by Bob DeMoss
“I’m . . . no, I’m not. I’m in my car. He’s alone, or was when I left him a minute ago.” This time, when Jodi looked back, the doors of the Suburban were closed. The monster truck was moving toward her, slow yet as ominous as a fiery lava flow.
“What is your name?”
Jodi hesitated. My name? How about his?
The operator spoke again. “I repeat, what is your name? Are you a relative?”
“Listen, I really can’t talk right now. Just send help, and fast! Please?” Jodi hung up, shaking. She turned left and noticed the Suburban did the same thing about half a block behind her. Obviously, these guys had shifted their attention from Reverend Bud to her. But why? Did they know about the pictures in her pocket? Probably not. So why the sudden interest? And why did they just hang back instead of zooming up on her?
She placed her cellphone on her lap and grabbed the wheel with both hands. She had to think. She had to clear away the traffic jam of ideas inside her head. Most of all, she needed to get a grip. She was definitely no match for these characters, and she wasn’t about to outrun them in her pint-size car.
Half in a panic, the only person she knew who might be capable of handling them was Phil Meyer. She’d call him. As an ex-Navy Seal, he’d know what to do—that is, if he was home.
Without warning, a large yellow, red, and green beach ball rolled into the street several yards in front of her. Jodi hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. As she did, her cellphone slipped off her lap and crashed to the floor near the brake pedal. “Oh . . . great!”
Jodi watched the ball roll completely across the street. She started to drive again, propelled by the sight of the Russians on her tail, when several kids, without looking, darted into her path in a mad scramble for the ball.
“Watch out!!” Jodi screamed as she slammed the brakes again, this time more forcefully to avoid the children. As her foot hammered the pedal, she heard a cracking sound.
Her heart jumped.
She was afraid to look over the hood of her car.
Dear Jesus, did I hit them? she wondered. For a long minute, time vaporized as Jodi’s emotions were stretched between the drama unfolding in front of her and, at the same time, behind her. To her surprise, there were no screams. There was no crying. And a minute later, the kids ran back to the sidewalk, ball in hand. Their giggles filled the air.
Thankful nobody was hurt. Jodi exhaled and then reached down for her phone. When she picked it up, she discovered her heel had mashed it. Her heart sank.
“Now what?” she said out loud with one eye trained on the black Suburban closing in behind her. How was she going to call Phil? How was she going to call anybody.
“What a dork!”
“Zhenya, too near,” Illya said, chewing on a sunflower seed in the front passenger seat of the Suburban. “Give girl space.”
Illya consulted an object in his hand. It was a Global Positioning Satellite display the size of a deck of playing cards. He was puzzled. The GPS tracked several devices, including Reverend Bud’s cellphone. They had gone to teach Reverend Bud a lesson in loyalty and, until now, the GPS indicated he was at home. But, shortly after they arrived, the signal moved away from his address.
Illya held a set of high-powered binoculars to his eyes. He could see the label sticking up from the back of Jodi’s shirt, although he didn’t know who she was.
Illya lowered the binoculars. “I say you what I think,” Illya said, spitting out the shell.
Zhenya grunted.
“I say Comrade Bud lay down in backseat, da?”
“Da.”
Illya consulted the GPS again and then shook his head, changing his mind. “Perhaps no. Perhaps trunk?”
“Da.” Zhenya reached inside his coat pocket for a cigarette. “Smoke?”
“Nyet.” Illya waved him off and then raised the field glasses to his face.
Zhenya lit up.
“So, blondie, you going where now?” Illya said to himself.
More than anything, Jodi wanted to tap her heels together three times and wake up behind the controls of an armored tank. Or, better yet, in her bed, discovering this was all just a bad dream. She settled for the option of stepping on the gas pedal.
The engine whined. It strained and started to sputter like a lawn mower in wet grass, followed by a chiming sound.
What’s up with that? she wondered. Jodi scanned the dash and froze at the sight of the now illuminated, miniature orange gas pump in the lower right-hand corner of the instrument panel.
The idiot light signaled she was almost out of gas.
“You’ve probably got a little more than one gallon left,” her dad had said the last time this happened. “At least that’s my best estimate,” she recalled him saying.
Jodi pounded the steering wheel with both hands in unison. “So that’s the way it’s gotta be? Huh, God?” Jodi couldn’t stop the sudden flow of tears from rolling down her cheeks.
“I mean . . . for all I know, my friend Kat’s dying in a hospital at this very second. And, Reverend Bud’s probably dying back there somewhere. That kid, Todd, he’s already dead. And, gee whiz . . . I’m only running for my life—with a car that’s outta gas. I really need a break here.”
Jodi wiped away the tears with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know, God. Maybe I should pull over, promise to keep my big mouth shut, and just give those Russians my photos . . . is that what you want?” Jodi sniffled and then dabbed at her eyes with a leftover napkin she had plucked out of the glove compartment.
All this time she had been convinced that God wanted her to expose Dr. Blackstone and the creeps who covered up the death of Todd Rice and sold the lethal drugs to Kat. But the way things were going, she was powerless to get away from people who probably wanted her dead, too.
In the silence, she heard a voice inside her head whisper, “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
“Fine,” she said aloud. “I believe you, Jesus—so, right now would be a perfect time for a miracle . . . maybe along the lines of parting the Red Sea. Unless, of course, while I surrender the photos to the Russians, you want me to give them Reverend Bud’s phone with the secret message, too—”
Her heart leaped. Why didn’t I think of that before? she wondered. She still had Reverend Bud’s cellphone in her left pants pocket. The revelation lifted her spirits. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. She smiled for the first time that she could remember that day.
Jodi carefully withdrew the phone and flipped it open while keeping her eyes on the road. At first she wondered, Who used flip phones these days? Maybe Reverend Bud wasn’t technologically savvy. That’s when she stole a look at the phone and noticed it was a sophisticated, high-end Motorola RAZR folding smartphone model.
Jodi turned left onto Cottman Avenue and headed northwest. The Suburban did the same. She’d reach Roosevelt Boulevard in seven blocks and hoped to lose her tail in the four lanes of traffic. She dialed the number for information. A robotic, mechanical-sounding voice asked: “What listing?”
“Phil Meyer.” Jodi spoke his name with deliberate diction, hoping the computer voice system would recognize the name.
“What city?”
“Huntingdon Valley,” she said.
The machine provided the number and then added: “I can connect you for a charge of ninety-five cents. Press the pound key to accept this option.”
She pressed pound, and then whispered a prayer he’d be home.
“Connecting,” Mr. Computer Voice said.
“Hello? It’s Rosie . . .”
“Hey Mrs. Meyer—” Jodi started to say, but was forced to stop.
“We’re not available right now. Kindly leave a message at the beep and one of us will get back to you. Have a pleasant day!”
Jodi was on the verge of tears again. She was so close, yet so far. The tone blasted in her ear. She started to speak, but her throat was dry. She cleared her throat. “Hey, Phil, it’s Jodi Adams. I
really, really needed to talk with you right now. Gosh, I wish you were there. I just don’t know what to do! See, where do I even start—”
“Try the beginning,” she heard Phil say.
“Tell me I’m dreaming!” Jodi was elated.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I was outside grilling steaks. Didn’t hear the phone ring. What’s up? You okay?”
“Things aren’t good, Phil. I . . . I’m so scared—”
“Take a deep breath, Jodi.”
She did.
“Now, take it slow.” She could tell Phil was listening intently. She had never met a man so focused and so clearheaded in a crisis. It felt reassuring to hear his voice.
“Okay. See, I’ve got a guy tailing me at this very second. My car is almost out of gas. I know some things, about a dead boy who’s missing. He’s Todd Rice. It’s all kinda connected to the Pet Vet Wellness Center.”
“I know the place.” Phil’s voice remained calm. “Rosie and I have take our Bearded Collie there for checkups and teeth cleanings.” Phil shared the extra details to help calm her down.
“Well, that’s where his body is, oh, and I’ve got photos to prove everything. Which is why I think I’m being tailed by a mean-looking, black behemoth of a truck or something with dark, tinted windows. Plus, Kat’s in the hospital—”
“Jodi, I want you to do exactly what I tell you.”
“But what if—”
“Stop talking and listen,” Phil said, his tone was firm, not hostile. “You’re gonna make it, Jodi. You can do this. Just like how you handled the houseboat situation, right?”
Somehow the thought of what she’d gone through two months ago wasn’t real comforting at the moment. “Sure . . . right. So you believe me, then?”
“You, Jodi, of all people, wouldn’t lie. Where are you now?” Phil asked.
“I think a few blocks away from Route 1.” She stole another look behind her.
“Roosevelt Boulevard. Good. You’re probably fifteen minutes away. Now, turn on your high beams.”
Jodi did as instructed. “Okay, now what?”
“I want you to drive as quickly and as safely as possible to the parking lot across the street from the Pet Vet. Do you know the one?”
“I think so, the . . . uh, where that flower shop is, right?”
“Exactly. Don’t stop for any reason until you get there.”
“Well, I hadn’t planned on any shopping,” she said with a nervous laugh. “What about red lights?”
“Run ’em!”
“What?” Jodi pressed the phone against her ear. “I thought you said to run them?” Jodi wasn’t liking the sound of this.
“I did. Of course, slow down. Do it safely. Tap your horn as you go. I just don’t want you to be a sitting target. Got it?”
“I hear you.” She glanced in her mirror. “Hey, Phil, the Suburban is maybe two cars back.”
“Just keep moving. When you get to Roosevelt, take the center three lanes. There’ll be less of a chance for a delay. Stay focused and get to that flower shop. I’ll contact Lieutenant Jim Johnson,” Phil said. “I’ll tell him what you’ve told me. He’ll be waiting in that spot with several officers. Pull your car up next to them and wait until he says you can come out.”
“But Phil, the police have been paid off. Reverend Bud said so himself—” Jodi felt the sweat dampening her forehead.
“Not this man. I’d bet my life on it,” Phil said with conviction. “He’s an ex-Seal. Different platoon. But we’ve worked together. I’ve known him for years. You’ll be in good hands. And, I’ll get there as soon as I can, okay?”
“That’d be awesome!”
“With a little luck,” Phil said, “you won’t run out of gas.”
Luck? It’d be a miracle, Jodi thought.
26
Saturday 2:36 PM
“This had better be good,” Dr. Blackstone said, dressed in green scrubs, his cellphone flattened against his ear. He stood five feet away from the operating table in the basement level of the Pet Vet Wellness Center. Disposable yellow-paper booties covered his three-hundred-dollar loafers. He’d had to dispose of his blood-soaked rubber gloves before answering.
“Say me this, Comrade,” Illya said. “Why think blonde girl goes with longhaired friend?”
Dr. Blackstone scratched the back of his head. “I’m in the middle of a procedure,” he said. “I’ve got three donors to do before tonight. I don’t have time for your riddles. Try speaking English—”
Dr. Blackstone heard Illya spit. “Me thinks good doctor should careful with words he speaks,” Illya said.
“And I think you,” Dr. Blackstone snapped back, “should get to the point of this interruption.” He crossed his arms as he waited for a response, and his jaw ground his teeth. From the background noise in the cellphone, he assumed Illya and Zhenya were in traffic. “Where are you?”
After a prolonged pause, Illya said, “We follow blonde girl. Close now to Philmont Street.”
Dr. Blackstone’s jaw stopped grinding. His brow tensed.
Illya continued. “She thinks smart to hiding longhaired man in trunk. You know this girl?”
Dr. Blackstone pictured her face. “Jodi,” he said with contempt. His eyes narrowed as the pieces of a puzzle refused to fit together. He blew out a hot breath.
When his secretary returned from the InstyFoto Mart empty-handed, she figured Reverend Bud must have taken the photos. Especially in light of the clerk’s comment that a longhaired man already picked them up. But what interest would Reverend Bud have in them? Dr. Blackstone wasn’t sure.
What was Reverend Bud up to?
The question had haunted Dr. Blackstone all afternoon. Maybe this had to do with his last conversation with Reverend Bud, who seemed dead serious about walking away from their arrangement. And, what was Jodi doing with Reverend Bud? If that little Crusader Rabbit do-gooder didn’t get the hint to back off after the spider treatment, then Dr. Blackstone would see to it that she got the message this time.
“Say me what you want,” Illya said.
“I want her out of the picture,” Dr. Blackstone barked. “Do you understand me? Smash her car. Push her off the road.” He waved his arms like a wild man as he spoke. “Then, bring the reverend to me, got it?”
“J-yes. How you say, swell idea? We kill two birds with one rock,” Illya said with a wicked chuckle.
Dr. Blackstone gritted his teeth. “You mean, with one stone.”
It was the not knowing that created the most anxiety for Jodi. At the moment, she had been driven crazy not knowing why the ugly, testosterone-charged black beast still followed her every move. Never too close, and never too far. While it wasn’t exactly a high-speed car chase, the truck stuck to her like a bad cold.
She’d turn. They’d turn.
She’d slow. They’d slow.
She’d run a light, they’d do the same.
After the first time she ran a red light and they followed, it erased any question in her mind that they were on her tail.
But why? What did they want with her? And what were they waiting for? What kind of cat-and-mouse game was this?
Oddly, her cat, Houdini, came to mind. Houdini, she recalled, liked to trap a mouse and then play with it for an hour before going in for the final kill. Was that the deal? she wondered.
Jodi checked her watch. Based on the time, and on the fact that she had just turned onto Philmont Avenue, she figured she was less than five or six minutes from the parking lot where she hoped Phil and a hundred storm troopers were waiting.
Her heart leaped.
The end really was in sight.
For an instant, she considered listening to the message Reverend Bud had recorded. She’d want to provide the police with all the details. Just as quickly as the idea popped into her mind, she dismissed it. She was all thumbs when it came to electronic gadgets. I’d probably erase it, she thought.
It had been a long minute since Jodi last check
ed her mirror.
She glanced back and gasped.
The Suburban’s massive, black steel winch, like a can opener, was poised to rip the lid off her trunk. She gritted her teeth and braced for the impact. Her right foot jammed the accelerator into the floor mat as far as it would go.
Jodi thought she heard the Suburban snort like an angry bull. The first hit knocked the wind out of her. Her shoulder harness strained against the force of her body, almost displacing her left shoulder. Her head snapped back against the headrest.
“Oh, Jesus!”
She wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to keep from careening off the narrow, two-lane road. She overcompensated in the process. The Altima swerved left across the double yellow line—then right—then left again as she struggled to regain control; the tires burned their fingerprints into the pavement.
“Oh, my Jesus . . . help!”
She managed to straighten out the car and then stole a look in her rearview mirror. The truck was gone. At the same time that she realized she was no longer being followed, she felt the sunlight on her left disappear.
Jodi snapped her head around. Blackness filled her view. The Suburban’s four-inch, side-mounted exhaust pipes snarled like a rabid dog at her side. She couldn’t believe they were driving in the lane reserved for oncoming traffic.
Those guys are crazy, she thought. We’re all gonna die!
The oversize tires from the SUV clutched the asphalt road with such intensity, Jodi could hear the pavement roar in protest. The Russians swerved to sideswipe her car. Jodi, hands drenched with sweat, yanked the wheel to avoid contact.
The Russians swerved again, this time taking a larger bite out of the space between them. The sick sound of metal against metal filled the air. Jodi was knocked sharply to her right from the impact on the left. A knifelike blast of pain pierced her side as her seat belt dug into her rib cage.
Jodi’s Altima, no longer able to maintain its spot, straddled the road and the unpaved shoulder three inches below it. Gravel kicked up against the bottom of her car. Dust billowed out from underneath, leaving a cloud of dirt in her wake.
