The Dream Machine: Book 6, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) (12 page)

“I’m a special agent working for the federal government.” That was close enough to the truth. “We have reason to believe that you or your wife, Muffy, might be in grave danger. Please call me back. This is no joke.”

I hung up.

“I just set a new record for making an enemy,” I told Manetti.

“You do have that effect on people,” Manetti said. “First impressions aren’t your strong suit.”

“That’s because I try to get people to underestimate me.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Did you get ahold of Muffy?”

She shook her head. “Left a voicemail.”

“What time do you think it is in the dream?”

“Either the morning or the afternoon.”

“That helps.”

“If I knew which direction the driver was going, I could tell you by the shadows in the car. But assuming this is local, we can rule out east and west because the major interstates nearby all run north and south.”

“It almost has to be local, right? Karen knows the car.”

Manetti’s phone buzzed. I hoped it was Muffy Diamant.

Manetti scanned her screen and looked back up at me. “The bird will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Shame we don’t know where to go.”

“Shame.”

“Albert said he was at work. Where is that?”

She went back to her phone. It only took her a moment. Whoever was helping her out must have passed along the vitals on Muffy and Albert. “Wilmington, Delaware. At least according to LinkedIn.”

I brought the tablet out of hibernation. “And where does he live?”

“Springfield, Pennsylvania.”

“Which one?”

“There are two?”

“Yes.”

“I always thought Pennsylvanians were supposed to be smart. You know, birthplace of freedom and all that.” She held up her phone. “Here’s the address.”

On the tablet, I brought up Google maps and hit the icon for directions. I plugged in both addresses. I knew before the map generated we had something because I was familiar with the area.

“Difficult commute,” I said. “He has to take the Blue Route to I-95. From there he has some options but he almost
has
to take 95 to get to and from work.”

“Get me the outermost exits he would take.”

That took some doing because so far Google hadn’t invented mind-reading. So far. I gave Manetti the information. Albert Diamant was on I-95 for about thirty minutes, so we had roughly thirty miles to choose from.

“Getting somewhere,” I said.

Manetti held out her phone. “Muffy lives and works in New Jersey. Does she take any highways?”

Just eyeballing the addresses, I didn’t think so. All the same I plugged them into the tablet. Muffy had a different home address, confirming Karen’s story that the two were separated, if not divorced. Muffy lived on the other side of the Delaware River in New Jersey, in a small town close to the Pennsylvania-Delaware line. To get to work she had to go north, which she could do without taking any interstates.

“Not enough to rule her out,” I said.

“I know,” Manetti said.

“Maybe she’s traveling for work?” I asked.

Manetti consulted her phone. “She’s a dental tech, so that’s unlikely.”

“Maybe it’s her day off and she’s visiting a friend, or relatives.”

“Karen remembered the Nissan being Muffy’s car.”

“Maybe hubby got it in the divorce?”

“Maybe.”

Before we could theorize further, Manetti’s phone rang. She gave me the nod. After tapping a button to activate the speaker phone, she answered.

“Hi, Muffy. This is Agent Agnes Manetti with the federal government. Thanks for calling me back.”

“Hi.” She had a high-pitched voice that was almost child-like. “I got your message about there being some kind of accident?”

“Yes. We have reason to believe there will be a very large car accident.”

“Okay…when?”

“Do you drive on any interstates, or major highways?”

“Um…not usually. I take all backroads to get to work.”

“Do you have any trips planned where you would take 95, or 295, or even the Blue Route?”

“No.”

I jumped in. “Hi, Muffy. My name is Eddie and I work with Agent Manetti.”

“Oh. Hello.”

“I hate to ask this, but have you
been
in any major accidents recently?”

“No. Not ever. Knock on wood.”

Manetti took over again. “Are you still driving the ’01 Nissan Altima?”

“The Altima? No.” Muffy laughed. “I don’t drive that…”

“What?”

“I sold that a few years ago.”

Damnit, we needed the DMV records.

Manetti said, “Do you remember to whom?”

“Why? Is the owner in trouble?”

“Muffy, we’re short on time. Who’d you sell it to?”

“I sold it to my niece. Viola.”

“What does Viola use the car for?”

“To go back and forth to school. From U-D to New Jersey. They don’t live that far from me.”

Manetti and I shared a look. Viola would have to take three major highways to get to and from the University of Delaware.

“What’s Viola’s phone number?”

“Hello?”

“Viola Callantine?”

“Yes?”

Manetti nodded and spoke into her phone. “Hi, Viola. My name is Agnes Manetti. I’m a special agent with the federal government.”

“OH SHIT! I’m sorry!”

“About what?”

“I’m driving. I know I’m not supposed to be on the phone.”

“It’s okay, Viola. Don’t worry about it. Pull over when you can.”

“Okay.”

“Now can you tell me where you are?”

“495, a few miles from where it merges with 95.”

“North or south?”

“North.”

“Have you seen a tractor-trailer?” Manetti asked.

“Hang on.” There was silence for a few seconds. “Okay, I’m on the side of the road. What did you say?”

There was a huge rushing sound on the phone as traffic whipped past her. I let out a sigh of relief. If the accident was going to happen today, we’d likely just saved Viola’s life.

I’d been keeping my eyes peeled for our driver. The black sedan tore ass up the long narrow road and skidded to a stop near the entrance. Manetti gave me the nod and I pushed through the doors.

Outside I could hear the thwump of the chopper. It was close.

I got to the car before Manetti. It was the same driver that had brought us here. Something almost like recognition passed through his eyes. I climbed into the backseat, while Manetti got in the front.

She stuck her pointer up and made a circle in the air, and the driver hit the gas. He spun us around expertly and got us headed away from the research facility.

Manetti still had Viola on speaker. “Viola, listen to me very carefully. I need you to stay off the interstate for the rest of the day today.”

“Uh, okay…why?”

The driver stood on the gas and we rocketed down the narrow road.

“We have reason to believe there’s going to be a major accident.”

Viola said, “HOLY SHIT! If you’re a fed, that means this must be terrorists.”

“It’s not terrorists—”

“An asteroid or a comet then? Something big is going to hit this road? If that’s the case, more than the road will be damaged—”

“Viola, we really need your help here. We might be out of time. Okay?”

The driver had us going fifty miles per hour. The tree branches were only inches away from our windows.

“Have you see any tractor-trailers?” Manetti asked.

“Um, yeah. About one every minute out here. It’s 95.”

The driver got us back to the highway, except he didn’t turn right or left. He just plowed straight ahead into a field where the helicopter was waiting. Its rotors started. The wash kicked up a lot of dead leaves.

“Viola, hold on a second,” Manetti said.

We were out of the car and hustling across the field. The pilot waved at Manetti. The copter was black and expensive-looking and could hold about six people in addition to the pilot and co-pilot. I didn’t know a damned thing about helicopters and this was my first ride.

The wash was strong and the roar of the engines deafening. Manetti opened the rear cabin door and I climbed in after her. Four agents suited up in riot gear wearing black helmets were already on board. They gave us the nod. They all looked the same in their uniforms, hiding under their helmets and sunglasses. And they all carried a mid-sized automatic weapon of some kind. I didn’t know what it was—I’m not a gun nut.

I sat between two of them and Manetti kneeled on the floor between the two rows of passengers. One member of the tactical unit pulled the door shut, and we could almost hear again.

“Viola?” Manetti said.

“I can barely hear you, there’s a lot of background noise where you are.”

“Think about the tractor-trailers you’ve seen today. Anything out of the ordinary?”

Long pause. “No, not really.”

“Did you see any carrying chemicals?”

“Oh yeah! This one asshole was driving a tanker. He almost took me out, like right before you called. He’d been driving erratically. I should have gotten farther away from him. But he was going so fast, I figured it was better to let him go so he wasn’t chasing me the whole ride. You should have seen this idiot.”

Manetti and I nodded at each other. This had to be it.

Manetti said, “How long ago did he pass you?”

“Like I said, it was just before you called.”

“Thanks, Viola. Now promise me you’ll stay off 95, okay?”

“How else am I going to get home?”

“Just stay in the exit lane and take the first one you come to. Then try Google maps. But stay away from the tractor-trailer.”

“Okay.”

***

We were airborne, the ground rushing underneath us. Manetti had called in the EMTs and asked her guy on the other end of the phone to connect with traffic cameras on 495 and 95 so we could spot the truck. If today was the day, we didn’t have long. After the 495-95 merger, only a few miles separated Delaware from Pennsylvania. Once you got into Pennsylvania, that stretch of 95 was very recognizable so the accident had to happen before that point.

Manetti then ordered the guy to get local EMTs ready between the relevant exits. The tactical unit all stayed quiet, several of them checked the action on their weapons I guessed out of habit.

I waited till Manetti hung up. “What else can we do?”

She shook her head. “Get the driver to stop.”

“You got a bullhorn on this thing? We can just yell at him.”

In less than a minute, we were over 95. We passed the cars on the road like they were hardly moving. I figured the chopper was doing a hundred fifty miles per hour.

Manetti brought her phone up again. “Do you have him yet?”

I couldn’t really hear what the guy was saying but didn’t need to.

“Keep looking.” Manetti hung up.

The pilot motioned at us. We stuck our heads up in the cockpit. He pointed ahead. I realized we were right over where 495 and 95 merged.

“Close now,” Manetti said.

“Faster,” I told the guy.

He didn’t like that, a civilian nobody like me telling him what to do. But all the same he poured on the speed. I felt the seatback pressing against me as we flew faster.

“He can’t be far,” I said.

“Maybe today’s not the day,” Manetti said.

I didn’t believe that for a second. I doubted she did either. Then her phone buzzed.

“Tell me you have him.” She listened for a moment. “Good. Now get local LE out here now and pull his ass over!”

They had found him on the camera. I craned my neck to see out the cockpit again. All I saw was road and a lot of cars, but no truck.

“At this rate, we’ll get to him first.” Manetti hung up. “Dead ahead. He hasn’t gotten to Pennsylvania yet.”

“Never a cop when you need one,” I said.

“Says the guy who was arrested and jailed.”

Even in a crisis, she always found time for a dig. “People change.”

“We’re almost there,” she said.

“THERE!” The pilot yelled loud enough so I could hear him over the din.

“Get us over and in front of him, on the driver’s side!” Manetti said.

The copter slowed and lost altitude as the pilot picked out a course to intercept the truck.

“Just make sure you watch the overpasses,” I said, under my breath. I’d never been afraid of flying, but right now I wished I’d eaten a little more this morning. My stomach was rolling more than a hamster wheel.

“Thirty seconds,” the pilot said.

Manetti scooted forward and climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. I kept my head poking into the cockpit so I could see the truck as we came up to it.

In the cockpit, Manetti brought a handset up to her mouth. “Driver of the tractor-trailer, we need you to pull over. We are federal agents and need you to pull over.”

I heard the boom of her voice outside of the helicopter, even over the roar of the engine and whine of the rotors.

I looked down and saw we were just ahead of the truck, flying low. The driver looked out his window, up at us, and stared dumbly. It wasn’t rush hour but the traffic was already building. There wasn’t much room to maneuver and I knew from experience there was always a jam where Delaware stopped and Pennsylvania ended. That wasn’t too far away.

“We are federal agents,” Manetti said. “We need you to pull over now!”

The driver had two days of stubble and blinked a few times like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. We were pretty far away but still I got a good enough look at his eyes. He was hung over or strung out or hadn’t slept in two days. No matter what his condition, it was a problem.

While he was looking up at us and trying to make sense of Manetti’s commands, he’d lost his concentration on the road. Failing to take a slight bend, his truck shifted to the far right lane.

“He’s drifting!” I shouted.

“Driver, we need you to—”

The driver realized, too late, that he’d been drifting. He almost clipped a car in the right lane and overcorrected, cutting his wheel hard to the left. He was doing seventy-five miles per hour, going much too fast for so sharp a turn. He tried to bring it back and slammed his brakes at the same time.

But it was too late.

He’d turned too hard. The truck’s momentum carried it forward while the wheels went left. It flopped onto its side. A horrible screeching of metal on concrete sounded as the tractor-trailer went into a skid on its side. Its angle increased so it was perpendicular to the road and now sliding across all three northbound lanes.

The cars right behind it didn’t have a chance.