False Impression (13 page)

Anna started the
engine and tentatively reversed out of the parking lot. She saw a man in her
wing mirror, who quickly stepped out of the way. It was less than a mile before
she discovered the vehicle was built for neither speed nor comfort. She glanced
down at the route map she’d placed on the passenger seat beside her,
then
began to look for signs to the Jersey Turnpike and Del
Water Gap. Although she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, Anna decided she needed
to put a few miles on the clock before she started thinking about food.

‘You were right,
boss,’ said Joe, ‘she’s not going to Danville.’

‘So where is she
headed?’

‘Toronto
airport.’

‘Car or train?’
he asked.

Tan,’ replied
Joe.

Jack tried to
calculate how long the journey would take, and concluded that Petrescu ought to
reach Toronto by late the next afternoon.

‘I’ve already
fixed a GPS on her rear bumper,’ Joe added, ‘so we’ll be able to track her
night and day.’

‘And be sure you
have an agent waiting for her at the airport.’

‘He’s already
been detailed,’ said Joe, ‘with instructions to let me know where she intends
to fly.’

‘She’ll be
flying to London,’ said Jack.

B
y three that
afternoon, Tina had been able to remove four more names from the missing list.
Three of them had been voting in the primary elections for mayor, while the
fourth had missed her train.

Fenston studied
the list, as Leapman placed a finger on the only name he was interested in.
Fenston nodded when his eyes settled on the Ps. He smiled.

‘Saved having to
do it ourselves,’ was Leapman’s only comment.

What’s the
latest from JFK?’ Fenston asked.

They’re allowing
a few flights out tomorrow,’ said Leapman,

‘
visiting
diplomats, hospital emergencies and some senior
politicians vetted by the State Department. But I’ve managed to secure us an
early slot for Friday morning.’ He paused. ‘Someone wanted a new car.’

Which model?’
asked
Fenston.

‘A Ford
Mustang,’ replied Leapman.

‘I would have
agreed to a Cadillac’

Anna had reached
the outskirts of Scranton by three thirty that afternoon, but decided to press
on for a couple more hours. The weather was clear and crisp, and the three-lane
highway crowded with cars heading north, almost all of them overtaking her.
Anna relaxed a little once tall trees replaced skyscrapers on both sides.

Most of the
highways had a fifty-five-mile speed limit, which suited her particular mode of
transport. But she still had to hold onto the steering wheel firmly to make
sure the van didn’t drift into another lane. Anna glanced down at the tiny
clock on the dashboard. She would try and make Buffalo by seven, and then
perhaps take a break.

She checked her
rear-view mirror, suddenly aware what it must feel like to be a criminal on the
run. You couldn’t use a credit card or a cellphone, and the sound of a distant
siren doubled your heart beat. A life spent wary of strangers, as you looked
over your shoulder every few minutes. Anna longed to be back in New York, among
her friends, doing the job she loved. Her father once said ‘Oh God,’ said Anna
out loud. Did her mother think she was dead?

What about Uncle
George and the rest of the family in Danville?

Could she risk a
phone call? Hell, she wasn’t very good at thinking like a criminal.

Leapman walked
into Tina’s office unannounced. She quickly flicked off the screen on the side
of her desk.

Wasn’t Anna
Petrescu a friend of yours?’ Leapman asked without explanation.

‘Yes, she is,’
said Tina looking up from her desk.

Is?’ said
Leapman.

Was,’ said Tina,
quickly correcting herself.

‘So you haven’t
heard from her?’

‘If I had, I
wouldn’t have left her name on the missing list, would I?’

“Wouldn’t you?’
said Leapman.

‘No, I
wouldn’t,’ said Tina, looking directly at him. ‘So perhaps you’ll let me know
if she gets in touch with you,’ she added.

Leapman frowned
and left the room.

Anna pulled off
the road and swung into the forecourt of an uninviting-looking diner. She was
pleased to see there were only two other vehicles in the parking lot, and when
she entered the building just three customers were seated at the counter. Anna
took a seat in a booth with her back to the counter, pulled down her baseball
cap and studied the one-sided greasy plastic menu.

She ordered a
tomato soup and the
chefs
special, grilled chicken.

Ten dollars and
thirty minutes later, she was back on the road. Although she’d drunk nothing
but coffee since breakfast, it wasn’t long before she began to feel sleepy.
She’d covered three hundred and ten miles in just over eight hours before
stopping to eat, and now she
was having
to make an
effort to keep her eyes open.

Feel Tired? Take
A
Break advised a bold sign on the side of the
highway, which only caused her to yawn again. Ahead of her, she spotted a
twelve-wheeler truck turning off the road into a rest stop.

Anna glanced at
the clock on the dashboard – just after eleven.

She’d been on
the road for nearly nine hours. She decided to catch a couple of hours’ rest
before tackling the rest of the journey. After all, she could always sleep on
the plane.

Anna followed
the articulated truck into the rest stop, and then drove across to the farthest
corner. She parked behind a large stationary vehicle. She jumped out of the van
and made sure all the doors were locked before climbing into the back, relieved
that there was no other vehicle nearby. Anna tried to make
herself
comfortable, using her laptop bag as a pillow. She couldn’t have been more
uncomfortable, but fell asleep within minutes.

Tetrescu still
worries me,’ said Leapman.

Why should a
dead woman worry you?’ asked Fenston.

‘Because I’m not
convinced she’s dead.’

‘How could she
have survived that?’ asked Fenston, looking out of the window at the black
shroud that refused to lift its veil from the face of the World Trade Center.

We did.’

‘But we left the
building early,’ said Fenston.

‘Perhaps she
did. After all, you ordered her off the premises within ten minutes.’

‘Barry thinks
otherwise.’

‘Barry’s alive,’
Leapman reminded him.

‘Even if
Petrescu did escape, she still can’t do anything,’ said Fenston.

‘She could get
to London before I do,’ said Leapman.

‘But the
painting is safely under lock and key at Heathrow.’

‘But all the
documentation to prove you own it was in your safe in the North Tower, and if
Petrescu was able to convince...’

‘Convince who?
Victoria Wentworth is dead, and
try
not to forget that
Petrescu is also missing, presumed dead.’

‘But that might
prove to be just as convenient for her as it is for us.’

‘Then we’ll have
to make it less convenient.’

A
loud, repeated
banging jolted Anna out of a deep sleep.

She rubbed her
eyes and looked through the windscreen. A man with a pot belly hanging out of
his jeans was thumping on the bonnet of the van with a clenched fist. In his
other hand he was carrying a can of beer that was frothing at the mouth. Anna
was about to scream at him when she realized that someone else was at the same
time trying to wrench open the back door.

An ice-cold
shower couldn’t have woken her any quicker.

Anna scrambled
into the driver’s seat and quickly turned the key in the ignition. She looked
in her wing mirror and was horrified to see that another forty-ton truck was
now stationed directly behind her, leaving her with almost no room for
manoeuvre. She pressed the palm of her hand on the horn, which only encouraged
the man holding the beer can to clamber up onto the bonnet and advance towards
her. Anna saw his face clearly for the first time, as he leered at her through
the windscreen. She felt cold and sick.

He leant
forward, opened his toothless mouth and began licking the glass, while his
friend continued trying to force open the back door. The engine finally
spluttered into life.

Anna yanked the
steering wheel round to give her the tightest possible lock, but the space
between the two trucks only allowed her to advance a few feet before she had to
reverse. Power steering was not one of the van’s extras. When she shot back,
Anna heard a yell from behind as the second man threw himself to one side.

Anna crashed
into first gear and pressed her foot back down on the accelerator. As the van
leapt forward, the pot-bellied man slid off the bonnet, and onto the ground
with a thud. Anna thrust the gearstick back into reverse, praying this time
there would be enough room to escape. But before she had pulled the steering
wheel fully round, she glanced to the side to see that the second man was now
staring at her through the passenger window. He clamped both of his massive
hands on the roof and began rocking the van slowly backwards and forwards. She
slammed her foot on the pedal and the van dragged him slowly forward, but she
still failed to make it through the gap, if only by inches. Anna rammed the
gear into reverse for a third time and was horrified to see the first man’s
hands reappear on the front of the bonnet, as he pulled himself back up onto
his feet. He lurched forward, stuck his nose flat against the windscreen, and
gave her a thumbs-down sign. He then shouted to his buddy, ‘I get to go first
this week.’ His buddy stopped rocking the car and burst out laughing.

Anna broke out
into a cold sweat when her eyes settled on the pot-bellied man, walking
unsteadily towards his truck. A quick glance in her wing mirror and she could
see his mate climbing up into his cab.

It didn’t take
Anna more than a split second to work out exactly what they had in mind. She
was about to become the meat in their next sandwich. Anna hit the accelerator
so hard that she careered into the truck behind her just as he turned on his
full headlights.

She crashed the
gears back into first as the engine of the front truck roared into life,
belching a cloud of black smoke all over the windscreen. Anna yanked the
steering wheel over with a jerk and once again thrust her foot hard down on the
accelerator. The van jumped forward, just as the truck in front of her began to
reverse.

She collided
with the corner of the front truck’s massive mudguard, which tore off her
bumper followed by her offside mudguard. She then felt herself being shunted
from behind as the rear truck ploughed into her, ripping off her rear bumper.
The little van came hurtling out of the gap with inches to spare and spun
around a full three hundred and sixty degrees before it came to a halt. Anna
looked across to see the two trucks, unable to react in time, crash into each
other.

She accelerated
across the parking lot, raced past several sta tionary trucks and out onto the
highway. She continued to look in her rear-view mirror as the two trucks
disentangled themselves. A loud screeching of brakes and a cacophony of horns
followed as she narrowly missed colliding with a stream of vehicles coming down
the highway, several of which had to career across two lanes to avoid her. The
first driver left his hand on the horn for some time, leaving Anna in no doubt
of his feelings. Anna waved an apologetic hand to the overtaking vehicle as it
shot past her, while she continued to glance into her wing mirror, dreading
seeing either of the trucks pursuing her. She jammed her foot down on the
accelerator until it touched the floor, determined to find out the maximum
speed the van could manage: 68mph was the answer.

Anna checked her
wing mirror once again. A vast eighteen wheeler was coming up behind her on the
inside lane. She gripped the steering wheel firmly and jammed her foot back
down on the accelerator, but the van had no more to offer. The truck was now
eating up the ground, yard by yard, and in moments she knew it would convert
itself into a bulldozer. Anna thrust the palm of her left hand down on the
horn, and it let out a bleat that wouldn’t have disturbed a flock of starlings
from their nests. A large green sign appeared on the side of the road,
indicating the turn-off for the 1-90, one mile.

Anna moved into
the middle lane and the massive truck followed her like a magnet hoping to
sweep up any loose filings. The truck driver was now so close that Anna could
see him in her wing mirror. He gave her another toothless grin and then honked
his horn. It let forth a sound that would have drowned out the last bars of a
Wagner opera.

Haifa mile to
the exit, the new sign promised. She moved across to the fast lane, causing a
line of advancing cars to throw on their brakes and slow down. Several pressed
their horns this time. She ignored them and slowed down to fifty, when they
became an orchestra.