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herself. Oh no... I cannot let my feelings... not again... it’s cost me to much in the past... She glanced quickly at John as he turned the van into the highway. I’m so sorry Johnny.
*****
John followed the cruiser as it turned off the highway and onto the narrow service road. The muddy path was lined with a thick forest on the left and with a deep ravine on the right. He could not find it on his GPS monitor.
“I don’t like this,” John whispered to himself. He noticed Catherine stroking her eyebrows, “You suspicious?”
“Non,” she said quickly. Catherine did not make eye contract with John, but remained looking out the window. “When you stop I want you to stay in the van,” she said quietly. “Place the transmission in neutral and set the emergency brake.”
“Understood.” John replied, then added, “How well do you know this guy?”
Catherine glared at him. “What the hell do you mean by that?” she snapped.
“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” John said. “It’s just—”
“We’re both on edge,” Catherine said terminating his concerns. “Our nerves have been rattled enough today.” She turned back toward the window.
“It’s almost over, then we can get on with both our lives,” she added coolly and inwardly sighed. She did not mean to sound so bitter. John set his jaw. That was tactful Riel.
Up ahead the path widened slightly. The cruiser stopped next to a squat brick building. Across from it a metal grate staircase dipped down into the ravine.
John stopped five meters behind Hoffman. He left the van in natural and set the emergency brake.
John felt uneasy. There was something missing here but he couldn’t put his finger on it. John glanced at the dash board. The cruise control light was still on. He pressed the stud and shut it off. John used the cruse control all the time. He didn’t want to mistakenly drive over the speed limit. It was easy to do in Baby with the LED speedometer on the dash. When the sun was at the right angle he couldn’t read anything off the dash. So he would set the cruse control.
“How’d he know?” John asked.
“Know what?” Catherine replied absently.
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“How did Hoffman know my name?”
Catherine raised any eyebrow, puzzled by the question, “Tom would have run your plates through the computer of course.”
John looked at her, “Why?”
Catherine looked at him.
“Why?” he repeated, “I wasn’t speeding.”
Catherine was silent. Then all color suddenly drained from her face. She had screwed up too many time over the last few day and her confidence was now at the shattering point. Catherine frantically looked around, suddenly disorientated. If I’ve lead us into a trap! She looked at John. He said, “Your friend was looking for us.”
Catherine’s eyes were wide. Whatever discipline remained started to slip away, “Oh my God! How could I’ve been so blind? I’m going to get the both of us killed!”
Just then an enormous midnight black limousine appeared behind the van. Simultaneously the cruiser’s doors opened and two figures stepped out. One was clearly Hoffman. John could not make out the second.
“Oh God, non!” Catherine squealed at the sight of Raymond Smyles. She fought back the pain, the helplessness, the humiliation of what he did to her. She told herself she would be strong. She said she could deal with it. After all, she told herself, it was only a physical assault.
She was wrong. The sight of that man again shattered the frail mental barricade she erected and Catherine felt her sanity seeping through the cracks.
“Catherine!” John grabbed her arm and whisked her around like a rag doll. “Catherine. What are-?” Her eyes were wide with fear and revulsion. He followed her gaze to the second man and an image fell into place. He was the one Catherine pushed out the car window. He was the one—Son of a bitch!
John turned back to Catherine. She started trembling in his grasp, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Forgive me,” John whispered, then slapped her across the face. The shock snapped her control into place, if only for a moment, “Johnny?”
“Come on Catherine. What do we do?”
Catherine Wildman looked at him and in that eternal moment she forgot all her pain and analyzed the man before her. She looked at his face, then into his eyes. Deep into his eyes. It was there she found it. It was there she saw their chance. Immersed deep within his soul was a spark. A spark buried deep beneath personal tragedy. The loss of a loved one. Yet, beyond the 75
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tragedy was an emotion fueling the spark, a passion struggling to break free, struggling to live. An intensity she now realized he desperately wanted to share with her.
Catherine smiled. The mist had fully lifted. She understood now. His motives were crystal clear to her. She seized his head with both hands and pulled him close.
“Time to kick ass!” Catherine said and kissed John passionately on the lips. Then before he could react she turned away and rolled down her window,
“Hi Tom,” she called, “What’s up?”
Constable Hoffman raised a bullhorn to his lips, “Cathy Wildman?”
“You know who I am, Tom,” Catherine called back.
“I have to talk to you Cathy. Please come out.”
“Sorry Tom, no-can-do. You come here.”
“What’s going on with you, Cathy?”
“What are you talking about, Tom?”
“You’re wanted for murder. You killed a cop. I’ve given you the benefit of doubt, but you’re testing my patience.”
Catherine’s brows knitted as she looked at John. He shrugged. She then turned back to the window, “Who Tom?”
Hoffman glanced at Smyles. The ugly man nodded. Hoffman raised the bull horn, “Gene Hatton!” the name was followed by a crash of thunder. Catherine looked at John. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I think the compost has sat to long.”
Catherine did a double take, then smiled. “You bet’cha.”
“Now what?” John asked.
“Do you pray?” she quipped.
“No. I’m an atheist.”
Catherine made a clucking sound with her tongue. “We’ll have to work on that. Keep an eye out. I don’t want the bozo in the limousine creeping up our backside.”
“Right.” John rolled down his window and peered out. A stocky mustached man with thick glasses stood by the limousine. He had an Uzi slung over his shoulder. “We’ve got us a bozo,” John advertised.
“Okay, with Tom that’s three. Let’s hope that’s it.”
“You’re the man. What do we do?”
“Make a run for it,” Catherine said flatly, “Ease off the emergency brake but don’t touch the brake pedal.”
“Right. The brake lights will tip them off.” Delighted to have her back 76
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and firing on all cylinders, John carried out the instructions. “Did you suspect something was up when you asked me not put it in park?”
Catherine watched the two men standing in the rain. “Woman’s intuition. When I give the word, slam it into drive and give it all you got.”
“Set and serve. Ball’s in your court,” John said.
Catherine looked at him, “What?”
“Ready when you are,” John clarified.
“Good.” Catherine returned to the window and leaned out. “Yo, Tom!”
“Yes Cathy?” he called back, competing with the echo of thunder.
“What was your price?” Catherine cried out as the shotgun roared. John didn’t even see her pick it up.
Hoffman and Smyles dove to the ground as the cruiser’s rear window exploded.
Catherine looked at John, “Do it!”
The van rumbled and bucked forward, spraying mud and gravel at DeTully, knocking him off his feet.
“Cathy
! What the hell are you doing?” Hoffman screamed, forgetting about the bull horn.
John cranked on the wheel and the van spun into a wide turn, spraying Smyles and Hoffman with a wave of mud.
Catherine slid the repeater and fired a wad of lead into the limousine’s radiator.
“Fucker!” Smyles cried, spitting out a mouthful of mud. The van suddenly jerked as the two left side tires blew out. DeTully, grinning like a lunatic, had riddled the side of the vehicle with Uzi fire. John fought with the wheel, trying to keep the van moving. Behind him electronic equipment exploded and sparked as lead chewed through the van. John eased off the brake and turned into the spin, fighting to maneuver on the narrow road, but despite his best effort Baby sideswiped a tree. Sweat stung his eyes as John fought with the wheel. Then something cracked and he managed to swing the van back on the muddy road.
The Uzi fire continued.
“Next?” John cried out.
Small holes suddenly appeared rhythmically across the windshield.
“Down!” Catherine yelled.
The glass spiderwebbed as Uzi fire burst through. One slug shattered the stock of the shotgun, tearing it from Catherine’s hands. It stuck the floor and discharged. John cried out as the steering wheel and a chuck of the dashboard 77
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exploded in his face.
A shattering crack rippled through the van as it collided with the support blocks anchoring the stairs. The right front wheel tore away from the axle and the fragmented metal chewed into the mud blanketed concrete. The van jarred to a stop on the edge of the ravine.
“Hold on!” Catherine screamed as the soft earth beneath them started to crumble.
For the span of a heart beat the van teetered on the brink. John and Catherine managed to clasp hands as certain doom started them in the face. Then, preceded by a flash of lightning, they tumbled over into the ravine. 78
11
“Sweet Jesus!” Hoffman whispered as the van slipped over the edge. Like a bolt of lightning in the yellow slicker, he raced across the muddy ground and slid to a stop where the van vanished. Hoffman peered into the ravine. The shattered van was wedged between a clump of trees and tangled within the steel grating at the base of the stairs. The back half of the van was submerged in the swollen river. Hoffman realized they only had seconds to act before the force of the river pounding at the van would dislodge it and pull it under.
Smyles and DeTully arrived at Hoffman’s side. The constable pointed at DeTully. “Was that really necessary?”
DeTully grinned widely as Smyles spoke, “My associate relishes his work.”
Hoffman looked back into the ravine. “We’ve gotta’ get them out of there before they drown. You,” he said to DeTully, “you’re coming with me.”
DeTully looked at Smyles, who nodded in agreement. DeTully frowned.
“You, Mr. Smyles,” Hoffman said, “I want you to call this in then get the rope from the trunk of my cruiser, tie it off and toss it down.”
“Sure,” Smyles said.
Holding the twisted railing tightly, Hoffman, followed by DeTully, carefully, but quickly, descended the slick stairs toward the van. When Hoffman reached bottom he climbed onto the hood of the van. He found footing within the twisted metal of the railing and eased himself around to the side. There Hoffman was able to yank open the passenger side door.
“God,” Hoffman whispered as he saw Catherine. Her face was a mess of blood. He reached in and gently felt her wrist for a pulse. It was faint, but 79
DAVID A. LLOYD
there. Hoffman blew out a breath. There was no time to check for any more injuries. The raging water was already tearing away the roots that held the van in place. He glanced at John. The water level was already at his chest. Time was running out.
Hoffman slipped into the van, disengaged her seat belt, and gently slipped his hands under her arms, “The windshield!” he yelled at DeTully who stood on the hood. The roar of the flooded river made communications almost impossible. Yet DeTully understood and kicked away the remaining spiderwebbed glass.
“You got her?” DeTully asked.
“Her jacket is caught on something,” Hoffman said.
DeTully produced a Bowie knife from an ankle sheath, leaned in, and sliced open the front of the denim jacket.
“Shit!” Hoffman cried as Catherine’s weight shifted in his arms, “Careful you dolt! I almost lost her.”
Hoffman supported his back with the door frame and lifted Catherine up into DeTully’s arms. Then while DeTully held onto her, Hoffman climbed back onto the hood. He shouldered Catherine’s limp form from DeTully,
“Get the other guy and hurry. We don’t have much time. The ground’s eroding fast.”
“Yadda-yadda!”
Hoffman found the rope Smyles tossed down the stairs and used it to climb back up. When he reached the top, Smyles attempted to take Catherine. Hoffman held her away, “No! I’ve got her!” he snapped, “Open the car door!”
Smyles complied and Hoffman gently laid Catherine down in the back seat of the limousine. He then darted over to his cruiser.
Smyles waited until Hoffman was out of earshot then leaned forward and yanked Catherine’s head up by the hair, “Where is it?” he hissed. Hoffman slammed the trunk shut and returned with a blanket. Smyles stepped back as the constable gently wrapped it around Catherine. The hammering rain washed most of the blood from her face, but she was still bleeding from somewhere along her scalp above her hair line.
“God, Cathy,” Hoffman muttered.
“How is she?” Smyles asked innocently.
“She’ll live to see trial if that’s what you want,” Hoffman said tightly. DeTully approached the limousine with John over his shoulder. He then dropped him to the ground and leaned against the fender wheezing, “Heavy prick.”
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“Careful with him!” Hoffman barked, “Where the hell is the back up?”
“Tom….”
Hoffman turned at the sound of her voice. “I’m here Cathy.”
Catherine coughed and spit out a mouthful of water, “Johnny? Where?”
“He’s right here.”
“Hello, Miss Wildman,” Smyles said.
Her eyes snapped wide as the sound of his voice. “Toi!” Renouncing the pain Catherine sat up and, using the door for leverage, struggled to her feet.
“Cathy you—” Hoffman began.
Catherine shoved away his helping hand and limped toward Smyles. All her fear of him was now gone. She had faced and conquered her demons and found a new purpose. She had someone to protect and vowed she would not fail him like she had failed so many before.
Catherine halted centimeters from the ugly man’s scarred face and glared into his cold gray eyes, “Who are you?” she asked.
“Raymond Smyles.” he said arrogantly.
“Raymond Smyles,” Catherine replied, ignoring the blood flowing into her eyes, “You are under arrest.”
Smyles laughed in her face. “You, my dear, are the one wanted for murder. I am only here to protect federal interests and make sure certain procedures are followed.”
“Who was Gene Hatton?” Hoffman asked Catherine.
Her eyes did not waver from Smyles’ ugly face, “He was my partner,” she said, “This man is not whoever he told you. He’s rogue CIA.”
“What?” Hoffman exclaimed.
“A hired gun and bag of mucus,” Catherine hissed. “A go-boy for The Group of Ten. He ordered the murder of my partner. He lied to you and…”
her voice quivered just for a moment, “… raped me.”
Hoffman placed his hand on the handle of his service revolver, “All right. I want some straight answer from both—” he saw a spray of red shoot out before his eyes and felt a sharp pain, like a paper cut, on his throat. DeTully twirled the stained knife between his fingers.
Constable Tom Hoffman slumped to the muddy ground, his life pumping out wi
th each beat of his heart.
“Non! Tom! Smyles toi bâtard!” Catherine screamed and lashed out, but Smyles had already grabbed her wrists.
“You are coming with me, you little bitch!” he hissed. Then Smyles turned to DeTully, “Kill her boyfriend.”
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Catherine spat in his face. Smyles just grinned and raised her arms up over her head.
That was a mistake.
Catherine used the leverage he just gave her and swung forward. Her foot connected with his genitals. He exploded with a squeal and they both tumbled to ground.
Catherine rolled to her feet and bolted for the cover of the nearby trees. DeTully drew his weapon and aimed.
John’s foot shot out and dislocated his kneecap. DeTully cried out and stumbled against the limousine. He gun discharged harmlessly into the ground.
“No fucking way,” Smyles growled. He drew his .357, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.
The Magnum roared.
A spray of lead tore into her lower back and erupted out below her left breast. Catherine, carried by the momentum of her sprint and the deadly power of the .357, was hurled through the air before landing with a sickening spat on the grimy road.
John twisted around on the ground and saw her sprawled out in a pool of bloody water. She did not move. Desperately he reached out with his hand.
“No….”
Then everything went black.
82
BOOK TWO
Betrayals
Interlude
The dream ended.
She opened her eyes.
The harsh light of the naked bulb burned.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples and realized, I’m still here. She opened her eyes again and stood only to discover that the ceiling of her doorless and windowless room was so low that she had to stoop. She stretched out her arms and her fingers brushed the opposite walls. In the corner was a plastic box. She reached down and opened it. Like always a tray of food was inside. Toast, coffee, orange juice and an apple. Breakfast? Then it must be morning again.
She sat down on the floor and looked at spattering of marks on the wall. Did I make them? How many? One, two, three... five... ten... fifty-one. Fifty- one? Fifty-one what? Days? Could that be... ? Yes. That’s it. I’ve been here fifty-one days. That’s if I remembered to mark each day. Where is here?
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