“Is it the Drake?”
“No, I don’t think so. Someone else. Look Sid, go to our safe place, okay? I’ll meet you there in twelve hours.”
“John! John! Smoke, don’t you dare hang up that phone,” she said.
“See you soon,” he replied. He hung up and threw the phone over his left shoulder.
I just have to get away from these goggled fools.
Smoke glanced into the sky and laid eyes on the chopper. Men were rappelling from the chopper down onto the road.
I don’t know who these clowns are, but I’m not sticking around to find out. I’ve got a date in twelve hours.
He took off running.
CHAPTER 10
Sprinting through the woods with branches stinging his face, Smoke pushed for distance from his pursuers. The path he took paralleled the highway, and he could see through the foliage the white big rigs that had pursued him before. They pulled onto the road and came to a stop. Men were shouting back and forth at each other, and assault rifles were being charged up to fire.
All this over me? Why?
That was the odd part of it. The stink of the Drake wasn’t on these men. Nor did they smell of the European sect called Guermo. This was some private army. Mercenaries. Veteran soldiers, and they didn’t seem to want him dead. So what did they want? Was it just him, or was Sidney a part of this too?
She sounded fine when I called. No edge to her voice or anything. I can only hope she’s okay.
Moving as fast as he could, there wasn’t much Smoke could do to hide his tracks. The men coming after him would have to go slower to find his trail, but it wouldn’t be hard for a seasoned tracker to find. On a whim, he grabbed the goggles bouncing up and down on his throat and slipped them over his eyes.
The landscape brightened. The goggles worked much like the sunglasses Mal had given him to help see in the dark.
Hmmm.
He scuttled through the brush and came to a stop at the creek that gently cut through the terrain. By jumping to the other side, he left a deep impression in the mud, then took off a dozen yards into the woods, climbed up a fallen tree that ended on the other side of the creek, and lowered himself into the ankle-deep waters and headed upstream.
That ought to buy me a little extra time.
He skimmed over the water on the rocks jutting up above the brook as best he could, like a frog hopping from lily pad to lily pad. A hundred feet into the laborious trek, he heard the voices of pursuit drifting up the waterway and looked back. Men with tactical lights were in pursuit. Three beams of light in all. They paused for several seconds before they ventured across into the woods.
That should give me a few extra minutes, maybe longer if I’m lucky.
But the bright beam of the chopper’s spotlight started up the creek and was coming right for him.
That’s what I get for relying on luck.
Smoke found a cove in the creek bank and pushed himself up underneath the long overhanging grass until the spotlight passed. Coated in a new layer of fresh mud and soaked to his knees, he resumed his venture. He followed a straight line until the creek bent back toward the highway.
By land or by sea?
Absent the sound of his pursuers, he opted to stay in the water. About fifteen minutes later he was facing the highway, where a small water tunnel burrowed beneath the road. From the cover of the tall grass, he peeked up at the highway. As far as he could tell, he was close to a mile away from the trucks. The chopper was still making its rounds overhead, with the spotlight glaring into the trees.
Follow the water to freedom.
He slipped back down into the creek, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled through the pitch-black tunnel. About a minute later, he came to the tunnel’s end and waited. A moment later, the helicopter’s spotlight crossed over the creek again. It hovered in the same spot, crossing over the stretch of highway at the points where the creek tunnel entered and exited.
Come on, black bird, nothing to see here. Keep moving.
The chopper drifted away.
Finally.
Without wasting any time, Smoke darted down the creek for another half mile before cutting into the woodland again. The area around DC wasn’t anything complicated so far as knowing where he was. He wasn’t close to the major interstate but instead the older, less traveled highways. If he had to hoof it into DC and meet Sid, that would be just fine. He could do it in a few hours. He just wondered if anyone else would be looking for him. The police or perhaps the FBI.
I hate to do it, but I might have to borrow someone’s wheels to blend in and go. Man, I can’t believe my Camaro is totaled. I hope comprehensive insurance will cover it.
He kept at it one foot after the other until the sound of the chopper faded. Skinned up and wet from water and sweat, he wandered into the edge of a suburban neighborhood. The houses were contemporary and well built. The lights were on in most all of them, with the warm canned lights of television sets that were turned on. It being a warm night, there were people out on back porches grilling food. He could see one woman walking her little dogs on the blacktop roads. It looked like the kind of place where everyone knew everybody. It would be tough to steal a car and not be noticed.
Move on or move in.
He eased his way along the backyards until he came to a house where all the lights were out. There was a chain-link fence but no sign of any dogs. He hopped the fence and slunk into the shadows of the backyard shed. He noticed the grass was long beneath his boots.
Maybe this place is on the market.
He made a bead for the back door that led into the garage and gave the handle a jiggle. The security lights flicked on and the house alarm sounded.
Smooth, Smoke, real smooth.
CHAPTER 11
Smoke lowered his shoulder into the back door and busted through. A fishing boat and an old Volvo Crossover sat inside the two-car garage that was mostly empty otherwise. It was pretty clear the house had been cleaned out but not sold, and the owners hadn’t moved the bigger items yet.
He went right for the dark-blue Volvo Crossover and took note of the R-Design logo on the back hatch over the bumper.
“Cool.”
He opened the door and scooted into the old, broken-in leather seats. The key was in the ignition. He turned it over, and the vehicle purred to life. He clicked in his seatbelt, punched the garage door opener attached to the visor, and watched the door open up in front of him. He dropped it into drive and eased the Swedish machine forward.
An old man with a crew cut who was wearing long pajamas blocked the driveway with his shotgun pointed right at Smoke. “Stop right there, thief!”
Great Dane.
Smoke honked the horn.
Pajama Man flinched.
Smoke hit the gas and zoomed straight for him.
Pajama Man dove to the side and a shotgun blast went off, busting out the passenger-side window and sending glass everywhere.
Smoke was skidding out of the driveway, leaving the house way behind and racing through the once-peaceful neighborhood.
Walkers with and without leashes attached to dogs were shaking their fists at him and yelling for him to slow down. They didn’t know what was going on, just that there was a maniac running wild through the neighborhood.
He cut down one street and up another.
It’s a suburban maze. Crap. One of those unending gated communities.
Eyeing the landscape, he followed the road whenever it led down the slope until he came to a steep, winding road with the backsides of the houses and condos facing it. After following the twists and curves a mile down the hill, he spied the automatic gatehouse ahead. The black iron gates were closed, and the blue and red lights of a police car were flashing through the trees of the exit road.
Law enforcement is here already. They must get a cut from the homeowners’ association.
He brought the car up to fifty miles per hour and drove for the gate.
; I hope this works like it does in the movies.
He squeezed the steering wheel.
Here we go!
The black gate smashed open and swung over to one side, shattering the gear box to pieces. He bottomed out at the T-intersection and turned right and charged straight for the oncoming police car.
The black and white parked in the middle of the two lanes.
No good.
Smoke cut the wheel hard, doing a one-eighty in the middle of the road and putting the turbo Crossover into reverse. He pushed the accelerator to the floor and rammed through the rear quarter panel of the police car like something out of a Dukes of Hazard episode. Metal ground and glass shattered everywhere. The jarring impact snapped his head into the headrest. He kept going backward down the curvy road until he made it to the next intersection. Backing into it, he got the Crossover straightened back out and put it in drive and floored it until he got onto the next stretch of four-lane highway divided by a concave berm.
“Whew!”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. He was out of the woods and onto the road and trying to think his way through to the next plan, but other things than survival were on his mind.
Let’s see. Breaking and entering. Grand larceny. Damage to personal property. Reckless driving. Assault on police officers. It’s going to be a bad day in court. I hope I can get my old cell back.
He patted the dash of the car. A lifelong reader of Motor Trend and Car and Driver, he knew plenty about the specs of the Volvo R-Design. It had racing suspension and a suped-up engine with three hundred twenty-five horsepower. That plus its sturdy frame made for an excellent escape vehicle, but now he just had to get far enough away from his pursuers so that he could hide.
A Walmart would be really nice right now. I could park and blend in with all the wal-nut zombies.
He eased off the gas from about a hundred to eighty, hoping to blend in with the steady flow of traffic. He’d passed by a few cars and trucks when the police cars came firing down the oncoming traffic of the four-lane highway. Smoke switched into the slow lane between two other cars and slowed down a little more. The two police cars passed him by and kept on going.
I might make a great escape after all.
He steered back into the fast lane and accelerated up to eighty again, took his turnoff away from the steady flow of cars, and headed back toward DC. He turned on the radio. No music, just a commercial. He poked another preset button. Hip-hop music pumped the bass and shook the windows.
Nice system for a Volvo.
Smoke adjusted his seat.
Wow. They really do make the most comfortable seats.
The radio turned to static.
A spotlight shone down on him in the Volvo like it was an alien abduction. The black chopper was back.
Whuppa…whuppa…whuppa…whuppa…
CHAPTER 12
I’m really starting to hate helicopters. They’re ruining my radio enjoyment.
Zipping past car after car, Smoke took the Crossover up to ninety. He was dead meat out in the open. He needed to get into a crowd, blend in, and disappear. Too bad there weren’t a lot of crowds on the highway. He was the pitcher on the mound with all eyes on him. Nowhere to escape.
The road chase continued for several miles, taking him closer to DC. He expected traffic, but as late as it was, the flow was easy. He just stayed in the fast lane and went.
Bright headlights lit up his rearview mirror. Two motorcycles were on his tail. Behind them were some other cars.
Looks like the posse has finally caught up with me.
He stayed on the highway until he found himself approaching Silver Spring, a Maryland city north of DC. Now all he had to do was find a crowded spot to get out and hide before they tore up the city chasing after him. The bright lights of traffic had started to thicken. A red light was ahead, and in a moment he’d be in the bumper-to-bumper traffic with his pursuers right on his tail.
Think fast, Smoke. Real fast.
The light turned green and the traffic started to flow again. People on the sidewalks were looking up at the chopper in the sky and pointing. He could see the bikers in goggles talking to each other behind him. If they had guns, they were kept out of sight.
Hmmm, looks like someone wants to keep a low profile.
Now in the thick of town, the traffic started to slow to another stop, waiting for the light to change. Smoke squeezed the Volvo into the left lane, drove onto the sidewalk, and slipped between the foot traffic into an alley. The passage was narrow, with barely enough room to open a door and get out on the other side. The motorcycles and another car were right behind him. He parked the car cockeyed, jumped out of the sunroof, and took off running full speed toward the end of the alley.
Try and catch me now.
As soon as he made his way to the street, Smoke dove into the crowd where the people were thickest. It was a nice night, and many people were out on the town. Staying low and concealing his guns under his shirt as best he could, Smoke slipped into a joint called Pete’s New Haven Pizza, where the line was out the door. Ushering himself inside, he brushed through a couple of waitresses into the kitchen and slipped out the door on the back side. After repeating this several times, he started to breathe easy.
I think I gave them the slip.
He hung back under the awning of a storefront, where he could see the chopper overhead. People were still glancing up from time to time. Once the chopper cleared his view, Smoke headed over to a pay phone, got a paperclip out of his jeans pocket, and bent it into a straight line. He stuck the paperclip into a small black hole between the coin release and the amplification button just above the hook mechanism where the receiver hung. Grabbing the handset, he put the other end of the paperclip in the center hole of the microphone. He used the paperclip to toggle the lever inside the hook mechanism, heard it click over, and got a dial tone without paying.
Works every time.
He dialed a number and got an answer after two rings.
“This is Mal.”
Huddled over the phone, Smoke said, “It’s Smoke. No time to chat, but I’m in Silver Spring and need to get to DC. No rentals, cabs, or buses.”
“What am I, a travel agent?” Mal replied without hiding the offense in his voice. “What do you have going on, anyway?”
“Get it done, Mal.” Smoke heard Mal screaming through the room. “Asia! Asia! Silver Spring incognito now!”
“After my show,” said her voice in the background.
“It’s for Smoke. Go!” Mal insisted.
“I’m so glad I can count on the happiest couple that ever lived,” Smoke said without hiding his sarcasm. “Listen, you need to make this happen quickly. They’ve got thugs all over me.”
“Who does? The Drake?”
“No,” Smoke replied. “I think someone else is crashing our party. I don’t know who or why, but I do have a clue. You can take a look at this Maryland plate. 2DH721.”
“Okay,” Mal replied. “I’ve got your ride. Fred’s Cars and Auto Care. Westwood and Nickers street. Good—”
Smoke hung up the phone. Hands in his pockets, he crossed the street and approached an older couple coming out of McDonald’s. “Excuse me, do you know where Fred’s Cars and Auto Care is?”
The old man cupped his ear and said, “What?”
The woman smiled at Smoke and said, “He can’t hear anything but bells anymore. You’re close, honey.” She pointed. “Five blocks south to the multiplex and take the left onto Apple Avenue. You’ll be close enough to see it from there.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime,” she replied.
“What did he say?” the old man asked her.
Smoke walked fast, head down and hands in his pockets. Once he made it to Apple Avenue, he spotted the used car place. There were dozens of cars guarding a double-wide office trailer. It was a warm summer night, and they were open. He ventured up the steps and inside the door. A cute young gal sat at a small re
ceptionist desk filing her nails. Her brows lifted when she saw him. She sat up, picked up a set of keys, smiled, and said, “I’m guessing you’re the man looking for these?”
Smiling back, he said, “That would be me. Are we good?”
She got up from her chair and walked over to him with a swagger in her hips, handed him the keys, and said, “I think we’d be great together. Come on, sugar. Follow me.”
He opened up the door and said, “After you.”
With a little giggle, she led him outside onto the parking lot and stopped alongside a white Camry. “She’s a ninety-six with over two hundred thousand miles, but probably still the most reliable car on the lot.” Chewing her gum, she nuzzled up to him. “So, where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I’m late for a wedding.” He stepped around her and opened up the car door. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“Next time you’re back in Silver Springs, look me up,” she said.
He left her in the rearview mirror, hit the main road, and found his way back onto I-495.
The chopper and its penetrating spotlight glided right over him.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
CHAPTER 13
Big hands locked on the steering wheel and eyes on the road, Smoke hunkered down in the seat. It was a pointless exercise, but he did it on instinct, changing his frame and trying to look smaller. The helicopter lowered until it was about thirty feet above the ground as he raced alongside the cars on the highway. The bright beam shone right inside the cars in front of Smoke, suffocating them with brilliant light one by one.
Go ahead and cause an accident, why don’t you?
He couldn’t help but think they’d figured him out at the used car lot. Perhaps the men showed up and shook her down for a description. Maybe a keyword in his payphone conversation with Mal Gunderson had tipped them off.
They can’t be that good.
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files: Special Edition Fantasy Bundle, Books 6 thru 10 (Smoke Special Edition Book 2) Page 17