Majestic

by Unknown

  “For sure. But, can you stay with your mother while I’m gone?”

  “Yes, Tuesday to Thursday—no problem.”

  “The email told me who will meet me when I arrive at the CDC. I tried to contact Allison to see if she’d be there, but her voice message said that she was out of town conducting hotel tours for the next two weeks and couldn’t be reached unless it was an emergency.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’s set everything up properly for you, Dad. She doesn’t need to be there—she’s a busy lady. Hey, this is the first step towards you becoming the spokesman for our new luxury hotel. And, with your draft-dodger statue front and center, too. We could all use a bit of good news like that right about now.”

  Chapter 33

  They approached the house like robots—side by side, arms swinging in cadence.

  Two men who could only be described as ‘hulks;’ barrel-chested, square-headed, both donned in leather bomber jackets.

  Their appearance screamed ex-military, as did their erect postures, expressionless eyes, and predator-like swaggers.

  Allison gulped as she noticed something else. Their left arms were the only ones that were swinging. Their right arms were down by their sides, slightly behind their hips. Even though they tried to hide them, the long pistol barrels were unmistakable.

  They were about fifty yards or so from the front door; only a few precious seconds remained for her and John to find a way to stay alive.

  A whispered voice from behind her broke the silence.

  “What are we going to do? Should I shoot them as soon as they enter?”

  Allison turned, and whispered back, “No, Senator. We have a problem now. They know something’s wrong. They’re coming, pistols drawn. Our element of surprise is gone. We won’t win a shoot-out with these guys.”

  Hartford swore.

  “Okay, let’s head upstairs. From there we can get out onto the roof.”

  Allison was finding it hard to breathe.

  In an instant, it occurred to her that perhaps her text message back to these guys on Clint’s phone gave them away. Maybe there was a code word that Clint would have used to provide assurance that it was him on the other end. These spooks lived in code.

  “The roof’s no good, John. That will just delay things. If you had neighbors it would be different—but you’re so isolated out here, no one will see us. They’ll just come out and get us.”

  John peeked out the window himself, then nodded in agreement. “Okay, c’mon, Allison. We’re just gonna make a run for it, then. We can’t go out the front, but we sure as hell can scoot out the back.”

  He stuffed the gun back into his waistband, tucked his briefcase under his arm, and dashed down the hall towards the back of the house.

  Allison followed close behind. “And, then what?”

  “You’ll see. But, we have to hurry.”

  As John was unlocking the back door, there was the unmistakable sound of heavy boot-clad footsteps on the front porch.

  “We’re out of time—let’s go!”

  Once outside, John slid the pistol out of his belt and looked to each side of the house.

  “All clear!”

  They ran into the yard, John leading the way to a large wooden shed. He flipped the padlock and opened the double doors.

  Sitting in the middle of the shed was the darnedest car Allison had ever seen.

  Not really a car—an Arctic Cat recreational vehicle, but it had obviously been modified. It was far from ‘street legal,’ but that didn’t really matter too much right now.

  It was brilliant red, with large patches of chrome around where the doors and windows would have been if there were any.

  The lower regions of the beast were protected by heavy black plastic rims, and the entire monstrosity sat on four humungous wheels with deep-tread off-road tires.

  The frame of the vehicle was raised, exposing the suspension and, even though she didn’t know too much about cars, Allison could tell that the suspension on this beast would rival a Jeep Wrangler.

  It was just a two seater, but there was a small cargo area in the back.

  John threw his briefcase into the rear. “Jump in!”

  Allison ran around to the passenger side and, holding onto the rim of the upper frame, hefted herself up into the leather bucket seat. Above her, and beside her, was nothing but open air. No roof, no side windows, no doors. On a normal day, she would have enjoyed this.

  The only glass in existence was the front windshield, which, from what Allison knew of these trail explorers, was an absolute necessity to protect exposed faces from rocks, dirt and distressed birds—not to mention the occasional four-legged animal caught in the crosshairs.

  John cranked the starter motor and it hesitated. “Hold on. When I get this started, we’re gonna fly. It’s four-wheel drive and upgraded with 200 horses.”

  “I don’t give a shit, John! Just get us the hell out of here!”

  He handed her the pistol. “Here, take this. I need two hands to drive this thing.”

  John cranked the engine again, but it still refused to turn over.

  He juggled the stick shift.

  “Damn, it wasn’t in neutral!”

  He turned the key once more and this time the powerful engine growled to life. The noise within the confined space of the shed was deafening.

  Suddenly, through the open shed doors, they saw the back door of the house fling open. The two killers ran out into the yard, guns raised.

  “Shit!”

  The men dropped to the ground and leveled their pistols at the RV.

  John yelled, “Duck!”

  They both crouched behind the dashboard milliseconds before the windshield fragmented into a thousand pieces.

  With his head down, John used his left foot to manipulate the clutch and slipped the gear shift into reverse.

  “Hold on!”

  The Arctic Cat leaped from its inert position and raced toward the back of the shed. John slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the Cat felt to Allison as if it were flying.

  She knew the rear wall was coming up fast so she braced herself.

  Even though she was ready for it, the impact was a shock. The wooden slat wall splintered and the Cat slipped sideways as it rammed its way through.

  For a split second, the vehicle was riding on only its two right wheels and Allison held on tight as it threatened to throw her out through the unprotected side.

  John spun the wheel at the last moment and it righted itself as they broke through into the open field behind the shed. The interior of the Cat was filled with broken slats of wood and Allison started choking on some small particles that found their way into her throat.

  “Here we go!”

  John slammed the gear shift into neutral and then rammed his fist forward, forcing it into first gear, expertly synchronizing the gas pedal with the clutch.

  The little RV lurched forward with its front wheels in the air for just an instant—then its monster tires dug into the grass and they raced off towards the forest edge.

  Allison heard the sound of bullets pinging off the undercarriage and, with her head still low, she peeked to the rear. The two thugs were positioned at the side of the house now.

  “They’re trying to shoot out your tires!”

  John laughed. “That won’t do them any good. Those are modified tires—solid rubber.”

  As they reached the edge of the forest, she noticed them running back towards the front of the house.

  “They’re going to give chase now, John! Heading back to their car!”

  The RV burst through the trees at the forest perimeter and began racing along a primitive dirt trail. The trees were just a blur as the little vehicle tore its way through the underbrush.

  Broken branches and potholes were no problem—it was the roughest ride Allison had ever had in her life, but the little beast handled everything in its path.

  “Well, they can’t follow us in a
pickup truck along this path. And, they’ll have to detach that boat trailer or they’ll never get any speed at all.”

  “Does that road back there pass parallel to this dirt path?”

  The senator nodded. “Yes, not as direct a route, but they’ll probably gain on us a bit. They can go faster on that road than we can here.”

  “Where does this come out?”

  “We’ll burst out close to the city. It hits that same road they’ll be on. Then, it’s a quick jaunt for us down to the lake.”

  “What good will that do us?”

  “I’ve got a speedboat at the marina. We can hit the safety of the water and decide what to do when we’re out there.”

  Allison glanced over at him. John’s sharp brain seemed to be back—he’d lost it for a bit after the shock of Clint’s death, but now he seemed energized.

  She couldn’t avoid smiling as she watched the intensity on his face—the determined clenching of his strong jaws and the fire in his eyes. If Allison didn’t know better, she would swear that he was actually enjoying this.

  At that moment, the good senator from Vermont looked more like Donald Sutherland than he ever had before.

  John expertly manipulated the vehicle over ditches, then down into a ravine and back up again. Dodged two deer that were grazing along the path.

  The forest was thick and the path was narrow. Allison held on for dear life as the Arctic Cat careened over one obstacle after another. John clearly knew what he was doing, though.

  He rammed the gear shift into fourth, and sent the vehicle flying over a small pond, then rammed it down into second as they mounted an intimidating hill.

  They were making good time. John estimated that they’d break out to the main road in about five minutes’ time. From there, it was a quick jog along a path to the marina.

  Suddenly, the path turned relatively smooth, a combination of gravel and dirt. Allison knew that was a sign that they were approaching the road.

  John touched her hand to get her attention over the growl of the motor. “Did you fly up in your jet?”

  “Yes. It’s parked at the Burlington Airport, waiting for me.”

  “Well, when we’re on the water, we can think about how to get out of here.”

  Allison yelled over the sound of the engine. “Doesn’t Lake Champlain flow all the way north into Canada?”

  “Yes, it does. About forty miles or so, give or take.”

  “Enough gas in your tank?”

  “Yep, I always keep the boat full.”

  “That’s where we’re going to go, then, John. That part of Canada would be Quebec. There will be a border checkpoint at a government wharf when we cross the Quebec portion of the lake. We’ll show our creds and then dock on the Canadian side. From there, we’ll make our way to Montreal—take a cab or rent a car. Once on the boat, I’ll phone my pilots and ask them to fly to Montreal’s Dorval Airport and meet up with us there. Sound like a plan?”

  John stared at her, astonished. “Jesus, have you ever thought of going into politics? I like how your mind works—quick, concise.”

  Allison smiled. “That’s just the astrophysicist in me, John. We’re conditioned to coming up with ‘out of this world’ scenarios.”

  “Well, it sounds workable to me. The main thing is we have to get to safety. Who knows how many others are out there looking for us, or who they might call. They’ll definitely be watching the airport and the major highways. I don’t think they’ll consider the water, though. It’s our best bet.”

  Allison frowned as she thought of what they’d left behind them. “John, we made a bit of a mess back there with Clint.”

  “Well, let’s be clear here—you left the mess, I didn’t.”

  Allison nodded. “Yes, but I’m sure you agree now that it was a necessary mess.”

  “I do. I can take care of it, though. I have a…how do I say this…clandestine contact back in Burlington. Most senators have someone like him. He’s handled touchy things for me before—not as bad as this, but he owes me his life from our military days. I’m comfortable calling him in on this. He’ll clean it up. I can get him to dump that rental car of yours, too, to make sure you can’t be traced.”

  “They can’t trace me to that car. Since I was coming to see you, I didn’t want certain people at Majestic 12 to be able to track that. I used a separate ID and credit card.”

  The senator shook his head. “You do think of everything.”

  Allison smiled. “I have to. My superior at Majestic knows that I have a soft spot for you. If he connects the dots from this bungled assassination to me, I’ll be a dead woman walking.”

  They cruised along for a few more minutes and the road kept getting wider the closer they got to the clearing ahead. Through the trees, they could now see punctuated views of the pavement of the main highway.

  Suddenly there was something else in their vision.

  A truck had pulled off the highway and was heading straight towards them on the gravel road. A head-on confrontation was seconds away.

  The pickup truck skidded to a stop and two figures jumped out. They knelt down in front of the truck and aimed their long-barrelled pistols straight at the looming Arctic Cat.

  “Shit! Hold on tight and duck, Allison!”

  Allison ducked her head below the dashboard as John swerved the Cat off the path. Suddenly, there was a jolt—it felt as if the little vehicle hit a large boulder. She heard John curse again as the RV went airborne.

  It rolled more times than Allison could count.

  The Cat didn’t have a roof, but it did have a sturdy roll bar which, along with the seatbelts, were probably the only things that saved them.

  She said a silent prayer as the Cat made its final roll, right up against the side of a creek bed. Allison’s side of the vehicle was in the creek and she gasped as the shockingly cold water babbled against her face and chest.

  John was stirring in the driver’s seat that was now above her, moaning about his head. He’d probably hit it against the steering wheel.

  Then, different voices. One of the thugs was standing in the creek bed, and the other one had climbed up onto John’s side. She heard the distinctive sound of a seatbelt being unclipped and was then aware of the struggle to pull John up out of his seat.

  Allison heard the thump and splash of John’s body as it was thrown rudely down into the creek bed.

  “Okay, Senator, time to take you for a boat ride.”

  A second voice—gruff, cold. “What about her?”

  “Just leave her. She must be his floozy. Not worth worrying about.”

  Allison then heard heavy footsteps splashing out of the creek and moving up the hill away from the Cat. Her right arm was trapped by her own weight, so she manoeuvred her left arm down and snapped off the seatbelt.

  She was able to get her face out of the creek and right herself just enough that she could see over the side of the overturned vehicle. They were trudging up the hill, one on each side of the dazed senator.

  One thing she was certain of—these killers hadn’t checked Clint’s body to see if his gun was still there. Otherwise, they would have killed her, or, at the very least, searched both of them. They had no idea that John and Allison were armed.

  She flicked the handle of the glove compartment. After they’d made their mad dash into the forest, she’d stashed it in there for safekeeping.

  It was stuck.

  She tried it again. No movement. The accident must have jammed it.

  Allison hadn’t wanted to make any unnecessary sounds, but she had no choice now. She smashed her fist against the glove compartment. Then, again…and again.

  Suddenly, it popped open and the gun fell out. She reached down into the cold water and, after a few seconds of searching, her fingers found the handgrip of the pistol. Then, she raised her head back up again and peeked over the edge of the driver’s side frame.

  They’d heard her.

  Both had now turned back t
owards the overturned vehicle, still propping the senator up between them.

  An image popped into Allison’s brain—a happy carefree day back when she was just a wee girl, out with her wonderful father in a farmer’s field, playing target practice with a pistol. Shooting pop cans off stumps.

  Allison was a good shot—in fact, she was a crack shot.

  She pictured coke cans across the left chest areas of the two coldblooded assassins. Then, Allison held her breath, flicked off the safety, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger in two quick bursts.

  Chapter 34

  Willy Carson worked his way through the crowded terminal of Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport. He only had a duffle bag with him, so he was lucky that he didn’t have wait for the damn carousel.

  He breezed through Customs and Immigration—having dual citizenship made it a lot faster for him than for a lot of his fellow passengers. He chuckled as he watched them grumbling their way through the turnstiles trying hard not to make eye contact with the officers, doing their best to make their visit to America sound as innocent as possible.

  Many of them were tourists from Canada, looking forward to enjoying a bit of the American deep south before winter set in. The south was indeed a beautiful part of the country, not just in the endless varieties of foliage, but also for the architecture and ‘buzz.’

  Atlanta was one of America’s biggest hub cities, with connecting flights available to almost anywhere in the world, and great highways that allowed sightseers to meander to all the old Civil War sites in Georgia and the adjoining states.

  He’d boarded in Calgary and had the extreme pleasure of sitting beside a lovely young lady—well, not that young, but to Willy everyone seemed young now compared to his eighty-seven years.

  They’d talked a lot during the five-hour flight. Mainly about her work, which Willy had found fascinating due to her obvious passion and commitment. Willy loved meeting people who had a zest for what they did.

  She was an orthopedic surgeon with a private practice in Atlanta, but had been up in Calgary for a few days attending a medical convention. Her name was Nancy, and she spoke with an unusually distinctive southern drawl—a linguistic style that Willy always thought made southerners sound dumb and inarticulate. But, with Nancy, he found it charming. The way she pronounced the words and allowed them to hang for an extra beat or two, it carried a unique twang that enriched her sweet tenor voice.