Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 (34 page)

“What happens if the posts are up on the exit gate?”

Tremble’s jaw tightened. “Then we’re screwed.”

They made the sweeping turn in silence and were moving across the overpass when the radio sprang to life.

“Unit Twelve, this is Control. Do you copy? Over.”

Keith looked at Tremble. “So are we Unit Twelve?”

“Not a clue, but I’m guessing yes,” Tremble said.

“Should we answer?”

“No. We don’t know their communications protocol and risk alerting them if we say the wrong thing. If we’re silent, they might get antsy, but they’ll still be unsure. We’re only a couple of minutes from the gate, and that’s his first call. He’ll probably try at least a couple of times before sounding an alarm. The cat’s out of the bag when we crash the gate anyway, but maybe we can get there before anyone picks up the problem.”

Keith nodded. They rode in silence, the back of the main gate security building visible one road over on the left. The radio squawked again.

“Unit Twelve, what is your status? Respond immediately. Over.”

“Sounds like he’s at the antsy stage,” Keith said as his father slowed to make the U-turn back toward the main gate.

“All we need is a bit more time, and then it won’t make any difference,” Tremble said as he turned the SUV. As the exit lane became visible, he let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God, the posts are down!”

He increased speed, the gate now only a hundred yards away. The next transmission dampened his elation.

“All stations, repeat, all stations. This is Control. We have a non-responding unit. Initiate Protocol Alpha. Repeat, initiate Protocol Alpha.”

“Hang on!” Tremble said as he saw the guard in the glass booth look down and press something on the console in front of him. He stomped the accelerator and held it there as the tops of the barrier posts began to peek from the pavement ahead.

“Air bags!” thought Tremble, much too late, as the SUV blew by the startled guard and hit the bar gate, smashing both front headlights. The heavy vehicle brushed the lift bar out of the way without slowing or bumper contact and the air bags didn’t deploy. A fraction of a second later, the front tires contacted the rising barrier posts, now ten inches above the ground, and the vehicle leaped airborne, throwing both occupants forward against their straining shoulder belts, inducing a brief feeling of weightlessness before the vehicle crashed down. Again their luck held as the posts were below bumper level and the deceleration alone was insufficient to trigger the air bags.

The SUV careened down the road, tires shrieking, as Tremble fought for control. For three long, heart-stopping seconds, the issue was in doubt. Then he regained control and once again floored it, rushing toward the intersection ahead. Barely slowing, he turned north on Blue Ridge Mountain Road, roaring onto the two-lane blacktop in a controlled skid, then stomping the accelerator once again. He glanced to his right to see his son ashen-faced, knuckles white as he gripped the grab rail. Slowly Keith’s face split into a wide grin.

“You did it, Dad! Where we going now?”

“Away from here,” Tremble said, “but we won’t have long. They’ll be after us in a heartbeat and we have to—”

There was a loud bang and the SUV lurched to the right, once again testing Tremble as he fought the car to a stop on the shoulder. They both jumped out and looked down at the shredded right front tire.

“Damn it!” Tremble said. “I guess the damn posts got us after all. Must have weakened the tire.”

“Let’s change it,” Keith said, starting for the rear.

“No time. Get back in. Driving on a flat’s still faster than we can move on foot. We’ll drive as fast and as far as we can, and abandon it on some side road out of sight. We were going to have to ditch it anyway, but if we can delay them finding it, the more time we’ll have to get away.

Presidential Quarters

Camp David, Maryland

Day 17, 6:25 a.m.

Gleason opened his eyes at the low buzz, groggy as he peered through the gloom at the glowing face of the alarm clock. Why the hell was the alarm going off? He groped for the button to kill the noise, then cursed as he overturned a glass of water on the bedside table. Fully awake now, he sat up as he realized the low trilling was not the alarm but the phone.

“What?” he barked into the receiver.

“Mr. President, I’m sorry to disturb you—”

“Then why the hell did you? What was so important it couldn’t wait an hour or so?”

“Mr. President, I have Secretary Crawford on the secure link from Weather Mountain. I tried to take a message, but he insisted—”

“All right, all right. Just put him through.”

“Yes sir,” the operator said, and Crawford’s voice came on the line.

“Good morning, Mr. President—”

“No, Ollie, it’s not good morning. It will be a good morning in an hour or so when I’ve had my coffee. Now what’s so damned important it couldn’t wait until then?”

“It’s Tremble, Mr. President. I’m afraid there’s been a problem.”

“Look, we’ve been over this. If he’s not cooperating, squeeze the kid. He’ll come around.”

“I’m afraid Tremble … Tremble isn’t here any longer.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean ‘not here’? Where the hell else would he be? Did you move him someplace?”

“I’m afraid he’s … he’s escaped, Mr. President.”

Gleason struggled to contain himself. When he spoke, his voice was full of quiet menace. “And how did that happen, Ollie?”

“He and his son overpowered their guards, stole their uniforms, and escaped in their vehicle.”

“So you’re telling me a paunchy fifty-year-old politician and his pimply-faced teenage son overpowered two of your overpaid FEMA troopers and escaped from what is supposed to be one of the most secure facilities in North America. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Tremble is far from a sedentary politician and you know it. He was an airborne officer and served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. In fact, he still holds a commission in the North Carolina—”

“OF COURSE I KNOW THAT, YOU FRIGGIN’ IDIOT! AND SO DO YOU! SO WHY THE HELL WEREN’T YOU WATCHING HIM MORE CLOSELY?”

Silence grew on the line in the wake of Gleason’s outburst, broken by a sigh.

“All right, when did they escape and what are you doing to recapture them?”

“Less than ten minutes ago. A two-man chase team is leaving now and we’re mobilizing a larger effort and preflighting the chopper in case we need it. The good news is there aren’t many roads they can take, and the better news is all the facility vehicles have trackers. We know right where they are. Right now, they’re headed north on Blue Mountain Road, at about thirty miles an hour, so we figure their car must be damaged. I’m confident we’ll have them surrounded in less than an hour, but that’s really not the reason I awakened you, Mr. President.”

“Then what?”

“They’re armed, and I doubt they’ll surrender willingly so …”

“So you want permission to take them out, is that it?”

“I don’t see any reason to risk good men—”

“Well, let me give you one. You screwed things up with Senator Leddy completely. First you killed his wife in front of him—”

“With respect, Mr. President, how was I to know she had a heart condition? It wasn’t in the medical record.”

“All right, all right. It’s a damned waste, but the PR broadcasts will likely only buy us a few more weeks of calm compliance in limited areas anyway. So the preference is to take Tremble and his son alive, but take them out if you must. However, make those knuckleheads of yours understand that’s not plan A. In fact, I don’t want them taken out unless you PERSONALLY determine it’s necessary. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Crawford said.

“And Ollie?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“It goes without saying anyone our fugitives make contact with may learn more than is good for them—or us. You take my meaning?”

“Absolutely, Mr. President. There will be no witnesses.”

Virginia State Road 601

AKA Blue Ridge Mountain Road

Near Bluemont, Virginia

Day 17, 6:39 a.m.

The SUV leaned right. Tremble nursed it along at thirty-five miles an hour, right side tires in the grassy verge. Of course ‘tires’ was a bit of a stretch, because the remains of the right front tire left them some miles back, its remnants spread all over the pavement behind them. The bare rim on pavement had been deafening, but worse than the noise was the incriminating evidence. Tremble had glanced in the mirror to see a line chewed in the pavement by the battered steel rim, leaving a trail a blind man could follow.

His attempts to compensate were only partially successful. Running with the right wheels off the pavement lessened the noise and left a much less obvious track, but they were still leaving a visible trail. And the steel rim digging into the dirt of the verge made the vehicle increasingly difficult to steer. Even with power steering, he was fighting the wheel constantly, his forearms aching from the effort.

“This is no good, Keith,” he said. “We need to ditch the car. We’re going too slow and our tracks will lead them right to us.”

“There’s a turnoff just up ahead on the left, you think it’s a through road?”

Tremble shook his head. “I doubt there are any before we get to Highway 7, but we’ll take it as far as it goes. We knew we’d have to take our chances on foot anyway. These woods are thick and we’ll find a place to hide.”

Keith nodded and Tremble horsed the wheel to the left, grimacing as the bare rim clanked and chewed its way across the pavement, leaving the equivalent of a flashing neon sign pointing in the direction of their flight.

Bear’s Den Hostel

18393 Blue Ridge Mountain Road

Near Bluemont, Virginia

Day 17, 6:40 a.m.

“That feels a LOT better,” Bill Wiggins said as he walked around the lounge area, alternating between walking and raising himself on tiptoe. “It still hurts, but not nearly as bad.”

Tex shook her head. “Better than nothing, that’s for sure.”

Necessity was the mother of invention, and they’d cut up the ample supply of washcloths in the hostel bathroom to pad the overly spacious toes of their work boots. It wasn’t perfect, but it would cushion their toes somewhat going downhill.

Bill laughed. “Now if we could just figure out a way to get a couple of these mattresses in our packs, we’d have it made. That was the best sleep I ever had last night, bugs and all.”

Tex nodded. “Me too. You ready to head out?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess …” He stopped. “Hear that?”

She cocked an ear. “Something heading this way, but making too much racket to be a car. What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” Wiggins said, hefting his pack, “but no one we’ve met so far has been friendly, so I don’t think we should be here when whoever it is arrives. Let’s get into the woods. We can watch from there and just haul ass after we check it out.”

Tex shouldered her pack to follow Wiggins out the door.

They jogged the well-worn path across the clearing to the AT access point, then darted off the path at the tree line, hiding behind adjacent tree trunks. As they waited, the sound of a laboring engine grew louder, accompanied by another sound neither could identify. The vehicle lurched into view, leaning to the right, and the mystery was solved. The tireless rim of the right front wheel slung gravel into the wheel well, producing a roar that almost drowned out the engine noise. The car stopped abruptly and disgorged two uniformed men, sidearms visible even at a distance.

“What do you make of that?” Tex asked quietly.

“Nothing good. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Wiggins said. They melted back into the woods and started downhill toward the AT, aching toes momentarily forgotten in the adrenaline rush to put this latest threat behind them.

***

Tremble got out of the car and looked around as Keith moved by his side. Their heads jerked in unison at the sound of an engine heard faintly through the dense woods.

“Damn! Already? I figured we’d have more time.”

Keith pointed to the path worn through the clearing and they both started down it at a run.

“We’ll follow this and get as deep in the woods as we can. If we hear them following, then we find a place to ambush them. We have to break contact or we don’t stand a chance,” shouted Tremble as they ran. Keith nodded his understanding.

***

Bill Wiggins turned back on to the AT and continued down the steep incline at a breakneck pace, his heavy pack adding to his downward momentum as he struggled to keep his feet on the rock-strewn path. His heart was pounding and he could hear Tex’s labored breathing. Well behind them, he heard the faint sound of others crashing down the same path. They’d never outrun anyone, encumbered as they were with the heavy packs. He spotted a row of saplings lining the trail, and changed course slightly to grab the trunk of the first as he passed, clutching it momentarily to check his speed before releasing it to grab the next, bringing himself to a halt while remaining upright. Behind him, Tex followed suit, stumbling to a halt beside him. The sound of pursuit was unmistakable now.

“Why the hell are they chasing us?”

“I don’t think they are,” Wiggins said between labored breaths. “They can’t even know we’re here, and I’d like to keep it that way. I say we go off the trail and hide. After they get well ahead, we’ll get back on the trail. If they double back, we should hear them before they see us, and we’ll just reverse the process.”

Wiggins nodded and they moved off the trail into the woods to once again hide behind tree trunks. Less than two minutes later the men flashed by, unencumbered by backpacks and racing downhill as if the devil were on their heels. They looked to be policemen of some sort, but why they were here was a total mystery. Not my problem, thought Wiggins, just stay the hell away from us.