Dangerous Secrets (58 page)

Jack swerved hard. The helicopter sat down
sideways on the pavement, its bulk dropping fast in a test that was never part
of any performance evaluation of the bird′s air-worthiness. Jack turned
the steering wheel while practically standing on the brakes. He could see the
gray-white smoke from the tires, smell the burning rubber as friction between
the pavement and the tires disagreed in heated proportions.

The vehicle spun completely around, avoiding
the bird, coming to a stop three feet from contact. The Apache was behind him.
Its guns were out of position, pointing at the median that divided the highway.

One rotor was bent askew in an angle that had
it touching the ground like a balancing rod. The Apache was down and out.

The trucks bore down on them. They had a minute
perhaps before they got there. Jack switched from brake to accelerator. The SUV
lurched forward.

‶
Jack, what′s
happening?″ Morgan asked.

‶
Stay put,″ he ordered,
forgetting she was even in the vehicle.
‶
We′re going to play
chicken.″ He muttered the last to himself.

He hadn′t done this in years, but he was
banking on human nature and the instinct for self-preservation in his enemies.
Jack pressed the accelerator harder, increasing his speed. The three trucks in
front of him came toward him at a speed equal to his own. Jack stared at them,
rushing down the center of the two lanes. If one of them didn′t chicken
out and swerve their vehicle right or left, they′d have a head-on
collision.

He didn′t think about anything beyond the
speed. The air whistled outside the Lexus. The sound was high pitched and
whining as if he was hurting it as he cut through it. Fifty feet, he estimated.
This was usually where the average driver peeled off. These were not average
drivers.

Forty feet.

Thirty feet.

Still they came forward. Jack held his
position. He selected another button on the panel and poised his finger over it

‶
Jack.″ He felt Morgan
look around his seat, trying to see through the front windshield.

‶
Get back,″ he shouted,
pressing the button and letting go a barrage of gunfire that struck the ground
in front of the processional.

Twenty feet.

The middle truck driver caved. Pulling his
steering wheel to the left, he forced the truck next to him off the road. The
two of them collided. The sound of metal mangling was loud as the two vehicles
pitched through the guardrail and skidded down the side of the mountain.

Jack didn′t brake. He continued traveling
south, the opposite direction of the one he wanted to go. Checking his mirror,
he saw the final truck swinging around and giving chase. Jack hit the brakes.
The resulting squeal of tires and defiance of the laws governing bodies in
motion had the Lexus spinning in circles. Plastic boxes, sleeping bags and
supplies spilled about the inner space. For a moment he thought of Morgan. Had
anything hit her? He couldn′t look back. He couldn′t take his hands
off the steering wheel.

The truck bore down on him. Chicken
wouldn′t work this time. This time skill and luck would determine the
victor. Jack was a good driver. He′d driven over sand, mud, through
mosquito-ridden swamps, on the speedways of the world′s top sports arenas
and through the traffic of major highways. This fight wouldn′t be won by
the better driver, but by the one with the best wits and the most luck. He was
determined to stand in that winner′s circle.

Only a hundred yards separated them. He could
see someone hang out the window and take a shot. Jack flinched to the side. The
bullet struck the windshield. It shattered. His hand instinctively came up to
protect his face. The sudden burst of wind took his breath.

Loose papers flew about the small cabin.
Unidentified debris scuttled about the floor. A Styrofoam cup struck his foot.
He ignored it. What he couldn′t ignore was Morgan′s voice.

‶
That′s it,″ she
shouted.

Jack heard her moving.

‶
What are you doing?″

Morgan didn′t answer. Several seconds
went by. She scrambled toward the back of the vehicle. He didn′t know
what she was doing. He glanced toward the rearview mirror, only to discover it
had fallen to the floor when the glass shattered. More bullets chipped the
ground in front of the van. He swerved left and right. Morgan would be thrown
against the walls if she didn′t hit one of the containers that he′d
packed food and supplies in. Jack repeated the spray of bullets. They crossed
the front of the approaching vehicle level with the lights. Bulbs burst in
small explosions. The truck crunched over the glass, although Jack could not
hear it. It continued its suicide run straight for him.

The deafening sound of gunfire came from behind
him. A tire blew and the on-coming truck defied gravity as it jumped in the
air. Morgan knelt in the open column of space, a high-powered rifle at her
shoulder. Jack pulled to the left. The truck completed its arc on the right. It
bounced, leaping into the air like a metallic ballet dancer yet to learn the
graceful steps of the dance. Rubber tires came off at odd angles, bouncing and
rolling across the highway. Metal bumpers were ripped away as the truck
continued its odd streak along the roadway. Tripping over its own feet, it
caught a fender piece that had broken loose. The truck flipped on its side, its
weight carrying it completely over. Skidding along, creating a sparkle of
fire-blue streaks as metal and roadway fought for dominance. The truck moved
onward toward Jack and Morgan.

‶
Get down,″ he shouted to
Morgan.
‶
It′s
going to be close.″ Morgan dashed behind his seat and held on. He felt
her hands at his waist as she gripped the sides of his chair.

Jack turned the steering wheel as hard as he
could. The truck rushed in a straight line directly across the highway.
‶
Here′s
where the luck comes in,″ he murmured. The truck headed on an irrevocable
angle that would cross paths with their own. He prayed there was time to get
out of the way.

There wasn′t.

The truck, moving like a rampaging bull,
clipped the back of the Lexus. It started a weird spin. Jack heard the sound of
metal striking pavement and knew the silver bumper had been yanked free of its
moldings. He pumped the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a stop in time to see
the huge hunk of tangled metal hit the guardrail where it came to a full and
complete stop.

For a while everything was silent, the mangled
truck engine′s ticking the only sound. Morgan′s head came up level
with his.

‶
Is it over?″ she asked.

He nodded.
‶
It′s over.″

She let out a sigh and launched herself into
his arms. Oh, God, she felt good. Jack released his seat belt and drew her to
him.
l love you,
he wanted to say.
I′ll love you forever.
But all he
said was,
‶
It′s
over, sweetheart. It′s over.″

‶
Not quite,″ a deep voice
contradicted him.

***

The FBI building in Clarksburg, West Virginia,
is a modem structure built in 1993. It stands as a many-windowed white
building. The director of this facility doesn′t have the protection of
the United States and its borders as one of his priorities. He isn′t
concerned with the enforcement of the law, only keeping track of its paperwork.
Clarksburg is a huge computer facility, housing the fingerprint division for
the vast resources of law enforcement.

On the third floor, in a corner conference room
of dark paneling that looked as if it was polished only moments ago, two men
entered the room, joining two others who′d been together far too often in
the past several weeks. Jacob Winston and Clarence Christopher shook hands with
Forrest Washington and Brian Ashleigh before taking seats at one end of a long
conference table. A speaker phone sat on the table between them.

‶
Has there been anything
further?″ Brian asked.

‶
Not since Morgan Kirkwood
called yesterday,″ Jacob answered. He knew Forrest was concerned about
Jack.
‶
We
don′t know if she found Jack or not.″

She found him. Jacob knew it. He didn′t
say it out loud. He didn′t want to get anyone′s hopes up. Yet he
was sure Morgan had found Jack. The more he learned about her, talked to her,
saw her in the films, the more he liked this woman. She reminded him of two other
strong women. The first was his wife, Marianne, whom he worshiped and who he
knew was patient and resourceful. The other was Brooke Richards, a former
member of his special group of protected people. She′d endured five years
of the worst kind of existence. Jacob had watched Brooke being the brave,
courageous standard bearer while her own life died, but she didn′t give
up. She fought with everything she had to save her child and her love for her
husband.

Morgan was a lot like them. She hadn′t
said anything to make him think it, but Jacob knew she wanted to find Jack for
more reasons than because he′d saved her life or that he was in trouble
on her account. She was in love with him. It was on the films. The way she
looked at him twelve years ago. The way he went to her with those roses crushed
to her breast. Marianne had noticed it, just as Krysta had seen the ring.

If Morgan hadn′t called in that
she′d found Jack, there would be other things on her mind that took
priority over telephone calls to him.

Clarence had authorized a search and there were
people out looking for the duo at this minute. They would report in as soon as
they found anything.

All they could do now was wait.

The door opened and all eyes turned to look up.
A man in a white cook′s uniform wheeled a cart in with coffee and food on
it. Silently he laid the service out on a low credenza. No one said a word
while he worked. He finished and left the room as silently as he′d
entered it. The door clicked closed.

The telephone rang.

***

The unmistakable cock of a handgun sounded
close to Morgan′s ear. She gasped as she moved back in Jack′s arms.
He didn′t let her go completely.

‶
Hello again.″ The green
giant was back. Only this time he was wearing blood on his face and arms. His
smile of bright white teeth was menacing enough to send a cold finger down her
spine.
‶
I
underestimated you before, Ms. Kirkwood. Rest assured I won′t do it
again.″

Morgan understood him exactly. She′d
played her one and only trump card at their last encounter. This time
he′d shackle her too.

Or kill her.

‶
Separate,″ he ordered
them.
‶
And
keep your hands where I can see them.″

Morgan raised her hands and moved back. The
seat belt Jack had released snapped up. Jack′s hands came up too.

‶
Now, out of the vehicle.″
He moved around to the front, pointing the gun at Morgan through the windowless
frame.
‶
You
even think of doing something smart and she gets it.″

Jack stepped out.

‶
Over there.″ He pointed
with one finger to a place away from the Lexus while keeping the gun level and
straight on target. Jack moved to the appointed spot.

‶
Who are you?″ Morgan
repeated her question from the first time she′d seen him.

‶
You don′t learn, do
you?″ His face screwed into a dark frown.
‶
I ask the questions. Out of the
vehicle.″

Morgan started to turn toward the passenger
door.

‶
This way,″ he said.
‶
That
door.″ He indicated the driver′s side. Morgan knew he didn′t
want either her or Jack out of his sight for even a second.

She climbed over the console. It was awkward
getting into the driver′s seat. She lost her balance. Her leg fell onto
the console. Bullets came out the front of the van and cut the giant across the
legs. The man screamed in pain.

Jack moved as he went down. He grabbed the gun
from his hand and checked for others. Morgan jumped down from the
driver′s seat and joined him.

‶
Good thinking,″ he said.
The man on the ground writhed with pain. Blood covered his legs, soaking into
the fabric of his fatigues. The big man grabbed his legs, pressing his
blood-soaked hands on them in an attempt to stem the flow.

Morgan got the first-aid kit from the truck.
‶
I′m
going to look at your legs,″ she told him.
‶
But first. . .″ She
pulled out the set of handcuffs he′d forced her to shackle herself with
and cuffed his hands behind him.

‶
And remember whose got the
gun,″ Jack said. Morgan cut his pants legs and looked at the places the
bullets had cut. He had two wounds in each leg.
‶
You′re lucky,″ she
told him.
‶
Apparently
the bullets didn′t hit anything vital. You′ll be well when they
strap you in the electric chair.″

As she bandaged his legs, the sound came again.
She and Jack looked at the sky at the same time.

‶
I thought the helicopter
crashed,″ she said.

‶
It did,″ Jack said. He
looked behind them at the crippled Apache sitting on the road a quarter of a mile
away.

‶
I hear another one.″

‶
Let′s get out of
here.″ Morgan jumped up and started for the Lexus. Jack grabbed her arm
and stopped her.
‶
What?″

He let out a whoop that would rival a victory
yell.

‶
Jack!″ Morgan pulled at
his arm. They had to get away. Why was he hesitating? They were standing out in
the open. Jack put his arm around her and pointed to the approaching bird.