A Bridge to Treachery From Extortion to Terror (20 page)

“Sorry,” Red said, unperturbed. “My man couldn’t come up with anything but old Prick 6’s. They’re not worth a shit.”

“We’ll make do with what we have. Now, the trucks are in position at the ends of the bridge, blocking the entire roadway. Once they’re in position, the cab and the trailer are doused with gasoline. On the west side, when you see the headlights flash, Frawley—and only Frawley—fires a couple of tracer rounds into the gas tank and sets the truck afire. Then, the four of you move out smartly across the bridge. Meet me in the center and we’ll string the wire out to the east side as we go.

“When we’re all together on the east side, we blow the napalm in the center of the bridge with the blasting machine, ignite Mack East, and make our escape.”

“I’ll do all the shootin’ on the east side,” Red broke in. “I don’t want no joker hosing down the area.”

“Good. Once again, we’ll run the wire out going east. That’s our primary escape route. We deploy the full thousand feet to save walking time.”

“How about the guard?” It was the girl again.

“At the point where the truck on the west is afire, the guard is released. He can’t hurt us at that point. Besides, the whole world will know what’s happening as soon as the demo goes.”

“How long will it take us to get across the bridge on foot?” Bruce asked this time.

“Hustling, it’ll take us fifteen minutes. Okay, one more time; all trucks arrive at the bridge at the same time. In minutes one and two, we seize the guard and seal off the bridge. We turn back motorists with the story that the bridge is temporarily closed for repairs. In minute three, I drive to the center of the bridge in the three-quarter ton truck. In minutes nine through thirteen, I prepare the C-4 with blasting caps wired in parallel and flash my lights.

“The folks on the west side fire Mack West, release the toll taker, and beat it out to the center of the bridge, arriving there at minute twenty. Minutes twenty through thirty, we move to the east side, stringing wire as we go. At minute thirty-one, we fire Mack East and blow the napalm drums. At minute thirty-five, we’re across the road and into the woods. That leaves five minutes for anything unforseen.
Oh, God
.

“We’ll be vulnerable once the charge goes. We’re going to run like hell to Route 9D and get across to the far side. We cut up into the woods and start climbing. It’ll be a bitch, believe me. A thirty percent slope.

“It’ll take all the strength we have. Once on top, we’ll be hard to stop. We can go in any direction, except west. In the dark, we’ll be next to impossible to detect in the woods. It’ll be close to midnight. We’ll have about twenty-four hours to hide out before we rendezvous and get back to civilization.”

“It sounds like a piece of cake,” Red said.

“It always sounds easy. A lot can go wrong. If anything bad can happen, it
will
. The keys to the whole operation are timing and following instructions. A hundred different plans could bring this operation off. This is just one of them, and it’s good. But even a bad plan will work with good execution.

“Let me say right now that I’m in charge of this thing. I don’t intend to have anything happen to me. But if I buy it, Red is the next honcho. If he goes, it’s Frawley. Everybody got the chain of command? Good. That brings us to casualties. We leave no one alive behind.”

“Aw, come on,” he heard from one of them, followed by a round of chuckling. It was the guy called Wes.

Lou flushed deep red. He could feel it. The snickering. It was a big, Sherm Wellington joke. They were laying it on. In a second, Sherm would start calling from outside. It all flashed through his mind and he slumped with relief.

But they were quiet now, as if they interpreted his actions as anger. And he waited until he had to speak again. “I don’t know about you guys, but I intend to come out of this thing alive and without a scratch. The only way that’s going to happen is if everyone takes it seriously. Now, if any of you think this is going to be a stroll on the boardwalk, let me know and I’ll kick your butt out of here now. I don’t know where you got the candy ass idea that the New York State Police carry lima beans in their revolvers.”

They sat in front of him in silence, looking at their shoes. He saw no smirks, not one.

“Again, we carry out anybody who’s hurt. No dead. If you’re wounded and can move, get yourself to the east end of the bridge. If you can’t move, stay put and we’ll get to you. We never leave anyone alive behind.

“The alternate escape route is off the west end of the bridge, across 9W and into the woods. Only use this if the east end is closed off. I’ll make that decision. I’ve got a map. I’ll show both Red and Frawley the primary and secondary extraction points, along with the pickup time at each.”

“About the broad. Do we have to bring her along? I know you were opposed to her in the beginning. We could ditch her right now. She’s going to hold us up.” It was Red, looking around for approval from the others.

“Tasha is key to our success. She goes along. End of discussion.”

Dusk turned to night. Red flared a match with his fingernail and pushed it through the glass of a small Coleman lamp. The flickering yellow light behind the group cast their shadows on the wall of the trailer.

The talk went on for three more hours. What if the cops show up before they’re through? What if the napalm doesn’t blow? What if some crazy motorist decides to investigate? He covered their actions at the rendezvous point, the signals and the responses, over and over.

Who goes in which truck? Who drives? It was a good briefing. As good as it could be with the little time they had had to prepare.

They were keyed up for his inspection, shifting on their feet at Lou’s approach. Their shadows moved on the wall in a ghostly dance. The flame from the lamp flickered in Lou’s eyes. They all had old, World War II M-2 Carbines—the smallest, least effective rifle ever. Good. With better weapons they could be dangerous. He checked their clothing; knowledge of their assignment; willingness to follow instructions; and, most important, their ability to handle a weapon.

* * *

Thinking as a team for five hours—talking, joking, sweating it out—they bonded as comrades. As they neared the end of the operation’s prep phase, they could feel tension like a thin wire stretched ’til it sung. The deadly seriousness of it grew. A silence settled in.

When it came down to the bottom line, it was up to him now. Lou Christopher. The leader. Not only was he going along; he owned the show. Success or failure—on him. The sons of bitches had gauged him perfectly.

At 8:00 p.m., Red and his men jumped down from the trailer—carbines hidden tight to their legs—and boarded Mack East, moving out.

In the trailer, the rest of them were bathed in a yellow glow. Frawley, Bruce, and Pegley, hunched in a circle and wolfed down burgers like they were their last ever. Tasha rocked nervously, watching Lou for some sign. Lou stared at the wall, burning the plan into his memory.

At 8:15 sharp, Mack West rolled out. The three-quarter ton truck followed, heading north.

Chapter Eighteen

Lou dialed the number from the phone booth in Central Valley.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mag. It’s verboten, but I’m calling anyway.”

“The kids were darling. Two little hobos with spotted ’kerchiefs on a stick.”

She sounded drained, sad.

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“No, you’re not. Arden House.”

“Yes. I can see the lights of the traffic down on the Thruway.” It was only half a lie.

“Have your fun, Lou.”

“Maggie, please...”

“I’m obviously not in California.”

“I’m glad, darlin’. I’m really glad.”

“Come home when you can,” Mag said, and hung up the phone.

The night was not especially cold; a typical, late fall evening on the east coast, when the night wind bites your cheeks and burns your earlobes.

Only the back of the truck was visible in the light from the street lamp at the far end of the lot. Pegley had killed the lights, as ordered. Lou dropped coins, dialed again. The phone on the other end rang once.

“Red?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait a full five minutes, then take off. Got it?”

“I got it.”

“Red?”

“Yeah.”

“Make it good.”

“No sweat,” Red said. Click.

Lou slid open the phone booth door. He trotted to the back of the truck and yanked the door handle down. One of the heavy doors creaked open. The emptiness of the semi-trailer shocked him—they had left Bruce back at the trailer park!
Disaster already! Fuck!
Then suddenly he recalled that Bruce had jumped in beside Frawley in the three-quarter ton.
Steady boy.
He jogged to the smaller truck.

“Okay, the next time it’s the real thing. It’ll take us about fifteen minutes once we start rolling again. We stay here for about five minutes more. Check?”

“We gotcha,” Frawley said.

Pegley and the girl were dragging on cigarettes when he climbed back into the cab. He rolled down the window to get some air. “We wait another four minutes, and then we’re off.”

“I guess the other guys are in the right place?” Tasha said.

“Perfect,” Lou said.

“That was more than you expected, wasn’t it?” she added.

“Everything’s going fine so far. Let’s just say I’m happy right now.”

The minutes seemed to crawl by.

Then, show time was upon them. Backing the Mack semi-trailer out of the service station, slow and easy, seemed to take forever. They headed out onto Route 6, snaking back over the Thruway going east. Up ahead, the headlight beams tracked every bump in the pavement. Inside the cab they were silent; the three of them bobbing as one with each bounce.

The road continued due east for half a mile and then rose in a broad arc that took them north up a steep climb over the mountain in front of them. Off to the left, the valley spread out below them, the long line of headlights on the Thruway below moved like a snake in a field of daisies. Pegley knew his job; he operated smoothly behind the wheel, working through eight gears on the way up. Then the road leveled off. They topped the incline.

The truck picked up speed now. The road forked to the right, carrying them due east again, directly toward the target. Ten miles to go. Now they moved through the Palisades Park area, bordered by cliffs rising fifty feet above the highway, gleaming wet in the headlights. Since leaving the service station, they’d passed only two cars.

So the crazy thing was underway. If it came off perfectly, they’d be all clear in an hour. One hour. The whole unlikely, goddamn adventure behind them. Lou could feel the adrenaline, the same wave of excitement he’d known in the chopper headed into a hot LZ. Something like terror. And euphoria. Alive again. A mover. Did the president really know his name? Had he really been hand-picked?

He could feel the heat of it burning on his face, glowing red in the night air. Was he a fool? Or a player? Bang-bang, in and out. Home free, an hour off. And the world would never be the same again. One more time. Just once more.

Pegley and Tasha were silent beside him, all three mesmerized by the bobbing beams on the pavement and keeping deep within themselves. A stick of paratroopers about to jump. Tasha slid a cigarette from her coat pocket; offered one to Lou and to the driver. Lou refused with a shake of his head, his eyes fixed on the road. She struck the match and her face flared up in the mirror. Then they all fell back into the dim light from the dashboard.

The smoke seemed to float on the tension in the air, almost palpable. How did Red get into this? An ad in the paper:
Wanted: soldier of fortune?
How about the others? What kind of nutcase volunteers with the chance of getting his ass shot off for five hundred bucks, no questions asked?
Goddam.
What kind? My kind! Goddammit to hell
.

Finally, he broke the silence.