She was flushed. “I’m feeling this in the tips of my fingers and toes, too. It’s like a dark curtain.”
Cat seemed to be wracked by a sudden seizure, her body arching as if she’d been electrocuted.
“What the hell—”
“I don’t know what’s happening, Simon!”
Her breathing grew labored as her body convulsed violently in the bucket seat. In the car’s modern equivalent she would have been smacking her head against the roof, the dash, and the window post. As it was, the space barely contained her convulsions, and Simon did the only thing he could think of—he made a wide u-turn and roared as fast he could away from the site, threading a course back to the freeway.
Cat cried out, still convulsing beside him, her face ashen.
A set of huge lights appeared in his mirror suddenly, nearly blinding him. A large engine roared as metal and wheels moved at great speed seemingly mere inches off his bumper.
He pressed the accelerator and the car growled a response.
The vehicle behind them kept up, barely losing an inch.
Simon set his jaw grimly and grasped the wheel.
Chapter 45
On the Silver Star, Florida to New York
Somewhere in the Carolinas
They’d had a light meal in the lounge car, since Silver Star service didn’t include the full-blown dining car. Straker didn’t care—a couple sandwiches, chips, and packaged cookies were sufficient to slake their hunger, which in Straker’s case was dulled by his strange earlier thoughts.
Now sipping a beer, he considered when they should convert their bedroom unit for sleeping, rolling down the upper bunk. They were on the upper level of the sleeper car, with the narrow corridor outside their unit running to the tight staircase in the car’s center, which led to the lower level and exterior door. On the opposite end of the upper level were the smaller roomettes, a narrow corridor running between two rows.
Straker had reconned the whole sleeping car layout, nervous about not being able to spot danger coming.
The conductor and staff had eyed him strangely. A bit on the rough side he was, his clothes too wrinkled even for a vacationer, his hard body too dangerous in appearance, and his face too guarded. Eyes too hooded.
Bella had nailed it. “You look like a hitman from one of those action movies.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, smiling crookedly. He’d checked himself in the mirror of their tiny toilet enclosure: she was right. There was nothing to do about the wrinkles, and he was both tired and wary, so he’d splashed water on his face.
They whispered softly for a while, sharing tears over the deaths that had ruined their normal lives.
Straker said, “I’ve seen enough death back there. I didn’t expect to lose our—”
“Our family,” she finished.
“Our family,” he said, hanging his head.
Then they’d snuggled close, and Bella had kissed his neck, and he had nibbled her ear, and before they knew it they’d shucked half their clothes and made love right there on the bench seat. It was cramped and it was awkward, but it was the closeness they needed, the comfort they craved, and it turned out to be sweet and fulfilling.
If we turn off our minds, Straker thought, we could almost enjoy this adventure.
But the deaths, those stung. And their headlong rush either away from or into danger, that caused worry he couldn’t shake. Shortly after their last moans and quickened breaths had faded, Straker once again paced their small enclosure like a cage while Bella slept, tucked into the lower bunk.
They’d made a number of stops and were now in the middle of the night swinging through the Carolinas with far fewer stops. Richmond wasn’t until noon, with Washington, D.C. shortly afterwards at 3:00 PM. According to the timetable they’d reach New York’s Penn Station at about 7:00 PM.
Straker couldn’t sleep. Finally unwilling to dispel the sense that something was about to happen, he slipped out of their compartment after first peering down the dimly-lit corridor. Then he closed the door and stepped out into the hallway. The windows on one side showed the blurred countryside whispering by with the same rhythm as the wheels, almost lulling him to sleep as he stood.
A soft scrape near the staircase at the center of the car startled him. He turned, suddenly alert.
It was the uniformed conductor, swinging around the corner and heading his way. He was looking down and when he glanced up, his eyes locked on Straker’s.
Straker hadn’t been any sort of supernatural soldier back in the wars, far from it, but he acknowledged he’d developed something of a sixth sense.
The conductor’s presence in the middle of the night didn’t bother him in the least, but the fact that the conductor hesitated for a split-second, then continued on toward Straker did.
As did the fact that someone was walking behind the conductor, still obscured by the shadows around the top of the staircase. There was another soft scraping of shoe on metal stair and Straker was certain there were at least two others behind the conductor.
The hat shaded the conductor’s face, which was also bothersome.
But Straker couldn’t just pull the pistol from under his loose shirt and start blasting. Not without knowing more.
On the other hand, if they were dangerous then he was blowing an advantage. The corridor was narrow and he’d be shooting fish in the proverbial barrel, taking out their numerical advantage along with the tactical advantage of his having been awake right when they were about to strike.
Now the conductor was only a few yards away.
He turned to whisper to those behind him.
It was a stage-whisper and Straker clearly heard: “These are the sleeping quarters for the upper level.”
And Straker knew it was no conductor and they were not new passengers.
They had no baggage, and only a soldier—perhaps a foreigner—would say sleeping quarters instead of accommodations.
Straker turned away partly to allay their suspicions and also so he could reach under the shirt with his left hand. Being an ambidextrous shooter had its advantages.
He came up with the Colt .357 Magnum revolver just as the attackers—covers blown—unsheathed curved blades and charged at him down the corridor.
The silent attack almost freaked him out. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced during deployment.
He wanted to warn them to halt, give them a chance to abort. But he saw immediately it was no use. Their faces were grim, determined. Crazed.
He squeezed the Colt’s trigger.
Chapter 46
Westview Mall Construction Site (to other locations)
Queens, New York
Cat screamed when their bumper was struck bone-jarringly by the mysterious vehicle roaring behind them, but Simon wasn’t sure whether it was the bump from behind at speed or the convulsions. He was much too busy with his hands on the wheel. He had no way to know if the distance he was putting between them and the construction site would lessen the effects of the supernatural attack on her body, but he had to try.
And Simon was busy.
The car or truck behind them was being used like a weapon, its rack of extra fog lamps blinding enough that he couldn’t even discern what kind of vehicle it was, let alone who might be driving it. The windshield was black behind the blaring lights.
High enough to be a pick-up truck, but could have been a large sedan, or maybe an early Hummer, one with a roof-rack of spotlights.
Fortunately they’d only managed to bump the Mustang once, and relatively lightly, because Simon had given the car more gas and the McQueen mods—which were more extensive than those recorded in the annals of film lore—had proven sufficiently able to allow the lighter vehicle to surge ahead of the blunt weapon barreling on its tail.
He hoped his taillights were still intact…
Hard to replace those with originals!
They screamed down a dark street lined by professional build
ings and the occasional warehouse. There was no traffic—if there had been he would have been in trouble.
Flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror, where the bright lights reflected like lasers, Simon estimated that he was keeping the Mustang about ten feet ahead of the battering ram.
Enough, but barely.
He forced the car around a tight corner, immediately encountering other vehicles on the road.
Where the street had been relatively empty he’d easily swerved around occasional slow cars in his lane, but he was heading for the Clearview expressway now, and he sensed the pursuers didn’t like that.
He chuckled.
The Mustang roared up the ramp and angled south, the pursuing vehicle just feet behind. So close he still couldn’t identify it.
He was grateful for McQueen’s racing lessons. He needed everything he’d learned to stay ahead of the pursuers. They were on the expressway proper now.
In the seat beside him, Cat wasn’t convulsing, but her breathing was ragged.
“Are you all right?” He didn’t turn his head. He needed all his attention on the road, which came at them like the obstacle-laden strip in a video game. Blaring horns behind them indicated the level of anger and frustration they left in their wake.
“I’m better, I think,” she said hoarsely, “but I’m not sure what happened.”
“It must have been the site itself,” he said. “If it was an attack, shouldn’t my bracelet be scorching my wrist? I’m not sure what that means.”
“Me either. Unless…” She watched as he steered gracefully around slower cars, a smile on his face. Some swerved aside to avoid trouble and caused it—screeching of metal reaching their ears and then fading fast. He was nearly doubling freeway speed.
“Unless what?”
“Maybe a targeted attack…I’m not sure…”
“Hm.” He was smiling.
“You’re enjoying this!” she accused.
“Guilty. But just the driving.”
He gave the Mustang more gas and quickly it surged far ahead of the pursuers, though then the obstacles in their path came all the faster, requiring more steering. The ram vehicle seemed to fall away, and for the first time in a full minute Simon was able to see its entire silhouette in the mirror.
He relaxed just a bit, taking an extra breath.
And then there was a rumble and suddenly the vehicle gained speed again, until its lights filled the narrow glass.
The thunk of a slug splattering into the rear of the Mustang reached them before the gunshot.
Simon swore, gripping the wheel to keep the car from fishtailing or going into a roll.
Suddenly a huge semi-trailer joined the roadway from a short ramp and wobbled in their windshield, getting too close too fast.
Simon’s foot twitched on the accelerator.
Chapter 47
Westview Mall Construction Site (and environs)
Queens, New York
With inches to spare, Simon brought the accelerating car around the slower-moving semi, and then they were on a long curving stretch of road and leaving the truck behind…
But not their pursuers, who also roared around the lumbering vehicle.
“Hang on.” Simon gritted his teeth. “Sharp turn coming.”
They hit the cloverleaf like a missile, the Mustang still cornering ably, and seemingly in seconds they were barreling west on the Long Island Expressway.
Unfortunately their tail remained tacked onto the bumper even at speed. Whoever was driving the chase vehicle was good.
But Simon was good, too.
He’d been driving fast cars fast many decades longer than all the crazed followers combined.
Simon twitched the wheel every few seconds in case they tried shooting again, keeping them off-balance as he continued avoiding the rest of the traffic. Cars and SUVs were blurs that entered his field of vision and left it again almost as quickly, their angry horns fading into the roaring of the pursuer’s straining engine.
Thankfully, the Mustang’s muscular old engine was not straining.
Simon held back, forcing the car to wait, trying to hoard that final spurt if needed at the end.
He sensed Cat sitting more carefully next to him, almost as if her weight and position had some bearing on his chances of evasion. He flicked his eyes over them both. They were strapped in securely. The car had not come with factory seat belts, but someone along the way to the filming of Bullitt had added full belts to protect their star. McQueen had, of course, shunned them.
They roared along, the neighborhoods of lower Queens flashing past, with the pursuer’s bright lights always large in his mirrors. He’d kept them from any accurate shooting by providing a constantly sideways-edging target, zig-zagging as much as the road and the other traffic allowed, but as soon as they pulled off he knew they’d be bumped and gunfire would rake the rear of his beloved car.
They were approaching the cloverleaf between two sprawling cemeteries and Simon knew the East River would rise up soon after that.
He waited until the very last possible second then rocketed off the freeway via ramp. Behind him, the vehicle corrected but too late and a huge shower of sparks lit the night like a comet’s tail as they scraped the paint and mirror off its side.
Simon smiled.
Better you than me.
Tunnel or bridge?
He swung over to head farther north, to the bridge.
Chapter 48
Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge approach
Queens, New York
Simon flew off the ramp and led the SUV around the quiet streets, onto Hunters Point Avenue/49th Street, across a vast black chasm over a wide swatch of railroad tracks, and then steering between industrial buildings and warehouses.
The SUV hung back at first, watching, but then crept up on their bumper again.
“Think I made a mistake,” Simon muttered. “There’s nobody around, so they can try harder to run us off the road here.”
He stayed on Hunters Point until he could turn right onto 11th Street, careening crazily around the corner with the SUV right behind.
“Damn it, they’re like glue.”
Then he heard a soft musical voice from beside him, chanting in a centuries-old language he barely remembered.
He spared a glance away from the road—the needle hovered near ninety. He zig-zagged to keep both the SUV’s driver and shooter off-balance. His irregular twitching of the wheel was clearly frustrating the chasing driver, whose response was to speed up, trying to bump the Mustang’s rear.
Not going to happen. Simon increased pressure on the accelerator too, but the speed made the twitching more consequential and he feared they’d wrap themselves around a lamp post or parked vehicle, or jump the curb and take out a warehouse wall.
The low chanting from the passenger seat increased in volume and intensity.
Cat was bringing to bear some of her depleted strength, and the timing was just right. Because Simon was running out of time and space. He needed to backtrack to jump on the square ramp leading to the bridge, and they would lose much of their speed in order to avoid flying off the road and into the concrete abutments.
“Cat?” He kept his voice low, to not interrupt.
She chanted with her eyes closed, hands open palms up, fingers twitching.
Whatever she was doing had to work soon.
He twitched the wheel back and forth.
They were out of time.
He turned hard right, tires screeching onto Queens Plaza South, careened under the bridge overpass and swung around Silvercup Studios, its iconic neon sign a blur as he sped past at almost a hundred, which was thirty too fast. He braked lightly for the right angle turn coming up, feeling the SUV’s hot breath on his back like some kind of marauding dinosaur.
And then they were around the corner, heading for one more right angle that would lead them to the bridge’s lower level, but he feared they’d be caught first…
A flick of h
is eyes across the mirror: the SUV missed the turn they’d just taken and smashed head-on into the concrete barrier bordering the square ramp, crashing through it with a tremendous roar. Its mangled remains flew off like a falling meteorite dragging sparks and fire and smoke and the faint echo of screams behind it.
“What the—?”
He was forced to stand on the brake and turn the wheel hard to make the next turn of the ramp, almost rolling the car onto the two right-side wheels.
Then he saw a gout of flame flicker briefly in his mirrors as the SUV hit the ground or a building.
Simon made the last turn and swung onto the bridge’s almost empty lower level and in mere moments they were flying over a darkened Roosevelt Island toward the Manhattan skyline, which was anything but dark.
“Whatever you did back there, thanks,” Simon said after catching his breath.
Cat was gasping, her hands trembling. Her combined efforts against the attack at the crime scene and now evading their pursuers had taken their toll.
“I wasn’t sure it would work, but I just blurred their reality a little…” she whispered, hoarsely. “They didn’t see that ninety degree turn. All they saw was straight road ahead.”
Simon nodded. “Damn good thinking.”
“Do you think I killed them all?”
“I hope so.” He chuckled. “We’re not going back to check. But we’d better request another clean-up.”
She nodded.
“And I need a goddamn drink,” he added.
Chapter 49
Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi
Vatican City, Rome
Father Ferro was briefed by director Martin and two others from the council. His squadron commander confirmed that Giustino was indefinitely attached to this VSS Segretissimo op under Martin’s direct command.
THE JUDAS HIT Page 14
