Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (25 page)

Jack vaulted the railing and raced for the Corvette’s open door. He remembered to buckle his belt before slamming the transmission in reverse and spinning the tires after the van. Thoughts of the paint job did not enter his mind this time.

US Government stockpiles new, safer smallpox vaccine.
May 24, 2010 USA Today
 

—NINETEEN—

D
eputy Bobby Haynes had only been on duty for a few hours. So far his day had consisted of roll call, a quick drive through town and a lap around the high school followed by breakfast at his favorite diner that included a half hour of flirtation with Julie, his favorite waitress.

Their conversation had been interrupted by the call from dispatch. 911 call with no one on the phone. Most likely a kid or someone who had it programmed in their speed-dial and had accidentally pushed the button. It happened once in awhile in this little town. The house belonged to a VIP though, so he would check it out promptly.

He said his good-byes to Julie and made it to the car before dispatch called again. He was informed that the VIP was FBI. Not wanting to look bad with the feds, he put the car in gear and got moving. He considered the lights and siren, but with traffic so low he really didn’t need them. It was only a mile or two anyway.

He crossed the small bridge and was soon at the entrance to the street. As he turned he saw a large white van hurtling toward him. Instinctively he dropped his coffee and yanked the wheel to avoid a collision. The van driver did the same, but the rear end broke loose on the shells and the van impacted the side of the car with enough force to shove it off the road. Bobby grit his teeth against the coffee burning his lap and the coming rollover, but the unit chose to stop leaning and slid on its wheels into the intercoastal water. Fortunately the tide was low and the soft mud stopped the car from going any farther. He scrambled out of the unit in case it changed its mind and looked after the retreating van. A cloud of dust was his only reward. He was about to go back in the car for the radio when a Corvette came flying up the road after the van. The driver slammed on the brakes and showered Bobby with shells.

“You all right?”

Bobby could only nod his head.

“Call for back up!” the man ordered.

Bobby was once again pelted with seashells as the car raced after the van. He managed to find the microphone in the cloud of white dust and call dispatch.

“Dispatch, this is Bobby. I’m 10-7 in the ditch on the east side of the bridge. A white late model van ran me off the road. There’s a man in a black Corvette in pursuit of the van. I believe he may be the homeowner. They’re heading north at this time. Hauling ass. We better get Dan headed that way and call the sheriff and the state boys.”

“Roger, Bobby, you okay?”

Bobby looked down at his coffee stained pants. So much for looking good to the feds.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

•      •      •

Jack made it through the cloud of dust just in time to see the van take a right and disappear behind some trees, the driver barely keeping it on two wheels as they rounded the turn. Jack smiled as he knew he had the upper hand once they were on the blacktop. He snatched the Bluetooth headset up and managed to get it in his ear before he needed his hands free to make the turn. The Corvette took the high speed maneuver without complaint and Jack accelerated after the van in the distance. He fumbled with the phone and turned it on, the polite beep telling him it was ready. He held it up to his face before speaking.

“Call 911.”

The voice activation software quickly complied and he heard the dial tone sound twice in his ear before it was picked up.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Agent Jack Randall of the FBI. I’m currently in pursuit of a white van northbound on Savanna at Colonial. I discovered them in my home and they are fleeing. Shots have been fired. At least one of them is armed. Again, a white late model van with Maryland plates, northbound on Savanna. Can you send me any backup?”

“I understand, sir, can you give me your name again and what you are driving?”

“My name is Jack Randall of the FBI and I’m in a black Corvette.”

“Okay, you said shots fired? From whom and what type of weapon?”

“From them, a handgun of unknown type.”

“Any injuries?”

“Hold on.”

Jack swung the car into another high speed turn, this time the tires squealed in protest but still kept their grip. Jack grunted against the pain in his gut as he straightened out of the turn and once again slammed his foot down on the accelerator. He caught a glimpse of a retired couple in the other lane as he passed, their mouths hanging open.

“Okay, what was your question?”

Uhh . . . any injuries sir?”

“The van shoved one of the local deputies into the ditch, he’s okay, they missed me.”

“Okay, where are you now sir?”

Jack looked at the GPS screen on the dash. “Hollymount and Midway, westbound.”

“We have a local sheriff department unit en route and the state police have been notified.”

“Good, we’re getting into the country. They can’t outrun me, so they may try something stupid.”

“I understand, sir. EMS has been notified, also.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name is Susan, sir.”

“Okay, Susan, it’s you and me for now. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

•      •      •

“Do something, he’s gaining!”

“No shit he’s gaining! He’s in a damn Corvette and we’re in a fucking van! What am I supposed to do?” the driver yelled back in return.

The thief weighed the situation. The driver was right, they couldn’t beat the Corvette. If the chase went on too much longer there would be other cars, roadblocks and possibly a helicopter. They had to end it soon. Getting caught was not on his list of options. He had been caught once before and had vowed never to let that happen again.

“Find a stretch of road with trees on both sides.”

“For what?”

“Just do it, and be ready to stop.” Reaching into the driver’s lap he took his pistol. Now with two, he made his way to the back door.

“Your trees are coming up!”

“Let him get closer, then stop the van across the road!”

The driver muttered a curse under his breath as he prepared to do so. He understood the situation as well as his partner, but still didn’t like what he had in mind. But they really had no choice. As the van crested a small hill and entered a wooded area he chose his spot at the bottom of the next hill. As soon as the car behind him disappeared from view he stood on the brakes and cranked the wheel, putting the van into a sliding stop that blocked the road. He heard the back door open before the van stopped rocking.

•      •      •

Jack topped the hill and caught sight of the van blocking the road. He knew he was too late to stop and saw no way around the van. Training kicked in before he even thought about it.

He threw the Corvette into a high speed 180 degree turn just as he had been taught at the Farm during his training days. His instructor had demonstrated it with an armored stretch limousine and Jack had been impressed—impressed enough to return for some continued classes with friends from the Secret Service. The Corvette responded to everything he asked of it and he watched the kaleidoscope view of trees and sky slide by the windshield. As he spun the tires to put the body of the Corvette between him and the van he heard the sounds of bullets impacting the fiberglass and composite body of his car. He thumbed the belt release and snatched up the Glock from between his legs before tumbling out of the car. He moved to the front, placing the engine block between himself and the incoming bullets and looked for the van. Time was on his side, he could hear the sirens approaching, but they were a long ways off yet. Looking through the spider-webbed windshield he saw the van still sitting in the road. He forced himself to ignore the man at the rear of the van and took aim at the van’s tires. Firing off three rounds in quick succession he was rewarded with the explosive deflation of the right rear wheel, the one that pushed. He ducked down as more rounds whizzed by him and his car, a couple more splintering the fiberglass.

He listened for the sirens through his ringing ears but it was impossible to know if they were any closer. He snuck another look toward the van and was surprised to see it trying to leave. The engine howled as the blown tire spun on the pavement.

•      •      •

“What the hell are you doing!” the thief yelled at his partner.

The driver ignored him as he floored the gas pedal and shut the door, obviously not waiting for his partner to re-board the van. He was leaving. The thief threw a couple of rounds his way out of frustration before the slide locked back on the pistol. Enraged, he threw the empty handgun at the departing van. The driver smiled at him in his rearview mirror and worked to keep the van under control as he sped away.

•      •      •

Jack watched it all happen from a prone position in back of the Corvette. It sat so low he had trouble seeing everything, but he could see enough. He relaxed slightly when he saw the man throw the pistol away, only to tense again as he reloaded the second one. The man made for the trees while again firing in Jack’s direction. A gunman fleeing through the woods would be hard to find and capture. He would most likely approach one of the local farmhouses and take what he needed there, maybe with the use of the gun. He made Jack’s decision for him.

•      •      •

The driver thought he just might make it to the next farmhouse when the State Police cruiser came over the rise in front of him. It immediately swerved to block the road and the driver exited with a shotgun in hand. He reflexively turned the wheel to exit the road, but forgot about the lost rear tire. The van caught the edge of the road and flipped, its square cross shape contributed to the multiple rolls it took before impacting the cruiser. The trooper scrambled out of the way in time to watch his unit get crushed.

When it was over, he approached the van and looked inside. He turned his face from the scene in disgust before reaching for the radio on his belt.

“Dispatch, Unit 6, suspect van is Signal 4 at Kings and Beaver Dam Road. One person occupant.”

“Roger Unit 6, do you need EMS Rich?”

“That’s a negative.”

•      •      •

“Randall, R-A-N-D-A-L-L, first name Jack.”

Jack was talking with the state trooper as he surveyed the damage to his beloved car. The trooper was filling out paperwork. He paused to take in the damage, too.

“Looks like he sent quite a few your way. You just used the Glock?”

Jack had counted twelve holes in the bodywork so far. Amazingly the car still ran. He watched the exhaust and listened to the engine. One muffler had a hole in it, but that seemed to be it. It seemed to be running fine.

“Yeah, my regular weapon is in the center console. The Glock is from my beach house.”

“Backup?”

“I use a 410 derringer. It’s at the office.”

“A derringer, a Browning BDM, and a Glock. Do I dare ask you to pop the trunk?”

Jack just smiled and shook his head. The trooper was showing some professional courtesy. He was still waiting for the “not equipped for pursuit lecture” but so far it hadn’t come. The trooper had every right to give it as Jack had no business doing what he did in his personal car. It was a danger to the public and he knew it. But in the heat of the moment he had done it anyway, let the chips fall. Obviously the trooper felt the same. Jack eyeballed him as he worked the pen and clipboard. Big guy, his tag said Richard Titus, and there was a Marine Corps tattoo on his forearm. That helped explain the lack of a lecture, and the haircut.

“I’m gonna have to take both your weapons and impound the car I’m afraid. We’ll get your statement and then I’ll get you a ride home. Any idea what they were after?”

“What do you mean?”

“There was nothing in that van except the headless horseman. No valuables or stolen goods. No ID on either of them.”

“Nothing?”

Jack thought about that as he watched the coroner’s people circle the body at the edge of the woods. He left the trooper at the car and walked to the body. A younger trooper moved to block him, but was waved aside by Titus who had followed. Jack walked up to the body and knelt down for a closer look.”

“Two in the ten-ring; that’s good shooting from this range.” Titus commented.

Jack just offered a nod for the compliment. He reached up and snagged a pair of gloves from the coroner’s pocket and put them on. He rolled up the man’s sleeves and pant legs until he saw it—a patch of scar tissue on his calf.

“Hey, Doc, what’s this look like to you?

“The M.E. took a good look before voicing his opinion. “Looks like a scar that got covered with a tattoo at one point, then removed. I’d say within the past year or so.”

“That’s what I thought, too”

China has over 13 million abortions a year.
August 2009, CNN
 

—TWENTY—