Storm Front

by John Sandford

  Virgil, she thought.

  —

  BAUER SAW THE CAR COMING, and Ma’s truck now parked behind him, Zahavi shouting, “Go! Go!” and Bauer said, “That fuckin’ Flowers.”

  His Range Rover was facing a highway ditch just past a flagpole, and with Ma where she was, he couldn’t go anywhere but forward. He did that, flooring it, and the truck lurched forward, plowed across the ditch, and swerved onto the highway. Six seconds later he was accelerating through sixty miles an hour. In his rearview mirror, he saw Ma buck onto the highway—she’d taken the same shortcut as he had—and then a car swerve out after them. They were a quarter mile behind, though, and he was still gaining.

  “Get out in the country and I’ll find a road that’ll trash them,” he said to Zahavi. “Look for a turnoff.”

  She said, “Police.”

  The rain was coming hard now, in sheets, the lightning almost constant, thunder banging on the roof of the car like a bass drum. Bauer saw emergency flashers, closing fast. Much closer, a road cut off to the right. “Hang on,” he said. They took the turn, accelerated again, down a street with houses on one side, commercial buildings on the other. Bauer checked the nav system and could see that he was coming to a T intersection.

  “Gotta make a decision here,” he said, and at the T, he turned right, toward what the navigation map showed as a dead end. He saw headlights behind him, one set, then another set with flashers, then a third set, and then he was at the end of the street. He continued straight ahead, through some small trees and brush, over a few bumps, through a barbwire fence, which was flicked aside by the bull bars, and then they were on a highway exit ramp, or maybe a frontage road, and he accelerated again and said, “Let them suck on that.”

  A minute later, one set of headlights burst onto the frontage road, then the flashers. “Well, goddamnit,” he said. A bigger highway was coming up, and he recognized it as the one he’d just left, 169. They’d come in a circle.

  Zahavi said, “Left—right is toward the town.”

  There was some traffic, but he timed it right and sailed through the intersection, and turned north, heading out of town, throwing up a rooster tail of water from the wide tires. “Watch the nav system, watch the nav.”

  —

  WHEN BAUER TOOK OFF, Ma was right behind him. She tracked him around the first curve, saw the flashers coming up from the south, got her cell phone out, and called Virgil. “That you with the flashers?”

  “Pull off, Ma, pull off.”

  “Screw that,” she said. “They pointed a gun at me. I’m gonna put them in a ditch.”

  Virgil saw the T intersection coming up on his nav, and then Bauer turned right. “He’s headed for a dead end. He’s gotta have nav, I think he’s going through.”

  Jenkins: “I can’t take that.”

  “Turn around, go back. He’s headed out to 169.”

  “I’m out there now,” Shrake said.

  “Wait until we call you.”

  —

  VIRGIL SAW BAUER go right through the end of the street, followed by Ma in her pickup, and then he was there, banging through the ditch and onto the road.

  Virgil shouted, “We’re coming out,” and Shrake called back, “I’m coming up, I’m right there,” and then, “He’s out heading north, I’m right on his ass—he’s pulled away, though.”

  —

  ZAHAVI WAS turned on her seat, looking out the back, saw the flashers turn onto the highway, but well back, behind another truck; but the other truck was matching their speed. She said, “We have another follower.”

  Bauer let the Range Rover out, and the pursuing lights fell behind. Two minutes, three, four, and then Bauer said, ““Here’s what we want. Hang on.”

  A minute later, he took a left turn, and they were on gravel.

  —

  SHRAKE SAID into his radio, “He’s got a lot more speed than we have. I’m going with the light show.”

  “Be careful, for Christ’s sakes,” Virgil said. “There are houses out here.”

  —

  IN HIS TRUCK, Shrake dropped the window, took a blast of rain, got the M16 off the floor, stuck it one-handed out the window, propped the forestock on the wing mirror support, aimed low, and pulled the trigger. A dozen rounds went out, the tracers streaking downrange like supersonic fireflies, into the roadside ditch ahead of the fleeing Range Rover.

  —

  BAUER SAW the tracers flash by and shouted, “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” and yanked the truck to the side of the road.

  “What are you doing? What are you doing?” Zahavi screamed.

  “That was a machine gun,” Bauer shouted back. “Fuck this,” and he popped the door and was out with his hands over his head, the rain pounding down on his head.

  Two seconds later, the pursuing truck stopped down the road, and a man jumped out and in the oncoming lights of the truck with the flashers, Bauer could see the man’s silhouette with the long gun. He shouted, “We give up.”

  —

  VIRGIL STOPPED beside Shrake’s truck, and then Ma pulled up, and then Jenkins. Virgil and Jenkins pulled on rain jackets, and Ma pulled a plastic garbage bag over her head. Jenkins took the rifle from Shrake, and the three of them walked up to Bauer and Zahavi, who both had their hands over their heads. Shrake was a few steps behind, pulling on a jacket. Bauer and Zahavi looked like drowned rats.

  “Crazy motherfuckers,” Virgil said. “You’re both under arrest for everything. Shrake, read them their rights.”

  “I am a diplomat and I invoke immunity,” Zahavi said.

  “Immune this,” Ma, said, and she hit Zahavi in the eye with a balled fist, and the Israeli went down. One second later she was back up, ready to go, but Jenkins got her around the waist and said, “Let’s not.”

  Virgil had hold of Ma, who twisted around and said, “She put a gun in my face.”

  Bauer said, “Yeah, she had a gun. She made me do it.”

  “I am a diplomat—”

  Virgil: “Fuck a bunch of immunity.” To Jenkins and Shrake: “Cuff them and transport them up to Ramsey. Aggravated assault, et cetera. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Virgil looked at his watch. Five minutes to nine. “I oughta know in the next couple of minutes.” Then he remembered, looked at Bauer, and asked, “Where’s the stone?”

  “Floor of the truck.”

  Virgil and Ma walked up to the truck, and Virgil saw the bowling bag. He picked it up, and turned to Ma.

  “So there’s no auction?”

  She took the bag from him, unzipped it, walked to the front of Bauer’s truck, and smashed the stone against the bull bars on the front. The stone cracked in half, showing a white interior.

  “It’s an imitation, made out of plaster of paris,” she said. “I told you Reverend Jones would do something tricky. The auction is over. The money and the stone are gone.”

  They all looked at the shattered fake, and then Bauer said, “Aw, shit.”

  Virgil asked Ma, “Where’s Jones?”

  “He’s turning himself in—to you. He should be down at the Perkins at any minute. He’ll need to go to a hospital, not to a jail. He’s in terrible shape. I don’t know how he holds together. Only willpower now, the medicine doesn’t work anymore.”

  “Okay,” Virgil said. To Jenkins and Shrake: “Change in plan. Jenkins takes these two up to Ramsey. Shrake comes with me and we’ll bust Jones, and Shrake will transport him to Regions. He walked out of Mankato once, I’m not going to give him another chance.”

  Ma asked, “What about me?”

  Virgil shrugged: “The way I see it, you just carried out the plan we talked about last night. As long as we get lots and lots of cooperation.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Let’s do this,”
Virgil said. “We’ll lock the Range Rover and leave it. I’ll get it towed tonight. Ma, you can follow us down to the Perkins. Let’s get out of the rain.”

  —

  SO BAUER AND ZAHAVI were cuffed, Zahavi silent for once, and they all walked to whatever vehicles they were going to, and Ma said to Virgil, “You are strangely cheerful, and that worries me.”

  “Yeah, well, you know,” Virgil said, but he couldn’t help grinning at her. “You win some, and you lose some.” He looked up at the dark sky, the leading edge of the storm now well to the east, took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the rain on the gravel and the corn, and said, “What a great night, huh?”

  —

  ON THE WAY BACK TO TOWN, Virgil got on the secret phone. When Lincoln answered, he said, “I’ve busted Bauer and Zahavi, the Israeli Mossad agent. She’s claiming diplomatic immunity, but you might be able to trade something for her . . . reasonable treatment.”

  “Somebody will think about that.”

  “You got your guy?”

  “That’s classified,” she said, and hung up.

  In other words, Virgil thought, Yes.

  —

  VIRGIL AND SHRAKE pulled into the Perkins, but Ma did not. Virgil saw her taillights disappearing down the highway and called to Shrake, “Where the hell is she going?”

  “Probably gonna pull some more bullshit,” Shrake said.

  “Jones better be here, or I’ll bust her ass, too,” Virgil said.

  There was a lot of water in the restaurant parking lot, but the rain had slowed. They went inside. No Jones. “Sonofabitch,” Virgil said.

  Then a moonfaced man with a buzz cut waved a hand at them and called, “Virgil?”

  Virgil recognized the voice, walked over and said, “You’ve changed.”

  Jones was sitting in front of a half-full cup of coffee and an empty pie plate, looking up at Virgil. He said, “I wanted to say good-bye to my wife. I couldn’t go as usual—this is my disguise.”

  Virgil said, “Well, sir, you’re under arrest. We’re going to take you up to Regions Hospital in St. Paul. You’ll be held in a security ward.”

  “I think you’re too late,” Jones said.

  “Never too late to go to jail,” said Shrake.

  “Well, big man, I have to tell you. I think you’re wrong about that.” Jones sighed, his eyes turned up, and he slipped out of the booth. Shrake tried to catch him, but he landed squarely on his moon face.

  Virgil tried to pick him up, but it was like trying to get hold of a two-hundred-pound lump of Jell-O. Virgil called 911, identified himself, and asked for an ambulance: “You better hurry.”

  —

  WHEN JONES was on his way to the hospital, with Shrake following behind the ambulance, Virgil called Ma, but got no answer, so he headed over to Awad’s apartment.

  Awad came to the door, and was effusive: “This was wonderful. Wonderful.” He embraced Virgil, who pulled his head back, afraid he was about to be kissed on both cheeks. “What can I tell you, as Americans say? I have already chosen the airplane. This is a 1999 Cessna 206H, slightly used, I am offered a deal of the lifetime.”

  “Better not tell me about it,” Virgil said. “I’m a cop.”

  “Ah, of course,” Awad said. “But . . .”

  Al-Lubnani was packing clothes into a suitcase.

  “You’re out of here?” Virgil asked.

  “Indeed. Tonight. I will drive the Kia to Chicago. I hope the Hatchet will not interfere?”

  “I have good reason to believe that he will not,” Virgil said.

  “Good,” al-Lubnani said. “I need two days of freedom in France. After that, they will not find me.”

  “I don’t suppose you kept the money here,” Virgil said.

  “With the possibility that you would come? Of course not,” al-Lubnani said. “I trust you like my brother . . . but I’m afraid my brother is a rascal.”

  “Well, like I said, I don’t really care. Where’s the stone?”

  Al-Lubnani and Awad exchanged glances, and Virgil thought al-Lubnani might have gone a shade paler. “You don’t have it? Your assistant was here—”

  “I don’t have an assistant,” Virgil snapped. “What the hell is going on? We had a deal.”

  “But she said it was over—that you arrested the Mossad agent and this Bauer, that you were arresting Jones. That you sent her to get the stone.”

  “Aw, for Christ sakes,” Virgil said. He cupped his hands. “Was she . . . ?”

  They both nodded.

  —

  ONE LAST TRIP that night, out to Ma’s place. The truck was parked in the yard, and there were lights on all over the house. It was still raining, but now, more of a drip than a drumbeat. Ma met him at the door: “My goodness, look what the cat dragged in. Come on inside, we just finished making caramel corn.”

  Inside, Virgil found her three youngest, eating caramel corn out of plastic bowls and watching Iron Man 2. Sam said, “We’re coming to a good part. You wanna watch?”

  Virgil said, “I’ve got to talk to your mom.”

  “We better go outside,” Ma said.

  Virgil followed her out. She was moving right along, out across the yard to the barn. Virgil trotted to catch up, and inside the barn, she flicked on a light, a single bulb that showed up a tractor, a Bobcat, and a bunch of related machinery. She said, “Back here,” and threaded past the machinery to a ladder that went up into the loft.

  Virgil said, “Ma, we gotta—”

  “Up here,” she said. Virgil climbed up into the loft, into the slightly acid smell of the hay that was stored there. There was no light in the loft, except what came through the loft door from a pole light out by the driveway; the rain made a pleasant tickling sound on the roof.

  Ma was sitting on what appeared to be a mattress. She said, “Rolf and Tall Bear sometimes bring their girlfriends up here.”

  Virgil said, “Ma . . .”

  Ma patted the mattress and said, “Virgie, there’s only one way you’re gonna get that stone.”

  23

  Sometimes, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

  24

  Virgil had found a pair of water wings in the barn, the cheap plastic kind that you blow up and roll up your arms, and he lay back in the creek water. With the barest flutter of his feet, and the support of the water wings, he could keep himself moving. The air temperature had to be in the high nineties, he thought, and when the sun beat down, his body had to be near the boiling point. And when he kicked through the shade of an overhanging burr oak, he felt as though he’d been doused with cool water. At this point in time, there couldn’t be a better place to be, not in the whole universe.

  “We better stay in the shade as much as we can, or we’ll burn into a couple of cinders,” Ma said. “That sun is scorching hot.”

  She had no trouble floating, Virgil thought, probably because she had built-in water wings. In any case, she was an attractive sight, as they flutter-kicked around the swimming hole. The whole environment was reminiscent of a moment from a Disney movie, Virgil thought, with the lush dark green woods all around, the gurgling of the stream over the broken-down dam, the occasional tiger swallowtail fluttering by; like when Bambi was meeting his first butterfly.

  “So what’d that bitch do when you got her to St. Paul?” Ma asked, un-Bambi-like. She was referring to Tal Zahavi.

  “Threatened everybody in sight,” Virgil said. “Diplomatic immunity, and all that. They’re gonna lay down for it. Or maybe they don’t have a choice. Whatever happens, it won’t do her spy career a lot of good. They took her to court for an appearance, and there are now twelve thousand news photos of her.”

  “Good. She pointed a gun right at my nose. That really . . . I mean, I thought I might die right there.”

  “You could of.�
�

  “Have you ever thought you might die?” she asked. “When you were in a shoot-out?”

  He had to think about it. “I’m not sure. I never really thought I was about to die, but I might have thought, Holy shit, you’re about to die, but not believed it, if you know what I mean. You’ve got this voice telling you that, but the voice sounds sarcastic.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Zahavi would have scared me, too,” Virgil said. “She was a little nuts. Maybe out in the cold too long. She wanted to shoot somebody—wanted to try it out, see how it felt.”

  “You’re not gonna put Tag in prison, are you?” Ma asked.

  “I don’t know what’ll happen to him,” Virgil said.

  “He’s too cute to put in prison,” Ma said. “A double-crossing piece of scum, but I can excuse that, if a man is cute enough.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Virgil said. “Davenport says Tag’ll make bail this afternoon, and he’s already scheduled a press conference. He claims he didn’t have any idea that Zahavi had a gun. He was just along for the ride, so that he could be shown handing the stone over to the Israelis. I don’t believe him, but a jury might. If you say you won’t testify against him . . .”

  “Virgil, I just want it to be over,” Ma said. “I’ve got my life to live. I’d just send him home.”

  “I kinda think that’s what will happen. Movie stars . . . prosecutors like movie stars,” Virgil said. “They think if they’re nice to them, maybe they’ll get to be in a movie.”

  “Good luck to them,” Ma said. “Whatever happens, Tag brought it on himself. It’s not like you didn’t warn him.”

  —

  THEY PADDLED around a bit more, and then Virgil said, “Not like I didn’t warn you.”

  “Aw, let’s not go there, Virgie,” Ma said. “Not after last night. I never was going to keep the stone. But you surely scratched my itch, and I can’t tell you how nice that was.”