Witness to Death (40 page)

“We’re changing the gameplan. You’re going to stay with him the whole time.”

Christine’s eyes widened.

“I thought I was going to meet up with you once we get into the city. What about the other thing? Who’s going to take care of that?”

“I got it. Don’t worry. The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to blow myself up.”

“Relax,” he said. “You’ll have time to get away. Just make sure no cops interfere. You’ll probably have to give him another pep talk on the way in. Blow one up for the Gipper.”

Christine flexing the muscles in her arms, squeezed her free hand open and closed.

“Do this,” Tony said, “and I’ll be Charles. In charge. You get that one, right? You like TV.”

“Your jokes suck.”

Again she tensed her muscles. John watched them shudder under her sleeves.

“And,” he continued, “if I get my work done today, I’ll make sure you’re handsomely rewarded. I’m sorry I needed so much from you.”

Christine took a deep breath.

Mini-malls and car dealerships blurred past the passenger window. There wasn’t any place to crash the car. No barriers, no shoulders, they’d crossed the river just moments earlier. Just parking lots. There was nothing he could do but listen.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Tony said. “And, you know I never go back on my word.”

“How much?”

“As much as you need,” he said.

He’s lying.

Her chances of escaping a bomb in New York had to be better than John’s chances.

She stared across toward John. He felt sweat pouring down his face and neck. The top of the vest was dark with moisture.

The SUV accelerated and John prayed for a delay at the tunnel.

Callahan snapped his eyes open. The sun was out, its rays streaming through the window and cutting into his eyes. He groaned and shook his head. His brain felt like a marble rattling against the walls of his skull.

He looked out the windshield and saw steam pouring from the bent hood of the truck. He could smell the asphalt, the gas fumes from cars passing behind them, and burnt rubber. He blinked, once, twice, and then realized he was on the shoulder of the highway, the front of the car smashed into a metal barrier, which was twisted and torn.

He reached down to click off his seatbelt. Then he pulled the keys from the ignition and used them to pop the airbag. It deflated with a soft hiss.

He reached out, and unhooked the radio from its plastic stand. No sound came from it. Callahan hoped it still worked.

He stepped on to the road as a Toyota Tercel pulled into the shoulder. Callahan felt his legs go weak, but he bent his knees and was able to keep his balance. An old man, balding, with a potbelly and thick glasses, got out of the car.

“The police are on their way. I called them from my cell phone. That guy in the other truck was crazy.” He stepped toward Callahan. “Are you okay?”

Callahan pulled the trenchcoat’s pistol and aimed it at the old man.

“I’ll be fine if you lend me your car.”

The old man’s hands shot up above his head, and he started whimpering. Callahan got into the car. He put the radio on the passenger seat. The car smelled like cigarettes and lemon air freshener.

No time to fool around.

He was definitely going to be out of a job. But that didn’t matter.

Callahan put the car in gear and shot out into the right lane of the highway, setting off another round of car horns.

He sped onto Route 3, and then another twelve miles, finally seeing signs for the Lincoln Tunnel, but not the other SUVs. Finally, as traffic slowed on the tunnel approach, he spotted both of them, one right after another, half a mile up. People spending visiting the city for the holiday.

The approach to the Lincoln Tunnel was called the Helix. It was a three lane road that swung in a half circle over Weehawken and Hoboken, and then opened like the mouth of a river to a bed of tollbooths. John’s SUV and Verderese’s were caught in the curve underneath a giant billboard for
Mad Men
.

Callahan rolled forward, and swung into the left lane, which seemed to be moving faster. It was, and Callahan started to make up ground in his pursuit. Each inch seemed to be a mile, but his targets were barely moving. He wanted to lean on the horn, to scream for everyone to get out of the way. But he didn’t, he just gassed the Tercel as much as he could and inched closer.

He hoped Duffy had gotten some men to the mouth of the Tunnel like she’d promised. Port Authority was supposed to stop every suspicious looking truck or car. But he’d never actually witnessed a car stopped.

He hoped Duffy had gotten some the descriptions of the SUVs down on paper. He hoped they knew what cars to stop.

He wondered where Sandler had disappeared. He wasn’t in any of the SUVs. And Callahan hadn’t seen him outside the hangar when they all piled into the trucks.

Verderese and John found some room in the traffic and rolled forward. They seemed to be moving at the same speed as Callahan now. He wasn’t going to catch them before the tunnel.

Come on, Duffy. Do your job. Stop them.

The SUVs ahead of him had cleared the toll. Callahan looked for any of the uniforms to stop them. They didn’t. One of the Port Authority cops turned his head and talked to the cop next to him just as the trucks went by.

What if Tony decided the bomb should just go off in the Tunnel? What if there was a malfunction?

Callahan had no idea what kind of weapon it was, just that it was one of Ameritech’s bombs. It could go off at any time.

Both SUVs disappeared into the tunnel as Callahan cleared the tolls as well. He wasn’t stopped either. He pulled into the mouth of the tunnel and hoped he’d see daylight on the other side.

John looked at the digital clock on his chest as it beeped on. Twenty five minutes. Christine had pressed a button on a small remote device, just as they exited the tunnel. Exactly as Verderese had said she would before they left the hangar.

Air wouldn’t go into his lungs. His chest tightened. Something burned at the edge of his eyes. And it wasn’t the water that had been resting above them in the tunnel that had caused the anxiety.

You’re doing this for Michelle, and Hannah, and Ashley. You won’t let anymore of your friends die.

Callahan was coming after him. Maybe there was a chance. He promised he’d save them.

Maybe John wouldn’t have to die.

Maybe no one would.

The digital clock beeped another second off.

Callahan came out the other end, the gloom of the tunnel replaced by the gray of the city.

Outside the Lincoln Tunnel the road split. The right headed toward Madison Square Garden and the lower 30s, the left lanes went uptown. Both SUVs turned left, uptown. Callahan turned uptown as well.

Verderese’s SUV slowed and Callahan passed him.

It was an easy call. Stop John first. Find Michelle later.

He followed the SUV on to 12th.

Toward the water. What was on the water?

The
Intrepid
was an obvious choice, lots of tourists, even this early in the morning. Plus even with only holiday traffic on the West Side Highway, they’d still get thousands.