He turned to Sam. “Do you realize this was the first of the 1970s big block V8s?”
“No,” Sam replied. “I’m afraid my dad had, how do I say this… more expensive tastes in cars when I was growing up.”
“All the more shame for you.”
“I guess.”
“Well let me enlighten you, my friend. This was the first of the model’s big block V8s and it actually displaced 402 cubic inches, although Chevrolet chose to retain the 396 badges. It’s equipped with a single 4-barrel Holley carburetor that produces a staggering 375 horsepower at 5,600 rpm!”
“That’s great. Really, I mean it. I get classic cars. I love them as much as the next guy, maybe even a little more. But I’m pretty certain that storm’s going to hit soon, trapping us here for another day, or worse yet, those drug dealers are going to return and then it’s game over – so let’s just get it started and get out of here.”
Ben smiled. “You bet. But I drive.”
“Sure.”
He unplugged the engine warmer and dropped the hood.
Outside, someone shouted, “What was that?”
Ben and Sam went silent.
Sam switched off the light.
A second voice said, “There are footprints in the snow leading to the barn!”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ben climbed into the driver’s seat.
He felt like an astronaut stepping into an original Apollo rocket. The car felt new, it even smelled new. But it was an anachronism. It was like driving off the car lot for the first time, nearly five decades late. The odometer displayed 865 miles. The damned car hadn’t even reached its first 1000 miles. It felt like a tragedy. The car was born to be driven, not stored in pristine museum-style perpetuity.
Outside, someone fumbled with the barn’s door handle.
Ben gripped the steering wheel. The curved instrument panel featured several round dials for gauges and other switches offset by a faux-wood inlay that matched the steering wheel and door panels. He ran his eyes across them. To the right were the now antique radio, cigarette lighter and ashtray at the center and glovebox door on the right.
He dipped down, hiding in the Strato bucket seats, unique to 1970 models – they featured squared-off seatbacks and adjustable headrests.
A flashlight beam shined across the car.
Someone said, “I don’t see anything.”
“Could it have been an animal in the snow?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A coyote or something?”
“I doubt it. Those weren’t coyote tracks. Besides, they only reached the door. Did you see any exit tracks?”
“No.” The second voice admitted, but there was impatience behind it. “Look, the barn’s empty. There’s nothing inside except for the old man’s Camaro. Let’s head back, its cold out here!”
“All right, all right.” The first voice admitted. “Hang on a second, will you.”
Ben heard footsteps approach.
“What is it?” the second guy asked.
“The cover isn’t sitting right. If the boss came in and saw it like this, there would be hell to pay.”
“So fix it and let’s go.”
Ben held his breath.
Beside him, Sam looked for anything that might be used as a weapon.
Ben saw the man lift the cover, fluffing it as someone would a bedsheet. He was carrying an AK47 strung casually over his shoulder and wore the vacant expression of all security guards approaching the end of the graveyard shift when nothing is happening.
Their eyes met.
The guard’s eyes widened. It took a moment for incredulity to be replaced with action.
Ben didn’t wait.
He turned the ignition.
The Camaro’s big block V8 revved into life. Its engine produced a deep, gravelly sound, which resonated throughout the barn.
It brought a smile to Ben’s face.
The guard found his composure, already trying to unsling his weapon. “Stop! Get out of the car now!”
Ben shoved his foot on the clutch, pushed the 4-speed Hurst shifter into first gear, revved the engine hard and dropped the clutch.
The tires screeched, scrambling to find their perch on the oak flooring.
The solid muscle car lurched forward, like a caged wild animal suddenly released. The car shot forward. A couple seconds later, all 3,310 pounds of steel and genuine Chevrolet craftsmanship struck the dilapidated barn door, sending the rotten wood into a mass of splintered shards.
Two shots fired!
And one of the guards shouted, “Sweet Jesus! Don’t shoot the boss’s car!”
Ben shifted into second.
At the end of the path he threw the steering wheel to the right, swinging the heavy car around like a go-cart.
On the main path, he kept his foot pressed down hard on the accelerator.
He jammed on the brake as they reached another fork in the road, the Camaro’s tires digging into the snow-covered trail.
Ben yelled, “Which way?”
Sam gripped the edge of his seat. “Go right!”
Ben swerved to the right. A large Ford Pickup met them head on. At a glance, he could see the passenger with a machinegun ready to fire.
Ben shoved his foot on the brake and yanked the wheel round in the other direction.
“Change of plans!”
The Camaro locked its wheels, fishtailed and swung in on itself. He brought the shifter back to first. When the car completed its 180-degree slide, Ben switched from the brake to the accelerator, flooring it hard.
The tires spun in the snow before reaching the thick gravel below, and shooting forward again.
Behind him, he heard the rapid staccato of machinegun fire.
“Don’t shoot at the car!” he yelled. “Your boss won’t fucking like it!”
Sam made a wry smile. “Or us for that matter!”
Ben quickly shifted up gears until the car was pummeling along a riparian trail at forty-five miles an hour. The trail snaked round two soft bends and he never once took his foot off the accelerator. He dropped down the gears as the trail dipped downward and they crossed a frozen stream, before gunning the pedal up the opposite bank.
The Camaro’s engine roared in a symphony of gravelling induction noises.
Sam glanced at him and smiled.
“What?” Ben asked.
“You’re enjoying this!”
“Hey, I’m entitled to! In the past seventy-two hours I’ve had my entire life taken away from me, everything about my life is a lie, and people keep trying to kill me – so yes, I think a little bit of fun is okay.”
He reached a blind bend and threw the gear down to second.
The car slid sideways, Ben counter-locked the steering and shoved his foot down hard on the pedal. The engine cackled with pleasure.
They reached the open end of the corner and he straightened the wheel, shooting forward once more.
He turned to Sam. “All right, a LOT of fun!”
The trail dipped down into another bank, crossing a small frozen river. Half way up the next bank he jammed on the brake. In front of them, a second Ford Pickup came to a sudden stop.
Sam yelled, “Backup! Backup!”
Ben threw the shifter into reverse. He looked over his right shoulder as he headed in the opposite direction.
“Where am I going?” he asked. “Those other guys aren’t that far behind us!”
“Stop!”
Ben hit the brakes.
He took in the landscape at a glance. There was a single road; it meandered around Devil’s Lake – or whatever lake they were nearby. That road dipped into what would have been a shallow river crossing, but this time of year was all frozen. He had a truck in front of him and another one behind him. No way to get around either.
There was nowhere for him to go.
Sam said, “Go that way!”
Ben looked in that direction. “Are you crazy?”
/>
More shots fired.
It was enough encouragement.
Sam yelled, “Go! Go!”
He gunned the accelerator and the Camaro lurched forward onto the icy river. It was a really bad idea. He had no idea if the surface ice would even take his weight and even if he did, it was like ice skating without the skates. The 25.5-inch original tires just didn’t cut it.
The river was nearly eighty feet wide at the crossing, but it soon narrowed. Ben kept it in second gear, making the conscious decision not to use the brake.
Ben tried to steer. The wheels were getting just enough traction to still maintain control, but everything took a lot more effort. He was using bigger, stronger movements to make small corrections.
Sam glanced in the right-hand rearview mirror. “They’re following!”
“All right, I guess I’ll just have to speed up!”
He added just a touch more pressure to the accelerator and the Camaro rose to the challenge. The river snaked through a dense forest. Ben felt like a rally car driver, making constant changes to the steering, brake, and accelerator.
Sam glanced at him in silence, his face rigid with fear.
Ben grinned. “You know, it’s not that bad. Once you accept that you never have traction and that you just have to keep adding small inputs to the controls to modify your direction, it’s not that hard.”
Sam gripped the dashboard. “If you say so.”
The river veered to the right, sharply. A large boulder glared at them straight ahead, like impending and unforgiving doom.
Ben turned early, accelerating hard, and sending the Camaro into a sideways drift.
Ten feet from the boulder, the tires found a small amount of purchase and the car continued in the new direction.
Sam turned right around in the passenger seat. There was a loud crash behind them. It sounded like metal twisting. Sam grinned. “They didn’t make it!”
“Both of them?”
“Just the first one. I don’t know where the second car got to… wait!” Sam swallowed. “It’s still going. One down, one to go!”
“I don’t plan to let it catch up.”
The river straightened and Ben increased his speed.
Sam watched him. His eyes lit up, not with fear, but with curiosity.
Ben made a slight grin. “What?”
“How are you doing this?”
“What? I’m driving a car. I’ve driven a car my entire adult life. What’s so special about it?”
“You’re driving better than most professional rally car drivers. Seriously, how are you doing this?”
Ben gave a little shrug. “Like I said when we met, I have fast reflexes. Always have.”
Up ahead, the river looked like it widened again. Then Sam realized it didn’t widen. It became the main lake. Ben changed down the gears quickly. It put the car into a slide. He tapped the brake and corrected, but still couldn’t change his forward momentum. He was going too fast. Ben hit the brake hard, but instead of correcting the situation, the Camaro slid out coming to a complete stop nearly a hundred feet out into the lake facing back toward the ice river.
He revved the engine.
Beneath them, the ice started to creak.
His mind returned to the Camaro’s 3,310-pound curb weight and wondered how much Devil’s Lake could take this late in the season.
Up ahead, the driver of the Ford Pickup spotted them. Like a predator recognizing its trapped prey, he fixated on them, accelerating at full speed.
Ben waited.
In the distance, he saw the incoming driver’s face alive with triumph.
When it was too late for the driver to change his mind, Ben released the brake, and took off, driving hard toward the lake’s edge.
It took a second for the pickup driver to realize his mistake. In an instant, his face turned from triumph to abject fear. He tried to brake, but all it did was send the truck into an unrecoverable slide – coming to a stop just shy of the cracking ice.
The weakened ice held for a few seconds, and then, unable to support the heavier truck, finally gave way to gravity. The heavier front end was the first to fall through the ice. The occupants quickly opened the doors and jumped out. A moment later, the entire slab broke and the truck fell through.
Ben glanced at the image in his rear-view mirror and laughed. “Now I’m definitely having fun!”
He spotted a boat ramp leading to a road paved with blacktop, and took it. The road came out onto US Highway 2. Ben kicked it up to fourth and let the Camaro run free.
Next stop. Minot, North Dakota – where he would finally get answers.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Minot, North Dakota
The Camaro entered the city a little before four a.m.
They approached a grain elevator ahead of them. A line of trees ran along their left, and the open fields of snow stretched all the way to the horizon on their right. They were on the outskirts of town, but somehow Sam had forgotten how sparse the place really was. It would be a stretch to say that the population was over fifty thousand. For a guy used to the East Coast, that could be a fraction of the population in a single neighborhood.
It was four a.m. exactly by the time they reached Aliana Wolfgang’s house. This time of the year, the gray of dawn hadn’t yet reached them, and the sky was still a velvety black. Sam made Ben park around the corner in the off chance someone predicted their destination, and then the two of them walked around the back.
It was a grand stone masonry house. The place was there for show more than purpose or pleasure. Sam had always felt it seemed like a poor fit for Aliana. She agreed. But it was her family home and after her dad died, she felt no desire to change it. Besides, sometimes she entertained large numbers of corporate guests.
Ben asked, “How long has it been since you’ve seen this girl?”
“A couple years,” Sam replied, without missing a stride.
“Really? And you’re just going to show up at her house at this time in the morning?”
“We couldn’t risk tipping off your mate, Devereaux! She’ll be fine. We’re pretty close.”
Ben arched a dark eyebrow. “So close you haven’t seen her for two years… how do you know her?”
Sam turned his palms up. “We used to date for a while.”
“This just gets better and better.” Ben stopped walking, his cheeks creased with a well-formed grin. “Why’d you break up – and don’t give me any of this ‘it’s complicated’ crap.”
“I won’t,” Sam met his eye. “It’s not complicated. We liked each other, but our lives didn’t add up. She’s got a company here, I have a company that works on the oceans – just about as far from here as you can possibly get – and she didn’t like the life I lead.”
“And what life is that?”
“A dangerous one.” Sam gave him a rueful grin. “Case in point, I’ve been held hostage for the past seventy-something hours.”
“Hey, I said you could go more than two days ago.”
Sam grinned. “See, more to the point, sometimes I can be stupid.”
Ben shivered in the icy cold.
Sam said, “Come on, let’s go knock on the door before we freeze to death.”
He gave the door three loud knocks. Nothing gentle. Aliana was a deep sleeper – when she did make time to sleep – and he was kidding when he said they were at risk of freezing.
There was no response.
Ben looked at him and said nothing, his eyes giving him that look that said, told you, you should have called first.
Sam wouldn’t have it. He knocked again, even louder.
The front porch light came on.
A moment later he heard Aliana’s voice. “Good God! Sam Reilly, what the hell are you doing on my doorstep at this time in the morning?”
The door opened.
Sam looked at her, once the woman of his dreams. Their eyes met and held for a second. Sam said nothing. A sudden chill blew across his hear
t. She was intelligent, tall, lithe, and achingly beautiful in plaid pajamas and thick woolen dressing gown.
Sam grinned. “Would it surprise you to know that this isn’t a social visit?”
Aliana sighed. “Come in, it’s freezing!”
He threw his arms around her, embracing her with affection, where once there had been raw desire. She backed away after a moment.
Sam introduced Ben.
Aliana’s eyes narrowed slightly, “You want to tell me what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, Sam?”
“Would you believe me if I told you this time it wasn’t my fault?”
She folded her hands across her lap. “No.”
Over the course of the next thirty minutes and a warm cup of coffee, Sam went through what had happened, how he’d gotten there, and why he needed her help.
Aliana looked at him, her face registering a mixture of pleasure and incredulity.
Unable to take the wait any longer, Sam asked, “What are you thinking?”
“I’ll need some blood. I can run a number of tests. It might take a while, but my guess is whatever made his blood so threatening is likely to show up pretty quickly.”
“But?”
“No, it’s nothing. You just have to realize, depending on where the abnormality is, this could take anywhere from days to weeks. There just are so many different things to check.”
Ben shook his head with a curt nod. “No, whatever it is, it showed up immediately. I mean, I donated blood and less than an hour later, I had become the prized animal at the zoo.”
“All right. We can go to my lab first thing in the morning and find out.”
Sam looked at her, his deep blue eyes pleading. “Any chance we could get started any earlier?”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s four-thirty in the morning. Besides, have you heard the weather report? We’re supposed to get the blizzard of the decade.”
“We’ve pissed off some important people,” Sam said, “There’s a national manhunt for us. We don’t have a lot of time.”
She grabbed her keys and sighed. “All right. Let me grab my jacket. We’ll take my car and go now.”
On their way out, Ben glanced wistfully at the Camaro.
The Holy Grail (Sam Reilly Book 13) Page 17