by Susan Dunlap
“Queen, get the canine unit out. And call Portland. Have them fly their dogs down here. Hell, they can put the dogs in the plane with the Feds.”
“You want me to tell them that, sir.”
“Hell, no, Queen, use a little common sense. Tell them to send down a sharpshooter.”
“Roger. Will do.”
He clicked off the mike. “And here’s the other thing, Unsel, the thing I’m not putting out over the air. We got a hotshot administrator flying in from L.A. We got Feds. This case has already been all over the news in California, and it takes plenty to rise to the top of weird and wonderful down there. What we got here is one big, splashy sex case and if we don’t mop this up pronto we’re going to have Dan Rather standing on the courthouse steps laughing at small-town cops. You got the picture, Unsel.”
“Got it, sir.”
“So we are going to do what it takes to neutralize these fugitives. Whatever it takes.”
Forty
THE SIRENS WERE COMING from all around. For the first time in her life, Liza literally couldn’t move. There was no Plan B. Nothing. All she could think of was Felton. She had to turn him loose, give him distance away from her, but she just couldn’t. He was the only creature who ever cared for her no matter what.
Behind her, branches crackled. “Over here, Liza.”
“Ellen?”
“Hurry! Come on!”
“Where? Ellen, there are cops coming from every direction. Listen? They know where we are.”
“Shut up and come.” Ellen set off running and it was all Liza could do to keep her in sight. She never pictured Ellen as an athlete, but Ellen was moving out now. Hugging Felton to her chest, Liza panted with each step.
The woods opened on a wide, paved path. Ellen ran across and into trees and underbrush on the far side.
“Ellen, there’s no point in running. The cops are all around us.”
“Hurry. Run, Liza.”
“Where to?”
A siren shrieked to its peak and cut off.
“They’re right here!” Liza’s thick breaths sounded like waterfalls, momentarily blocking out the screech of the sirens. She couldn’t think at all. She ran from inertia, her legs pumping as if they were foreign objects. Ellen was going down an incline. She disappeared. Liza kept running, sweat dripping into her eyes.
At the bottom of the bank, Ellen was rotating slowly like a ballerina on a child’s music box with the battery running out. She stopped abruptly, pointed to the thick brush and pulled a mountain bike out with a helmet hanging from the handlebars. “You take this one.”
Liza looked from the bike to Felton.
Ellen pulled another bike from behind the bushes. “Liza, you don’t have time to stand and gawk. Here, give me that bag. I’ll put the pig in there. I’ll carry him. You just get on the bike. Put your hair up under the helmet.”
“Where’d these bikes come from?”
“There’s a bike club rendezvous over the rise. There are always bikes here. I’ve ridden with the Eugene club. I could take you to ten other bike spots like this.”
“People just leave them?”
“This isn’t L.A., Liza. People are more trusting up here.” One after another sirens screeched and cut off. “Check the bike bag for clothes.” She was hauling a purple windbreaker out of the pouch on her own bike. She put it on, pushed her dress up under it, and yanked her own sweat pants out of the tote Liza was carrying. Ellen yanked the bag from Liza’s bike, grabbed Felton out of Liza’s arms and plopped him in. “Come on, Liza! Move!”
Liza gasped. Her stomach roiled—she couldn’t focus. All she could feel was the cold on her breasts where Felton had been.
“Liza! Now!” Slippery cloth hit her face. She jolted. Panic filled her, but this time move-panic. She donned the sweatshirt—chartreuse with a purple stripe—and grabbed a bike.
“Keep up with me.” Ellen flung a leg over the bar and bounced down a narrow dirt path.
Liza could barely reach her bike pedals over the bar. There was no chance at all of sitting on the seat. She braced her feet and arms and headed down the rough path. Only fear of losing Ellen entirely in the growing dark kept her going.
And going fast. Ellen had told her about mountain biking with the guy who dumped her in Portland. But that hadn’t changed Liza’s notion of her. The Ellen Baines of college days had been no athlete, but the woman spewing dust ahead certainly was. No wonder she beat the Portland whiner. Clutching the handlebars, shifting side to side, Liza pedaled as fast as she could. The path started to climb. Liza pressed harder, standing on each pedal as much as pushing it down. All of a sudden she was out of the woods and on the paved path. Ellen was a hundred yards ahead. If it hadn’t been for the moonlight shining off a silver stripe in her windbreaker she wouldn’t have been able to keep her in sight at all.
Liza pedaled faster, no longer feeling so wobbly as she shifted side to side. The wind on her face was cool. Going all out on a path she could barely see left no time for worry or regret.
Suddenly she noted the quiet. All the sirens had stopped. Men’s voices cut the air but she was moving too fast to discern words. She didn’t need to; she knew what they were after. And right on the path was the worst place to be. What could Ellen be thinking of? She shoved the pedals down as fast as she could, taking an extra push with her toes to connect one downstroke with the next. Each breath seared her ribs; her throat was dry as potato chips. Her hands cramped on the rubber grips but she didn’t dare stretch her fingers. She was drawing closer to Ellen but not fast enough.
A guy on a racing bike shot out of the dark, passed her without a look. She kept her eyes down, but he didn’t even glance as he swept past. Ahead, running up a slope was a couple, looking around as if they were checking the path. Were they part of the bike group? After their stolen bikes? Their stolen clothes? Liza leaned forward, trying to pedal faster. There was no surge left in her legs. She made a wide circle left almost into the trees, pressing her arms forward to shield the big purple stripe on her sweatshirt. Right, she thought, as if they won’t notice the chartreuse.
They didn’t yell as she passed. It would have been smart to just keep going but she couldn’t resist turning her head to make sure they weren’t running after her. They weren’t. They’d slowed down and turned their attention to each other and she, clearly, hadn’t entered into their consciousness at all.
Her wheel hit something. She snapped forward and just had time to stop behind Ellen, who was watching a police officer running out of the trees.
Forty-One
ELLEN WATCHED THE COP approach. He was in a coverall, like he was with the S.W.A.T. team or the morgue. Sweat streamed down her face; her back and chest were coated. She’d ridden just far enough to overcome her initial stiffness. Her hamstrings and adductor muscles were nowhere near taut like they were when she rode ten miles a day and fifty on a weekend. They were stinging with life. The night air smacked deliriously her hot damp face. The helmet felt so right on her head and yet it had that familiar heaviness that made her want to unbuckle the strap, hang the helmet from the handlebar and run her fingers through her hair. Like waiting between heats in Willamette Park with twenty guys panting behind her and the knowledge that she could tear into the course and beat every one of them. She hadn’t felt this way in years and it felt good, real good.
“Can you make it quick? I’m losing my heart rate,” she insisted as the officer came up. “I’ve only got a few more minutes till it’s too dark to ride.”
“Sorry, Ma’am. We’re looking for two women with a pig. They crash-landed on the golf course.”
“Are they injured?”
“Not necessarily. They could be, though. Have you seen women limping like they were hurt?”
Her euphoria faded. The strap of the pig-heavy sack gouged her neck. Suddenly she was no longer an importuned racer, but a fugitive with a pig. “No,” she muttered, “no women limping.”
“We’re advising you to
clear the area. These women are armed and dangerous. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”
The pig squirmed and let out a squeal. She forced a cough, doubling forward over the bag.
“Officer!” It was Liza behind her. The cop turned to Liza. He wasn’t thinking they were together, not yet. Liza was so wrung out, who knew what she’d say? She had no reserve tank to fire up her brain.
The pig squirmed; in a minute he’d be poking his snout out of the bag and they’d all be fried. “Okay, officer, I’ll keep my eyes out.” Eyes open she meant. Still hunched, she coasted off, dying to look back at Liza, knowing she couldn’t.
“Officer,” she heard Liza say, “hurry. There’s a woman injured. Her friend’s with her, but she says she’s not a doctor. The woman looks awful.”
Ellen was too far ahead to hear his reply. She slowed as much as she dared and soon she heard Liza coming up behind her. She checked the bushes and then gave up caution.
Liza coasted up. “He’s racing back, looking for an injured woman.”
“Back where?”
“Back around where we got the bikes.”
“Great. In a couple minutes he’ll discover two bikes have been stolen, no one’s injured and who’s he going to think of, huh, Liza?”
“Then we need to move fast.”
The pig’s head was exposed and Liza wheeled closer to scratch it. “Ride as hard as you can, Ellen. Give me a location in case I can’t keep up.”
“Quarter of a mile ahead we’re going to cut right between two posts. Paved path. That will take us to a road. Go left and keep going. If you come to a Seventh Day Adventist Church, stop.”
“How far?’
“ ’Bout ten miles. Past three or four major intersections. There’s a Catholic Church across the street. But don’t go there. Stay in the Adventist parking lot. They’re Saturday people and it will be empty tonight.” She looked at Liza, as sweaty as she was, her T-shirt hanging loose, her spindly arms sticking out like white canes. She reached toward her.
Liza caught her hand, and squeezed it. “Go!”
Forty-Two
FRANK BENTEC TOOK THE mike from the driver as the Eugene patrol car sped along dark lazy streets. “Bentec here.”
“Captain Raymond Zeron, Eugene Police.”
“You got them, Zeron?”
“We’re on their trail.”
“That’s a No, right?” Bentec forced an understanding laugh. “They’re slippery, these two. We came within minutes of getting them in San Francisco. Ditto Eureka. And how they got out of your airport—” He was veering precariously close to disdain. “Like I say, they’re slippery. But you’re on their tail, and I gotta tell you, Zeron, the one I met had a very fine tail indeed.” He held the mouthpiece away from his mouth and waited to see what that last gambit would draw in.
“You met the suspect?”
All business, this Zeron. “L.A.’s a small town sometimes. Silvestri was a slick character and Liza, the wife’s, quite a looker, cunning, too, in an off-beat way.” He paused to let Zeron assume he was thinking. “Maybe I could be some use to you. I’d like to get this cleared up before the Feds get themselves entrenched.”
“Right you are on that one, Bentec.”
Bentec read the surprise in Zeron’s voice—not the kind of L.A. asshole I expected.
“We’ve got the pilot they kidnapped. They’re traveling with a pig. The pig’s the key.”
“The pig,” Bentec said to nudge the hick along.
“This is a college town. Two young women could split up, pick up guys, wander into parties and disappear. If they hit a party with enough liquor even their own dates wouldn’t remember them. In the daytime they could slip into lecture halls like any other older student, hide out in the library—”
“I get your point, Zeron. With the pig they can’t.”
“Right.”
“Ah, so then you have a lead on where they went?”
“They’re on bicycles. Stolen bicycles.”
“You got descriptions?”
There was another pause before Zeron said, “You bet.” But this time he didn’t sound at all so confident.
“Like I said, Zeron, I met one of them.”
It was a moment before Zeron bit. “Why don’t you start here at the command post and let us see what we can give you. Sounds like you’re our spotter.”
Which was just what Frank Bentec had in mind.
Forty-Three
SAFE! ELLEN LEANED THE bicycle against the Seventh Day Adventist Church back wall and stared at the six-foot hedge between the parking lot and the one-story clapboard houses behind. No one would see her here. She should feel safe here, if anywhere; the place brimmed with good memories of bike rides, of races, victories. And of Wes.
But safe? Where was Liza? Was she lost? Crashed? Or caught? Ellen was desperate to…there was nothing she could do but wait. The pig squeaked; she plucked him out of the bag, put him down, and watched him trundle unsteadily to the hedge and throw up. Nonplussed he trundled on, his wide little butt jiggling with purpose.
Liza? She was just slow, surely. Liza wasn’t a good rider, nowhere near her own level. Or Wes’s. She’d be here any minute. No need to worry. Police sirens weren’t shrieking, tires weren’t squealing, no guns poked through the hedge. Things were okay. The damp air cooled her sweaty body as it had here so many times after meets…when she and Wes had rolled into this parking lot after their doubles victory…Wes leaping off his bike, grabbing her, sweat running over their kissing, his hands sliding down her back till someone doused them with a bucket of water.
Streetlights were coming on; shadows wavered in the breeze. She eyed each of the hedges, methodically checking for too-dark shadows, light shining on metal. She was still safe. There was one more memory of this parking lot, that never arose on its own. She stiffened and forced it up, feeling rather than seeing herself panting after a race with the other Portland riders, captive to each who asked where Wes was, why they hadn’t seen him in a month. Her face reddened as it had then with each I don’t know, with the roar of her breathing in the silence as each rider backed away into small talk, to other riders, more water, just away from her. As if they’d known Wes was bored with her, had a floozie, whatever. She hadn’t ridden again.
But now, dammit, she wished she had had one more race to leave them in her dust. For the first time she understood that it was not just Wes she had missed, it was the woman who had won races.
She’d already won a couple laps of a helluva race tonight. And the race wasn’t in the wilds of California anymore; it was on her turf now.
The grind of brakes jolted her. Liza rolled the bike in. “Oh…Ellen…thank God.” She bent full over. “I’m…gonna…die.”
Ellen caught her bike before it banged down. “Did anyone stop you? Follow you?”
“No. I thought I’d…taken the wrong road. I thought…I’d missed it for sure,” she got out between breaths.
Ellen pulled a water bottle from the bike. “Here, drink. Then we need to get going.”
“Going? I can barely stand. Wouldn’t we be safer staying put here?”
Ellen laughed. “No, we wouldn’t. Drink.”
Liza drank till she was gurgling air, stood up in a shaky attempt at briskness, and snapped the bottle back on the bike. “Okay, refueling finished, Monsieur Legree.”
The wind rustled Ellen’s wet hair, just as it had when she’d snapped the tape at the finish line. She grabbed both of Liza’s arms. “Liza, we are doing it. Maybe we can do it all.”
“It all? As in escape with our lives?”
“We can show the bastards. You were headed to Richland; you were already planning to find their shipment and ride off into the sunset. So how about cutting me in?”
“Ellen, the shipment…it’s weapons. Bentec and the receiver are killers. If I’m very very lucky I’ll ride off with my life; there’s nothing else to ride off with.”
“Sure there is. The we
apons must be worth millions, right? Millions would make my life a lot better. We can take the shipment and leave Harry and Jay’s killers to deal with the consequences; what better revenge? We’ll worry about the details later.”
Liza nodded slowly.
“We’ve got to go. We’ve got miles to ride and money to grab.”
Forty-Four
CAPTAIN RAYMOND ZERON HAD the mike in his hand when the call came.
“Lenz here. I’m at the northwest perimeter. We got a witness who saw a woman on a bicycle headed into the Seventh Day Adventist Church parking lot.”
“How long ago?”
“Ten minutes, he said, but that was ten minutes ago. So twenty.”
“He see where she went after that?”
“No, but, Captain, we got the dog here and he went crazy.”
“The dog, Lenz, is he still on their trail?”
“He had it headed north out of the lot.”
“Good work, Lenz.” Zeron clicked off and back on to the dispatcher. “Shift the perimeter. Stretch it ten miles north of the Seventh Day Adventist lot. A mile on either side. Get the bike patrol over there.” He tapped his finger on the mike. That drove the dispatchers crazy and normally Zeron made a point of avoiding it, but tonight he didn’t care.
“Sir, are you through?”
“No, dammit. If I was through I’d have signed off. Get those damned sirens off. We don’t need to bellow our location.”
“The sharpshooter from Portland’s at the airport, sir.”
“Is the helicopter ready for him?”
“Fueled and ready to hover.”
Zeron turned to Bentec. “You have any ideas, Frank?”
Bentec nodded. “You know where I’ll be most use to you, what with my being able to spot Silvestri so easy? In the copter with the sharpshooter.”
Forty-Five
LIZA PANICKED EVERY TIME a car passed. She’d have pedaled into overdrive if she’d had any reserve. That had been used up hours ago. She’d lost track of distance, direction, scenery, everything but pedaling as she struggled to keep up with Ellen. Her body ached in places she hadn’t known she had. She smelled of sweat, and mud from times she’d fallen. The bicycle seat rubbed her crotch each time she tried to sit and she was sure she’d never have sex again. Ellen must have changed direction ten times, leading her through parks and bypasses, over hilly rises, down unpaved trails, under branches so low her chin scraped the handlebars, through trees so dense she had to jump off and run the bicycle. They even forded two streams. Anybody who knew her would be amazed she’d kept up. Foremost in that category would be Ellen, though Ellen could have left her in the dust any time.
