“Quincy? Is that you?”
“The one and only,” I said. “It’s good to hear from you, Mister Crawford. That is J. Clement Crawford, successful entrepreneur and nightclub owner, isn’t it?”
The screen went dark as someone put their hand over his camera and I could hear the dull underwater sounds of rapid conversation. Someone was warning Crawford to be careful what he said because everyone else could hear it and it was being recorded. The screen cleared and Crawford was back.
“Quincy? Clem Crawford here. I wanted to speak to you personally because I think there has been some misunderstanding here,” he said.
“Is that right?” I said. “What is it that you’ve misunderstood? Perhaps I can explain it to you.”
“Don’t play games with me, son,” Crawford said. “You’ve got something that belongs to me – and I want it back.”
“Why would you think that I have anything of yours?” I asked.
“Because you broke into a warehouse and loaded twelve hundred cases of my sour mash whiskey into that truck of yours,” Crawford said. Distracted, he looked back over his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”
That noise was Floyd in his yellow robot disguise reversing his truck into the gap between Crawford’s Skylark and the black gunship. I wasn’t quite sure why he was doing this but I had to pretend that I did. Yellow robot Floyd climbed out of the truck and started walking away down the highway. One of Crawford’s men appeared in the hatch of the Skylark. He pointed a gun at the yellow robot and fired. The robot’s head flew high in the air and then came down, bounced and rolled across the road. The yellow body took a couple more paces and then pitched forwards onto the asphalt. It didn’t move any more after that. Floyd wasn’t going to be happy about losing his head again.
“You’re right, Mister Crawford,” I said into the microphone. “There has been a misunderstanding. I don’t have your whiskey in my truck.”
“What kind of foolishness are you trying to pull?” Crawford snapped. “My men have chased that whiskey right across the country.”
“I wondered why they were following me and shooting at me,” I said. “I’m sorry that they wasted all that time. And the bullets. Your whiskey ain’t here. Can I ask you to hold for a moment, I’ve got another call coming in.”
I put Crawford on hold before he could speak and flipped over to an encrypted channel to take the call from Harmony.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You need to move things along,” she said. “We’re running out of time.”
“You interrupted me to tell me that?”
“I thought you might need some help, so here it is,” she said. “That truck down there between Crawford’s Skylark and the gunship? It’s packed with explosives. If you tell him that, he’ll agree to your demands quicker.”
“Nice move,” I said. “Your improvisational skills are my second favourite thing about you.”
“You want me to ask what the first thing is, don’t you?” She sounded like she had no intention of asking.
“That thing you do with your tongue that gives me goosebumps,” I said.
“Sorry to disillusion you, but that was just the draught under the door. Now get a move on.” She broke the connection.
I went back to Crawford’s call. His face looked a lot redder than it had done before.
“Mister Crawford,” I said, “have you ever played Find the Lady?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Find the Lady,” I said. “There are three playing cards face down on the table and you have to figure out which one of them is the queen.”
“I know what it is,” he said. “I just don’t know while you’re blabbering about it.”
“You have to find the lady,” I said. “That’s the game.”
“For pity’s sake...”
“Here’s how we’re going to play it,” I said. “There are three trucks. One of them contains your whiskey. You just have to pick the right truck.”
“Three trucks?” Crawford said. “I can only see two.”
“There’s a third one, trust me on that,” I said.
“I don’t have time for...”
“You’re right,” I interrupted. “We’re running out of time. So I’ll give you a clue. The truck you want to open isn’t the one that is parked at the side of you.”
“If you don’t...”
“That truck on your side of the roadblock contains a bomb,” I said. “A big bomb. It’s a present from Harmony. You remember her? The cute redhead.”
The live feed of our conversation stirred the crowd on the other side of the roadblock. People began to move away from the truck and Crawford’s ship. The police vehicles went with them. I was pleased to see this happen.
“I’ve had enough of this,” Crawford said. “Get that gunship in the air.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “If that ship leaves the ground, Harmony will detonate the bomb remotely.” Crawford could be fairly certain that I would never blow up the truck and kill people, but he also knew Harmony well enough to realise that she would.
The sound from his end became muffled again and shadows passed back and forth in front of his camera. The discussion sounded a lot more frantic than it had before.
They sent someone to check out the truck to see if it did indeed contain a bomb. I felt sorry for the minion that had drawn the short straw. He had no way of knowing whether the trailer had been booby-trapped or not. For his sake, I hoped it wasn’t. I held my breath as he opened the rear door of the trailer just a crack and pointed a torch inside. There was no ball of flame. But was there a bomb in there?
When Crawford came back on the line it sounded like he’d received confirmation. The whiskey wasn’t in the truck but there was a bomb. This came as something of a relief to me. Harmony might have been bluffing.
“What is it that you want, Quincy?” Crawford asked.
“I want you to find the lady,” I said. “Is the whiskey in this truck over here? Or is it in the truck that is driving towards your depot in the city?”
“You’re bluffing,” Crawford said. “There is no third truck.”
“Are you willing to bet on that?” I asked. “Especially when you know that we hijacked one of your trucks last night.”
Was the third truck on its way to Crawford’s depot and the finish line? I hoped so. That was the plan.
“Time for you to place your bet, Mister Crawford,” I said. “The odds are fifty-fifty. Red or black? Tick-tock, tick-tock.”
More muffled sounds as someone covered the mic and camera at his end. It didn’t take a genius to guess that they were making frantic calls to the city to see if anyone could spot another truck. If there was a third truck, it was only minutes away from the finish line.
I knew what answer he had received when people began running around, moving their vehicles and dismantling the roadblock. Crawford had given the word. Everyone was to head back to the freight depot. I could almost hear him shouting. ‘Stop that truck!’ His Skylark took off and headed back towards New Grimsby. The police and the rest of the crowd turned their vehicles around and headed back too. Everyone wanted to see how the chase ended.
The shiny black gunship and our truck were the only things left down there. And Floyd’s body. The gunship sat there for a minute, then the pilot decided to chance it and lifted off. It went straight up like a rocket, the pilot still afraid we might trigger the bomb in the truck. When he felt he was out of range he turned the gunship and fired a missile at the truck. It was a pretty big explosion. What a waste – there was only me and Skeet there to see it, the news cameras were all gone. The gunship headed back towards the city.
I called Harmony. “They’re on their way,” I said.
“We’re all set,” she said.
Skeet and I moved forward – there was no roadblock to stop us now. The truck kept going but I stopped to load the damaged yellow robot into the back of the Trekker. Then I too
headed after everyone else.
Chapter Fifty-One
After it passed the city limits, the highway split into two separate roads. One fork followed the coast and led to the docks and the industrial zone. And our finish line. The other curved inland towards the heart of the city. The roads had official designations, but most folks just called them the Ocean Road and the City Road. I felt an urge to turn onto the City Road and leave this craziness behind. But I had to see it through – I needed to know how it all turned out.
The Ocean Road passed over an area of saltmarsh and rose high above it on fat concrete pillars. When the sea mist drifted in it must be like driving on a road through the clouds. But on a clear day like today, you had great views of the sea on one side and New Grimsby on the other. And of the marsh hundreds of feet below you.
The third truck, driven by the armoured robot that had once housed Floyd was on the Ocean Road and one of Bobby-Ray’s drones already had it in sight.
“We’re live over the Ocean Road where the last stage of the race is currently underway,” Bobby-Ray told his viewers. “There’s a little under three miles to go and the truck is fast approaching the downhill run that will take it to the finish line.”
The concrete road was a broad pale arc that dipped down towards the city’s main industrial zone. There it split into half-a-dozen smaller roads that fanned out to the docks and warehouses. One of those minor roads led directly to Crawford’s freight depot.
I was monitoring the communications net, picking up unencrypted talk from Crawford’s people, the news crews, and everyone else. The screen on the Trekker’s dashboard was showing me the live feeds from the city’s news station cameras and Bobby-Ray’s drones. The on-air chatter was chaotic but the video images told the story. And Bobby-Ray provided the commentary.
“Further back along the highway you can see the V-shaped formation of vehicles that are chasing after the truck, all of them desperate to be there to see the end of the race. Leading the chase from the air is J. Clement Crawford’s cream and gold Skylark. Crawford, of course, has wagered that Quincy and Floyd will not reach the finish by the midday deadline. As the truck gets closer and closer to that line, and with only half an hour to go, we’re all wondering what sort of move Crawford will make to ensure that they don’t make it.”
Yep, we were all wondering that. But I had a pretty good idea. It was going to be loud and violent. I just hoped it didn’t get out of hand – there were a lot of vehicles on the highway beside the bad guys and us good guys. Following behind Crawford’s Skylark was a swelling crowd of vehicles filling all four lanes of the Ocean Road. They were Crawford’s minions, police vehicles, and interested members of the public. At the tail-end of this line were me in the Trekker and Skeet behind the wheel of the truck. Somewhere ahead of the Skylark was our third truck, driven by the robot formerly known as Floyd. I hoped that it was a long way ahead of Crawford and closing in on the freight depot.
“Quincy Randall managed to outwit Crawford back at the roadblock by confusing his opponent with not one, not two, but three identical trucks. Which one is the whiskey in? We have to hope that it’s in the one that is now only minutes away from the finish line.
“Here we have video showing one of the trucks being destroyed by Crawford’s gunship. A second truck is behind all of the vehicles on the Ocean Road – you can see it in these pictures from our drone. I think it’s safe to say that this truck can’t possibly reach the finish before noon.
“Did I say this truck was bringing up the rear? There’s one more vehicle behind it and if you’ve been with us from the start you’ll recognise that old green station wagon. Let’s get in close and see if they’ll give us a wave.”
One of the drones dropped down beside the station wagon, keeping pace with it and filming through the side window. Bobby-Ray was also still grabbing the audio from the car’s onboard camera.
“There they are!” a voice shouted. Marshal Rufus T. Dimmock. “We’re going after them. Hold tight.”
The Highway Patrolman looked down at his limbless body. “Hold tight with what?”
Marshal Dimmock put his hand behind the Highway Patrolman’s head and shoved it forwards and down. The robot’s head connected with the dashboard and he bit down hard, holding himself in place.
“Any more questions?” the Marshal asked. He smashed his foot down on the accelerator before anyone could speak.
“There in the distance, with the sun glinting on the sea beyond it, is the silhouette of the third truck. It’s getting closer and closer to the finish line. If Crawford is going to try and stop it, he’s going to have to do it soon.”
One of the camera drones was high above the coast road and showed the black rusty truck with the battered container on its trailer speeding along the raised roadway. There was nothing else on the road near it, so I guess the police were damming up the usual traffic somewhere.
Bobby-Ray’s drone zoomed in close on the truck, orbiting around it. Viewers got a head-on view that showed Floyd’s old armoured robot body behind the wheel. I knew that Crawford would be watching these pictures too, shouting orders to his minions. And I’m sure Mister Flint was viewing them as well to see how the cross-country chase he had initiated would play out.
That ending was only minutes away. My clock said twenty minutes to midday. As the crow flies, the truck was only five minutes away. But it wasn’t a crow and Crawford could, and would, still throw new obstacles in its path.
“Coming up beside Crawford’s Skylark now is a second aircraft, the sleek black shape of the heavily-armed gunship. We saw the firepower of this thing when its missiles completely destroyed the decoy truck. And you have to think that Clem Crawford will want it to do the same thing to the truck that’s out in front now.
“What Quincy and Floyd will do when the gunship begins its attack run, I have no idea. But judging by the ingenuity they have demonstrated so far, you can bet that Team Quincy has a plan.”
I heard Crawford’s voice yelling over the others.
“I don’t care,” he said. “Blow it up! Bring that truck down!”
“There’s the gunship banking away inland and coming around for the attack. The weapons are aimed at the side of the truck – it’s a bigger target that way. And firing towards the ocean means there’s less risk of innocent bystanders being hit. As the gunship bears down on the truck, all we can do is hold our breath and wait to see what happens.”
A dark shape zipped through the sky like a bird of prey. The glossy black gunship speeding towards its target.
“Missiles hot!” said a voice among the radio chatter.
“Destroy it!” Crawford shouted.
The camera drone closest to the truck turned around and filmed the incoming gunship.
“Missile away!”
The drone shot upwards out of range. The second drone caught the action from somewhere off to the right of the gunship, flying parallel to it.
A missile dropped from the side of the gunship, hung there for a moment and then the rockets kicked in and hurled it towards the truck. The missile hit the road a bit ahead of the truck and the explosion took a big bite out of the concrete surface and the side barrier. The truck swerved to avoid the smoking hole.
The was cheering over the communications net. I didn’t know if it was Crawford’s people celebrating the missile strike or everyone else happy that the truck had escaped destruction.
“Oh, my word! That was close. The gunship is coming around for a second attack. It looks like Team Quincy is relying on the speed of the truck to keep it beyond the reach of the missiles. I’m no expert, but I have to say that this is a risky strategy. Will their luck hold out? We’ll know in a few short seconds.”
The gunship came in for another shot. The second missile skimmed the surface of the road behind the truck and disappeared out over the ocean. Water boiled upwards as it exploded.
The truck was still barrelling along and would soon reach the slope that would carr
y it down towards the finish line. The gunship circled around again. I couldn’t remember how many missiles it carried. Six? Eight? Whatever, it still had the potential to bring this chase to a fiery end.
A drone camera got in close to the gunship and showed the next missile launch.
“It’s hit! The truck is hit! I can see a ball of flame and it looks like that was a direct hit. After fourteen days and two-and-a-half thousand miles, this isn’t how it was supposed to end... and it isn’t! There’s the truck emerging from the fire.
“I can see some smoke from scorched paintwork, but other than that it seems unharmed. The robot driving that thing has more lives than a cat. Man, that was close.”
There was an orange fireball on the road and like Bobby-Ray I thought the truck must have been hit. But it had been a very near-miss. The truck appeared out of the expanding cloud of fire and smoke. It swerved wildly as the robot fought to keep control.
“That boy couldn’t hit the broad side of a battleship with a banjulele,” Crawford roared. “Forget the moving truck, take out the road!”
I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but someone must have objected to this course of action.
“You bring that thing down or I’m lining you all up against a wall and doing some shooting of my own!”
“Yes, sir, boss – you’ve got it.”
Skeet turned at looked at me. “Shouldn’t we do something?” he asked.
“There’s nothing we can do now except watch,” I said.
The gunship went out in another wide curve and headed in low over the ocean.
“I’m looking at the clock and there are seven-and-a-half minutes to go. Half a mile remaining. Are they going to do it? There’s the gunship, out low over the ocean, coming around for another attack. This will be the final run – they have to make these missiles count if they want to prevent the truck from reaching the finish line. The gunship is coming in at speed, closing on the truck. How many lives does Floyd the robot have left? I don’t think I can watch this.”
“Target in five seconds,” the pilot of the gunship said.
Road Rage Page 33