by David Archer
“Well, I'm not so sure it's good news, but I've got something. I have located your missing package, and its deliveryman, but it appears to me that you've got a problem somewhere at your end. The delivery was rerouted by whoever originally sent the package on its way, and the deliveryman was told to wait for new instructions.”
Ingersoll was silent for several seconds. “Mr. Prichard, do you have reason to believe this is actually true?”
“I'm afraid I do, sir. I'm here with the deliveryman now, who assures me your package is present and intact, and he's been waiting here for those new instructions for several days. Long enough that even he's begun to get suspicious, but he didn't know whom to call.”
More silence for another ten seconds. “I see. Well, it appears that I do have a problem. However, you have done your job, so if you wish you can walk away now and I'll forward the additional fee I mentioned in my letter—but if you're willing, I think I could stand to employ you a bit longer.”
Sam smiled. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“I should like for that deliveryman to return to Denver safely, and I suspect that there may be someone who is not going to want that to happen, don't you? I'm afraid I made an error in judgment, Mr. Prichard, and that I must now confess it to you; the person of whom we are speaking was made aware of our arrangement, and has almost certainly been following you. I think that if you accept this new assignment, you should probably take that deliveryman and his package and vacate your location within the next few minutes.”
Sam caught on instantly; whoever had sent Rice on this wild mission was almost certainly following him, and most likely was watching the hotel at that moment. They'd be out to get Rice and his package, and wouldn't care who got in the way.
“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “If this is the person who sent the original shipment, then why wouldn't he know where the deliveryman is? He called him by phone to tell him to divert, but he's never called him back. Are you sure we're talking about the same one?”
“I'm afraid we are, and the reason your deliveryman was lost is very simple; the phone the deliveryman has is one of thousands that we use and then throw away once they've served their purpose. It was programmed for this one shipment only, and its number entered into only the phone of the person sending it out. Unfortunately, that phone suffered a mishap the other evening, and fell into a bathtub. By the time it was dried out, its memory was completely wiped, and the shipper no longer has the deliveryman's number. He does, however, know what you are driving, and he and his helpers have been following you since you left yesterday morning. Once again, Mr. Prichard, I would not waste any time in getting away from where you are. Good luck.”
The line went dead. Sam looked at Rice and knew that he didn't have time to explain everything.
“Where is the package, Mr. Rice?” he demanded. He'd already made such an impression that Rice didn't hesitate.
“I told you, I never let it out of my sight,” Rice said. “It's right here!” He reached into a pocket and produced a small, square bottle.
Sam stared. “That's it? What on earth is in it?”
Rice shrugged his shoulders. “I don't have a clue, but whatever it is, it must be pretty strong stuff. I mean, they'd have to cut it thousands of times to do any good with it, right?”
Sam reached out and took the bottle from Rice's hand and just looked at it for a moment. The top was sealed with some sort of glue-like substance. “You haven't tried to open it, have you?”
“Lord, No!” Rice said. “That's one of the things they told me. It's so strong that if I even smell it, it would probably kill me! I'm not about to touch that cap!”
Sam hefted it. It wasn't glass, he thought, but more of a heavy plastic. If it was that concentrated, that was probably a good thing. He handed it back to Rice.
“Okay, here's the deal. It looks to me like someone set you up. The guy who sent you out with this stuff is also the one who wanted you to take it and hide, but then he dropped his phone into the tub and lost your number. When I came along and was able to track your daughter to them, the guy I talked to decided to hire me to try to find you. The one who sent you out, however, he may have followed me after all, and if so, then he’s probably gonna try to kill you and take that from you. My pal on the phone has asked me to try to keep you alive and get you back to Denver with it. The only way I can do that is if we leave, like right now.”
Rice stared at him. “Um—okay, let me go get my...”
“No, I mean, we leave right now! My car is parked right outside that window, and that's how we're going out of here. We don't have time for you to go get anything, let's go, now!” He moved past Rice and threw open the window, then kicked the screen off of it. He stuck his head out and looked around for a moment, didn't see anyone watching, and said, “Come on, let's go,” before climbing over the sill and stepping onto the grass. Three quick steps took him to the drivers' door of the Vette, and Rice was suddenly at the passenger door.
Sam unlocked the driver's door and got in, then reached across and popped open the passenger door. Rice slid into the seat, and Sam told him to get low and stay that way, then backed out of his parking spot and headed toward the main street out in front of the place. He reached down and took the Glock from its holster and laid it in his lap for safety, then turned left and headed north on US 65.
He glanced into the rear-view mirror and started to congratulate himself on making a clean escape, but then he saw two cars come fishtailing out of the hotel's parking lot. “They've seen us,” he said, and downshifted the Vette into second gear, flooring it. The car took off like a rocket, and he started weaving in and out of traffic like a race driver.
The cars behind him were new Mustangs, and were every bit as powerful as the Vette, he was sure. Sam could only hope he was the better driver, and that his car was better suited to the curvy roads of northwest Arkansas. When he got to the turnoff for 412, he slammed the Vette into it at more than a hundred miles an hour, taking the curving ramp at twice the speed it was built for.
The Mustangs were right behind him, though, and they were not having any trouble keeping up as he roared up the four-lane highway. He remembered that there was a small town ahead, where the road took a sharp turn to the left, and hoped he could gain some distance on them by the time they got there.
The Vette was fast and powerful, but the other cars were newer and had more advanced components that gave them handling and power that didn't exist in sixty-nine. Fortunately, they also had computerized governors that limited their top speed, despite that power. Sam pushed the Vette as hard as he could, red-lining the tachometer as he tried for just a little more power from the big aluminum V8. He was slamming the gears up and down, doing everything he could to gain just a little more advantage in this game of automotive cat and mouse. By the time he got close to the next town, the Mustangs were barely visible in the mirrors.
The sign said “Speed Zone Ahead,” and he came flying into the tiny town of Alpena, Arkansas. A post office, two gas stations and a guy who carved logs into statues with a chain saw were the only claims the town had to being noticeable, and he flew past all of them at close to a hundred and fifty. The road turned left, and he had to slow down, but he still managed to drift the turn at more than seventy miles an hour. He was over the first hill by the time the Mustangs made it to the intersection, and had opened the throttle up wide.
He grabbed his phone and called Indie.
“Hello,” she said, and he started talking.
“Indie, I've got troubles! The whole thing’s been a setup, but somehow I've come down on the right side of it all. I've got bad guys on my tail, chasing me right now. They want to kill Rice and take what he's got, and they'll kill me, too, if they catch us! I need back roads, a way to lose the cars chasing us, and I don't have lots of time. What can you do?”
“Oh, God, Sam, let me get on the computer! Where are you now?”
“I'm on US 412, about two miles
west of Alpena, Arkansas! I need a route that'll get me off this road and get me back to Denver.”
“I'm lookin', I'm lookin', hang on! Okay, about nine miles ahead, you've got a road going north, it's State Highway 103. If you take that right turn, then go straight when you come to a little town called Rudd, that's a shortcut to another road, Highway 21. That'll take you to Berryville, and there's a dozen ways out of there. Those roads have lots of curves, be careful!”
Sam laughed. “Don't worry, Babe,” he said, “this car was built for curves. I can handle it! I'll call you later, when I'm on a safer road!”
He ended the call and pushed the Vette, going for every bit of power he could pull out of it to keep distance between him and the two Mustangs. He told his phone to call up GPS and find the way to Berryville, and a moment later it told him he'd be turning right in two miles.
He glanced over at Rice and saw that the man was white as a sheet. He was holding onto the door with one hand and the console with the other, but his face was ashen. “Just hang on, man, I'll get you home safe!” Sam yelled over the sound of the engine and the wind.
Rice nodded and tried to grin, but didn't quite make it.
Sam slid the car into the turn for 103, and poured the power back on as he raced up the curvy road. Chicken houses and farms flashed by on either side, and then he came into a tiny little town. The main road turned hard to the right, but there was another road that went straight like Indie had said, and Sam took it, flying over a small hump in the road and then straightening out as he followed the asphalt into the hills.
He made it to Highway 21, and was sure that he'd lost the Mustangs, so he turned right and headed into Berryville. The old town was not very big, but he was able to find a way up through Missouri that would help them avoid the ones who were after them. When he was well on the way and feeling safe for the moment, he called Ingersoll again.
“Okay,” he said, “I've got Rice and the package, and we're on the road. Who is it that's trying to kill us, and what the heck is this thing that can be so small and still so valuable?”
“Mr. Prichard, there are some things I'm prepared to tell you, and some that I am not. For now, you'll have to let me decide what things you need to know. The package is not one of those things. As for the person after you, I'm afraid you've identified a rebellion within our ranks, and one of our top people seems to have decided to split with us. That is who you're dealing with, but his identity is not going to do you any good. If you make it back here, then I shall be willing to meet with you and discuss some of this information, but not over the telephone. Once again, I wish you good luck, Mr. Prichard. Oh, and please tell Mr. Rice that he is not in any danger from the actual Company—provided he survives the current situation.”
The line went dead again. “Damn, I hate when he does that! Just hangs up without telling me squat!”
“They're all like that,” Rice said. “They only tell you what they want you to know, nothing else.”
Sam looked over at him. “How many have you talked to?”
“Well, only one on the phone,” he said, “but I've talked to all three of them by email. At least, I think I have. You can't really tell, that way.”
“You say there's three of them? How do you know that?”
“Well, there's three districts, that's all I know for sure, so it makes sense there's only three district managers, right? That's what I mean by all three of them. I don't know how many there are over the district managers.”
Sam shook his head. The Company seemed to be set up like a normal business in some ways, but it was obviously a criminal organization, and apparently ruthless. Right at the moment, all he wanted to do was survive another day. His deal with Ingersoll meant that he couldn't turn them all in, but if he could help cause the rift between the apparent leaders to get wider, then there might be an internal collapse of their system, something that would leave enough gaps for Dan and the DEA to get in and do some damage.
The road out of Arkansas wasn't very long, and they soon found themselves on US 65 once again, but this time it was going north through Branson, MO and up to Columbia. There, they would pick up I-70 again, and make their way back to Denver.
Sam thought about stopping to rent a different car, but he didn’t want to leave his Vette behind and didn't want to be in something with less power if they were found. The old ZL1 was still one of the best engines ever built, and the old-style technology of the muscle car era had just proven itself superior to all the high-tech, computer-regulated power that was automatically limited in the newer machines.
He drove until he had to stop for gas, and then grabbed food for him and Rice. They ate on the fly, wolfing down their sandwiches and fries, guzzling the cokes that washed down the mea, actually starting to enjoy the ride.
Sam looked over at Rice. “So, how did you get mixed up in all this?”
The other man shrugged. “Long story, and probably one you've heard before. Me and my ex got into dealing some pot, and that led to some other stuff. She got busted and gave me up, but I fought it. It's all still going on; I got a court date in a couple months. Anyway, when I was going to my first hearing, I got approached by the Company, and they said if I wanted to work for them, they could keep me from doing any time over the bust, so I agreed, y'know? I was doing good, too, making some good money and not getting into any trouble, but I just wanted to move up, right? I felt like I could do even better, and then I got with Carly, and she liked the money I was makin' a lot, so I wanted to make even more. I started askin' about promotion opportunities, like could I run a crew, and they finally said I could if I could just handle this little job. All I had to do was take this stuff to St. Louis and give it to the crew leader there, and when I got back, I'd get my own crew. They were talkin' about giving me a crew in Vegas, man.”
“And all you had to do was give them your daughter?” Sam had enough bitterness in his voice that Rice could hear it.
“It wasn't like that, man,” he said. “They told me all they wanted was to hang onto her so they had reason to know I'd come back, and I was definitely gonna come back! Then this crazy crap happened, and I didn't know what to think. I couldn't get no one on the phone, and nobody was callin' me back, nothin'. I was scared, but I was gonna head back today, if I didn't hear from no one. I wasn't gonna leave Cassie there, man, no matter what you think. I mean, I shoulda been back within two days, not a week, like this!”
Sam sneered. “Well, Cassie is safe, and luckily for you, the guy who was really in charge has at least a small streak of decency in him. Girls like her end up in some pretty messy situations when they get swapped off for dope, or used for security in deals like this. She was lucky.”
Rice looked down at his hands. “Sounds like she was lucky you got involved, to me,” he said. “And maybe that goes for me, too. If the man hadn’t messed up his phone, I'd probably have told him where I was and I'd be dead by now. Wasn't for you, I probably still would be. They woulda found me sooner or later.”
Sam couldn't argue with that, so he didn't try. He called Indie, instead.
“Oh, my God, it's about time you called me! Are you okay? I've been worried sick!”
“I'm okay, hon,” Sam said, and then realized what he'd said. “Everything okay there?”
“Yeah, we're fine, I've just been worried about you! I mean, it's not like you called me and said someone was out to kill you or anything, right? Geez!”
He talked to her for a few more minutes, then promised to call again later. When she let him off the phone, he called Ingersoll.
“Okay, we seem to have slipped the bad guys,” he said. “How are you gonna handle them on your end, or is that in the 'I don't need to know' category?”
“We're already handling it, Mr. Prichard. Our associate is fully aware that his plan has gone awry, of course, so he's decided not to return to our fair city. I don't think he'll be attempting to trouble you any longer, simply because that would bring him within our rea
ch, and that, I promise you, is something he'll want to avoid. I doubt there's any chance he'll happen across you on the road today, anyway.”
“Let's hope not,” Sam said. “Now, about when we get back; you said Mr. Rice would not be in danger?”
“That is correct,” Ingersoll said. “We're aware that the delay and diversion of our product was not his doing, so he is not to be held responsible. I think that any of our staff would have done the same, under similar circumstances.”
“Okay, then, what do I do when we get back to Denver? Do you want me to drop him off somewhere? Let him go home? What?”
“Actually, Mr. Prichard, I think I'd like to meet you face to face, if you’re willing. If you would simply call me when you’re getting close to the city, I'll set up a safe meeting place and we can sit and talk like gentlemen. Would that be acceptable?”
Sam thought it over. If Ingersoll was willing to meet with him, it meant he either trusted Sam, or he planned to kill him. No matter how safe a meeting place might seem to be, a good sniper could make it a deadly trap; there would be no way to know whether it was safe or not, from Sam's point of view.
“What would we need to discuss that we can't talk about over the phone?” Sam asked.
“Mr. Prichard, let us just say that there are aspects of my business that you would find not only acceptable, but worthy of occasional support. I have found that you are a man of courage and honor, and I would like to show you why you should find me to be one, as well. We need not see entirely eye to eye in order to recognize qualities worthy of respect in each other, am I right?”
Sam grinned. “Okay, you've got my curiosity up. I'll call, and if it looks reasonably safe, I'll meet you. What about Rice?”
“You'll drop Mr. Rice off near where we will meet, and there will be people there to see to his safety. I give you my word that he will not be harmed, and he will find himself rewarded for the simple fact that he kept our product safe to the best of his ability during this fiasco. You may tell him that, if you wish.”
