture, it wouldn’t help him in the long run. He would have to abandon his Toyota and that would simply jeopardize the rest of his mission. He’d never get to his destination on time and that was unacceptable.
Instead, he continued the sluggish slalom peppered with horn blasts. After what seemed like an eternity, the Land Cruiser emerged from the gauntlet and joined the traffic on the next cross street.
Preston allowed himself a sigh of relief. He had survived the ordeal without injuring anyone.
He glanced at his watch again. He’d lost 10 minutes with this little stunt. He pushed on the gas pedal and climbed to 70 km per hour – he had to do the math in his head to figure he was doing a smidge under 45 mph. He was beginning to smile; the detour through the market might have swallowed his pursuer.
He was wrong.
Right then, the Mitsubishi came out of the market street. He cut off a truck while merging with the traffic, throwing caution to the wind.
The federal agent lurched ahead, going twice the legal speed. Before Preston could even think about outrunning him, Gervasi was already halfway to him.
“Jesus Christ!”
The time for niceties was over. Preston floored it. He didn’t even look at the speedometer anymore, certain he had already surpassed the legal limit. Hell, he was now straining his engine’s capacities. It didn’t matter, it was now a chase for life and death.
Where there was speed there was recklessness. Preston needed both his hands on the wheel so the horn was forgotten. Going now at over 70 mph, the boulevard they were on was much narrower.
Every time he swerved to avoid a pedestrian or cyclist, his heart jumped. He wanted to look into the mirrors to make sure he hadn’t hit anyone but there was no time.
Preston turned to the right and jumped a curb, cutting a corner and landing in a one-way street. He had to veer off quickly to avoid a head-on collision. Behind him, he saw that Gervasi was still on his tail, having himself made the turn and avoided the crash.
That fucker was good.
At the end of the road, Preston spun the wheel and got onto a wider avenue, the ATF guy still close on his tail. Preston almost lost control of the vehicle when encountering a dirt-filled pothole though he managed to straighten out.
The street grew wider and traffic thinned out. This was the opportunity that Gervasi needed. He went even faster and gained on Preston. They were almost even. Right then, the federal agent leveled his front bumper with Preston’s left rear fender.
“You wouldn’t, you cocksucker,” Preston nearly shouted inside his car.
He knew exactly what Gervasi had in mind. He had himself been taught the technique while in Special Forces. That’s how cops ended most car chases. You rammed into the rear fender and made the car spin out of control.
Anticipating his next move, Preston jerked the wheel just in time. A plan was brewing in his head and for a moment he wondered if he was desperate enough to use it.
And the answer was yes. He couldn’t keep driving around town like this forever. Gervasi was obviously a skilled driver and he’d be able to keep up a long time.
Fuck it, he thought. It was time for boldness.
Preston looked around and got a feel for the street. There were minimal pedestrians and no police officers. With his right hand on the parking brake and his left on the wheel, he initiated a controlled spin making sure to turn toward his left.
The plan worked.
Gervasi was caught by surprise and with the swirling car ahead of him and going to his left he had no choice but to jerk hard to the right to avoid crashing into McSweeney. But there was too much data to process at the same time.
While he was busy avoiding his front and his left he never stopped to consider what was happening on his right.
At this location was a row of parked cars, a series of rust buckets lined up against a concrete jersey barrier. It was too late when he saw it. His car crashed directly into the back of a Nissan pickup truck. His velocity was so strong that his front wheels climbed up the bed of the truck.
Chapter 49
After waiting on the line for nearly five minutes Jasmine realized that it was her cellular phone she was using. The concept of 2$-per-minute roaming fees flashed in her mind and she hung up.
She was getting tired of the Kenny G music anyway. She sent a text message to Joe for him to call her back once he got the information.
It was the middle of the night back in America so there was no telling when Joe would be able to find Gervasi’s phone number. The graveyard shift of any business was rarely the most efficient.
In the meantime, she tore herself from the window and returned to inspecting the apartment. Starting with the kitchen, she opened the cabinet doors and drawers. Everything she found was related to cooking. Then, she headed for the small living room. The low coffee table was usually where one kept his reading material.
In her experience, there was a lot you could tell about a person from what they read. It was often an insight into their lifestyle and hobbies. She had once tracked down the head of a human smuggling operation because she’d found a copy of a magazine catering to hairy women aficionados.
However, all she could find in the living room was yesterday’s edition of the local newspaper. She flipped through it to see if any articles had been clipped out or certain words highlighted. She couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary without further forensic analysis.
She was about to head for the bedroom when her phone came alive in her hand, the standard boring ring tone startling her. She answered.
“Joe?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“You have anything for me? Hold on, I’ll get something to write on.”
She sat on the edge of the couch and pulled out a disposable pen from her breast pocket. She pulled the old newspaper closer and prepared to write in the margin.
“Well, that won’t be necessary,” Joe declared. “I couldn’t find the number.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find it? You’re a Special Agent with the Immigration and Customs Enforcement and you can’t find a goddamn telephone number?”
She was losing her temper and hated herself for it. That was not what future Special Agents in Charge did under pressure.
~ ~ ~ ~
Preston was struggling to catch his breath. The maneuver – a controlled crash, basically – had knocked the wind out of him. He had expected it to happen but the violence of being shaken like a rag doll still surprised him.
Now everything hinged on timing. For this reason, he didn’t take the time to bend down to get his pack from the floorboards and retrieve his pistol. Doing so would slow him down and eliminate the element of surprise he was hoping to use to his advantage.
He got out of his car and carefully approached the wreck. Most of the traffic on the road had stopped and those who hadn’t steered clear to him, maneuvering around the two stopped cars. In any case no one was paying them any attention.
As Preston walked forward, taking long strides, he was planning his attack. He would come up from behind just like any traffic cop.
This Gervasi might have been a federal agent but he had no jurisdiction in Africa. This combined with the urgency of the situation, he had no intention of taking it easy on the man.
He would not necessarily use lethal force on the guy – if the crash hadn’t killed him already – though he would make certain Gervasi stayed out of commission. Out of his way.
Just as he got there, the muzzle of Gervasi’s pistol appeared throu
gh the open window and shots rang out.
Preston merely had time to leap to the side. Still, he managed to get closer as Gervasi corrected his aim, scampering up the length of the SUV.
Now Preston was close enough. As more bullets were fired, Preston shoved the weapon from Gervasi’s hand by driving away his wrist and digging his fingers into the Basilic vein. The gun tumbled to the ground as the young mercenary reached inside the car to punch the federal agent.
Gervasi deflected some hits as he made his way to the backseat, a process that was helped by gravity as the car was tilted back. The older man took hold of his HK G36C rifle but Preston reacted swiftly enough.
He moved the muzzle aside and then grabbed onto it. He pushed it back like a foosball rod and the stock hit Gervasi in the face.
Without losing the momentum, Preston fully wrenched the rifle away from its owner and struck Gervasi in the face again, this time completely knocking him out.
“Who the hell are you?” Preston asked just above a whisper, knowing the question was futile since the cop was out cold.
He glanced at his watch once more: 10:11 AM. He pocketed the Mitsubishi’s keys and then used Gervasi’s flexible nylon belt to tie his hands behind his back.
He made the belt go through one of the loops in his pants so the man wouldn’t be able to pass his hands around his butt. Doing one better, he used both the car’s front and rear safety belts to secure him to the vehicle.
At last, Preston walked back to his truck with the carbine and pistol which he picked up along the way. With this bullshit over with, it was time to lead a revolution.
~ ~ ~ ~
Jasmine got a grip on herself and managed to calm down. She pressed the phone to her ear as if it would help her better understand what Joe had just told her. As far as bombshells went, this one was a monster.
“You’re sure that the ATF has never had a Paul Gervasi working for them?”
“Jasmine,” Joe began. “It’s the middle of the night and I seriously have no intention of dragging this conversation longer than necessary. I’m just telling you what I’ve learned.”
