by Dave White
He thought about Tony Verderese standing there, ordering Christine to taser Michelle. Why was Verderese there? Something was obviously going on, but Callahan wasn’t sure what yet. Ameritech had something to do with. The press had something to do with it too.
And Weller was apparently a traitor.
“Did you see the paper today?” Duffy asked.
She held it out and he saw the article that Sandler had shown him earlier. Ameritech had gone public.
“This is going to be a shitstorm,” she said. “None of this is legal.”
“Why? The stocks on that company are going to skyrocket.”
“Are you kidding me? A company working with our black ops? We didn’t tell the American people about the funds. Nothing the press loves more than to find out we had clandestine arrangements with defense firms. Do you think Sandler had anything to do with this story appearing in the papers?”
“He’s going to blow up something in New York using Ameritech’s weaponary. He hired a guy to acquire it and he hired Omar to use it. Suicide bomb. Jihad, all that. When Ameritech’s ‘involvement’ is outted, his company’s going to fill the Defense Department void.”
Duffy stared through Callahan, as if she was looking at the wall behind him.
Finally, she said, “We’re taking care of it.”
Callahan shifted his feet and felt the carpet sag.
“I’ve sent my best men. They’ll be there. They’ll stop this.”
“They’d better.
“Go home, get some sleep. You did good work”
“Call me when it’s done. First thing.”
“You got it.”
“You sure you don’t need my help anymore?” Callahan asked. “I’ve put away guys you’ve never even heard of. And if you had heard of them, it probably would have been the last thing New Yorkers heard about too. I’ve kidnapped more terrorists with duct tape and a van than most people have read about in Tom Clancy thrillers. And I’ve heard more plots to kill civilians than I ever wanted to.”
Duffy looked at her clipboard, then back up at him. She straightened out her glasses.
“Your throat is bleeding. Are you okay?”
Callahan raised his hand to where Christine had pulled the garrotte.
“Cut myself shaving,” he said.
“You shave your hand too?”
He shrugged. “I’m clumsy.”
Duffy nodded. “Go home.”
He turned on his heel, the tension in his neck easing. He was surprised how smoothly that went. Any time he’d ever asked Weller about her, all Weller would tell him was what a cold bitch she was.
The sun was nearly all the way up now, burning off a fog that had risen from the melted snow. He’d driven the stolen pick-up back to the alleyway and walked through town and found a road that seemed to lead up the mountain. He would have taken the truck the whole way, but didn’t want the headlights to blow Duffy’s troops’ cover. Callahan felt his calves tighten as he walked. The past two days had been the most stressful, most exhausting of his life. He wondered how John had kept going.
He couldn’t believe the guy had come all the way to try and save them. He came for Michelle. He was still in love with her. Callahan blinked the thought away. There’d be time for jealously later.
Assuming they all survived.
Under his feet the asphalt slowly turned to gravel, jagged rocks poking through the rubber soles of his shoes. His body felt heavy and slow. If he had to run right now, he imagined it as a slow trot, like a horse winding down after a race.
Callahan turned to the side of the road and threw up in a bush. His stomach cramped, and he gagged some, the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat and tongue. One more gag, his stomach muscles contracting so hard, he doubled over. His ribs were aching. He hadn’t been hurt this badly in a long time.
He reached a curve in the road, one he remembered while riding with Christine.
After rounding the curve, he got a good look at the hangar. He stepped off to the side of the road and crouched behind a clutch of bare bushes.
He could see a line of three SUVs. Tony Verderese and Michelle stood near the hangar. She had her arms crossed in front of her, and her head dropped as if she was staring at the ground. Two guys in trenchcoats stood behind her. Callahan’s stomach warmed when he saw her. She was alive.
Christine stood across from John near the first SUV. He had his arms stuck out, making a T-shape. He wore a thick gray vest. It wasn’t thick from padding. The warmth in Callahan’s stomach went away. Christine zipped John’s vest up and opened the front door of the first SUV.
Michelle, and Tony got into the second. The two trenchcoats stood near the last one.
Callahan breathed hard through his nose and stared at the ground.
The SUVs started up, the roar of the engines echoing off the trees and hangar. Someone shouted something, but Callahan couldn’t make out the words. Then one of the car doors slammed shut.
Where was Robert Sandler?
“All right. Get ready,” Callahan told himself.
He heard the wheels start to roll on the gravel, slowly at first, but picking up speed. The first SUV passed and Callahan got a glimpse of Christine and John.
The next SUV passed seconds later. Michelle was in the back seat, staring out the side window.
He stood up and looked for the third SUV. The final two trenchcoats were still standing around, looking at the hangar as if waiting for something. Callahan started to jog toward them, his ribs begging him to at least slow down. He ignored the pain.
This was no time to be subtle. There wasn’t time to wrap around the hangar and set up a snatch ‘n grab of the two men. The only chance he had was to go directly toward them.
One of the trenchcoats got into the driver’s seat.
When Callahan was about ten feet from the SUV, the other guy heard him. The trenchcoat turned and leveled his pistol directly at Callahan’s chest.
“What the hell?” the blond trenchcoat said.
Callahan stepped forward, ignoring the shooting pain above his navel. He stepped inside the blond’s arm, snapped his left hand up, catching the trenchcoat by the wrist. Twisting his arm down, Callahan hit the trenchcoat with a hard right. The gun dropped to the dirt, and Callahan hit him again. The coat’s eyes rolled up in his head and he sank into the snow.
While Callahan was dealing with the passenger, the driver had gotten out of the car. But Callahan had picked up the fallen gun by the time the driver circled the front fender. Callahan fired once and the driver’s head exploded. Callahan then fired a bullet into the passenger as he was struggling to his feet.
Callahan bent over the bodies and took two more pistols and a few clips from the trench coats. In a firefight it wouldn’t be much, but with luck he wouldn’t get into a full-blown gunfight. His assets were speed and silence. Take everybody out with as little ruckus as possible. It was more like Afghanistan than he’d originally thought.
He hopped up into the driver’s seat.
He put the truck in reverse, straightened out and jammed down on the gas pedal. The wheels spun in gravel and snow for a split second, then the truck shot forward, fish tailing as they rolled. Callahan got control of the truck at the bottom of the hill, and spun it around the corner into the widening street. A few cars watched him speed through stops signs, as he hurried to catch the other SUVs before they grew suspicious. Traffic was still light. Must have been close to six.
The radio attached to the dashboard crackled with static and then a voice came through.
“Stop John! He’s got a bomb strapped to him. Don’t worry about m—”
Michelle’s voice caused Callahan to grip the wheel tight. She must have seen him when they were pulling out. And the way she’d been cut off… His knuckles went cold.
He took another sharp curve, and the tires squealed underneath him. The asphalt was wet, and he made a mental note to watch for black ice. About a hundred yards down the road, he could see the two S
UVs, braking for a red light.
At least he’d caught up.
He slowed as he got up behind the other SUVs. When the light turned green, they all turned right onto Route 23. Traffic was relatively light, as it was still early. If it weren’t a holiday, the road would be at a standstill.
The radio crackled again. Verderese this time. “Focus, John. You can do this.”
“Yes, sir.” John’s voice shook much like when they were riding on the ferry the other night.
“Oh good,” Verderese said, “good. I always liked giving pep talks.”
Callahan stayed in line with the trucks, all in the same lane, like a funeral procession. He imagined they would separate the moment they drew any interest from a local cop, or at some agreed upon point each would go its own way.
He hoped Duffy was on the way. There’d be a ton of men at the tunnel to take out John. He could focus on Michelle instead.
Michelle was a fighter; she’d find a way to survive until he got to her. As long as she knew he would be coming eventually.
He took a deep breath and kept driving. If he found a way to stop John before the timer started, they could worry about defusing the bomb later.
He prayed.
Then he picked up the receiver.
“Verderese, I want to talk to Michelle.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
“If she’s not okay, then John is not blowing anything up.”
“Yeah,” Verderese said. “Just try to get the bomb off of him.”
“Frank! What are you doing? He’ll kill her. Let me do this. I can’t let another one die!” John was screaming into the radio. Callahan wished he couldn’t hear this.
“Shut up, John and you’ll be fine.”
“Didn’t you hear what he said?” Verderese this time. “I’ll kill your girlfriend if he doesn’t finish this.”
“Put her on the line.”
“You just heard her screaming at you.”
“I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Suit yourself,” Verderese rasped.
There was a brief pause. Then he heard Michelle’s voice, soft like when she’d try to see if he was awake in the middle of the night.
“Frank?”
He took a breath, and decided he didn’t care if Tony heard him or not.
“I don’t care what it takes, Michelle, but I’m going to see you after all this is over. You need to survive this. Whatever you have to do. I’m going to see you when we’re done.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Frank.”
All the SUVs switched to Route 46 when Route 23 split. They were heading for the Route 3 and eventually the Lincoln Tunnel.
He swung into the left lane and passed Verderese’s SUV, Christine watching him from the driver’s seat as he did. Then back into the center lane between John and Verderese.
“It’s never easy,” Callahan said to himself.
And then he jammed the gas to the floor. The truck bucked forward, aiming directly for the rear fender of the SUV in front of him.
John slammed back into his seat and then heard the crunch. The SUV behind him had rammed his fender. His car fishtailed and he saw Christine grab the steering wheel with both hands to straighten back into the middle of the lane. He reached up toward his collar, and felt the vest. It hadn’t blown up so the pressure switch must have been pressed tightly to his chest.
Sweat dripped from his chin on to the vest. He reached for the radio receiver.
“Frank, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, John,” he said. “But you have to pull off the road.”
John felt the truck buck once, and then accelerate. He wasn’t going to let Frank do this.
“Don’t make me run you off the road. You might get killed.”
“Tell him to shut up,” Christine said.
Frank was driving fast too, and the SUV that had hit them was gaining on John. Swerving into the left lane, they both escaped a braking car and found some open road. Horns blared around them, and John looked into the rearview mirror to see Callahan’s teeth gritted, and his brow furrowed. His face was flushed.
John braced himself as the truck slammed into his bumper. The crunch sounded like thunder, and John could smell rubber burning.
“Hold on,” Callahan said.
John dug his nails into the leather seat. Part of the car must have gotten pretty badly damaged, as he could hear something scraping against the asphalt. More horns, more screeching brakes.
John checked the sideview mirror again and saw the third SUV pulling up to the left of Frank’s. Tony was driving and was directly parallel to Frank now. John checked the road ahead again, saw he was clear and then glanced back into the mirror.
Christine flicked her wrist and John watched his SUV slam into Frank’s. The crunch was followed by a loud pop. The exploding tire sounded like the gunshots on the mountain. The car spun three sixty.
“Yeah!” Christine yelled.
The truck slid across the right lane and smashed into the divider. The air bags popped, but John couldn’t watch anymore. He turned his attention to the road again.
The radio crackled. Sounded like someone wheezing.
Tony.
John’s heart thudded hard, and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He should just reach over and give the steering wheel a hard tug. Drop the SUV in the Passaic River. End it all. The thought of the water made air catch in his throat. It would save thousands.
But not Michelle.
“Are you okay?” Christine asked, holding the receiver close to her lips..
“That was a terrific shot,” Tony said.
John’d never seen someone drive like that before, leading the car precisely, avoiding traffic, using the perfect angles, all while keeping her speed up. It was as if she’d internalized every physics and geometry lesson she’d ever sat through and put them into play in a solitary twist of her wrists.
“We’re changing the gameplan. You’re going to stay with him the whole time.”
Christine’s eyes widened.
“I thought I was going to meet up with you once we get into the city. What about the other thing? Who’s going to take care of that?”
“I got it. Don’t worry. The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to blow myself up.”
“Relax,” he said. “You’ll have time to get away. Just make sure no cops interfere. You’ll probably have to give him another pep talk on the way in. Blow one up for the Gipper.”
Christine flexing the muscles in her arms, squeezed her free hand open and closed.
“Do this,” Tony said, “and I’ll be Charles. In charge. You get that one, right? You like TV.”
“Your jokes suck.”
Again she tensed her muscles. John watched them shudder under her sleeves.
“And,” he continued, “if I get my work done today, I’ll make sure you’re handsomely rewarded. I’m sorry I needed so much from you.”
Christine took a deep breath.
Mini-malls and car dealerships blurred past the passenger window. There wasn’t any place to crash the car. No barriers, no shoulders, they’d crossed the river just moments earlier. Just parking lots. There was nothing he could do but listen.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” Tony said. “And, you know I never go back on my word.”
“How much?”
“As much as you need,” he said.
He’s lying.
Her chances of escaping a bomb in New York had to be better than John’s chances.
She stared across toward John. He felt sweat pouring down his face and neck. The top of the vest was dark with moisture.
The SUV accelerated and John prayed for a delay at the tunnel.
Callahan snapped his eyes open. The sun was out, its rays streaming through the window and cutting into his eyes. He groaned and shook his head. His bra
in felt like a marble rattling against the walls of his skull.
He looked out the windshield and saw steam pouring from the bent hood of the truck. He could smell the asphalt, the gas fumes from cars passing behind them, and burnt rubber. He blinked, once, twice, and then realized he was on the shoulder of the highway, the front of the car smashed into a metal barrier, which was twisted and torn.
