The Keys of Solomon (25 page)

“If you think that little trick was special, you should hang around for my grand finale.” Whistling a John Lennon tune, he stepped into the moving stream of humanity and slipped away into the heart of Istanbul.

CHAPTER 16

Florence, Arizona

“We're being followed,” said Brian King. “Two vehicles. A station wagon and an older-model white four-door. I'm pretty sure the four-door is a Lincoln, but the damn thing is riding the station wagon's rear bumper. Hard to get a good look.”

Ronni Weiss checked the rearview and side mirrors. Interstate traffic had picked up, but she had no trouble spotting the two vehicles. All field operatives were given extensive training in defensive driving and vehicle identification. She accelerated and set the cruise control on seventy-five, the maximum speed limit.

“Highway Patrol, maybe? Or some other police agency?”

“Maybe, but I don't think so. And here they come, right up on our ass.”

A tiny voice spoke up from the back seat. “It's not the police, and I wouldn't slow down if I were you.”

“Okay, Miss Smart-ass, who's trailing us?” said Elliott. “Did you manage to signal someone? Is that it?”

Ronni tried to ignore the commotion and concentrate on matters at hand. This routine extraction, if there was such a thing, was going very badly. No one had seen them leave the Conner house, and the drivers of the station wagon and Lincoln weren't behaving at all like law enforcement. The contingency called for the extraction team to make for the regional airport in Tucson, but under the current circumstances, Ronni thought it was a bad idea. Too many things could go wrong on the interstate. If the extraction turned into a running gun battle, she much preferred a deserted stretch of country road.

“Holy shit!” Elliott Glenn shouted and drew his handgun, a powerful 10-mm Glock. He was staring slack-jawed through the passenger-side window. From the back seat, Brian King echoed Elliott's remark.

“What? What do you see?” said Ronni.

“I'm not sure,” replied Elliott. “A hundred yards at three o'clock. It looks like a big cat. And I mean big! About the size of a fucking horse. But it moves funny. Not like a cat at all. And its head … something's wrong with its head.”

“Maybe it's one of those mountain lions,” said Brian. “Are there cougars in Arizona?”

“Could be a cougar … if cougars ran on two legs, you fucking idiot. It's a demon! Look, it just dropped down on all fours. Jesus Christ, look at that thing move!” Looking over his shoulder into the back seat, Elliott glared at the woman and her daughter. “One of yours? I swear to God, if I could prove you summoned that thing, I'd kill you both where you sit!”

“Quit waving that damn hand-cannon around, Elliott, and shut up,” said Ronni. “And check the map and give me an ETA to the airfield!” Over her shoulder, she said, “Brian, call Reading and apprise him of the situation. Tell him we're making a run for the airfield. And tell him to advise our people there that we're coming in hot.”

Brian looked at Elliott as if he expected counterorders. When none were forthcoming, he said, “Gotcha, Ronni,” and pulled the cell phone from his belt. He punched in the security code and waited. A second later, he had someone on the line.

While Ronni waited for Brian to connect with Reading's party, she said, “We're coming up on the Florence exit, Elliott. How much further to the airfield?”

Elliott pulled a folded map from the glove compartment and tossed it into the back seat. “Check the map, Lexis. I'm not taking my eyes off of this goddamn cat-horse thing.”

The well-dressed woman sitting on Kat Conner's left gave the back of Elliott's head an icy glare, then turned on the dome light and unfolded the map. She quickly found the town of Florence, and traced the route from the interstate exit to a small country road just south of Casa Grande.

“Twenty miles, give or take a quarter. It's a state highway, so the road should be in pretty good shape if this turns into a race.”

“You can't take the goddamned exit, Ronni!” yelled Elliott. “This horse-cat thing is matching us mile for fucking mile, and it has the angle. It'll hit us about the time we reach the end of the off ramp.”

“It's all moot,” said Brian. “I got Reading on the first try. He said he already knows about our little convoy, and that we should forget the contingency and head for the original destination. He said we have help in front and behind, and to keep moving.”

“I'm the team leader on this mission,” said Elliott in a calm voice. “I have tactical command and by God, I'm ordering you, do
not
take that exit.”

From the corner of her eye, Ronni noticed that Elliott now held the Glock in his lap with the muzzle pointed at her ribcage.

“Before you shoot me, keep in mind I'm driving along at eighty-five miles per hour. Now pull the trigger or shut the fuck up.”

The Escalade was nearly parallel to the exit when Ronni gave the wheel a savage turn and crossed three lanes of traffic. Two drivers in the inside lane locked up their brakes and skidded sideways onto the shoulder of the interstate. A third vehicle, a refrigerated box truck, swerved to the left, narrowly missing the Escalade. The driver overcorrected and fishtailed back to the right, slamming hard into the first pair of cars.

Still driving at a high rate of speed, Ronni called out to the pair of Watchers in the back seat. “Check our ‘six' for pursuit. And hold on. We're coming off the ramp, and merging with the state highway!”

Before Lexis or Brian could answer, Elliott yelled, “Fuck the six! The fucking demon is on top of us!” Not bothering to lower the window, he fired his 10-mm through the glass at the catlike monster. A pair of deafening explosions, in rapid succession, filled the interior of the Escalade. They were closely followed by the distinctive
pop, pop, pop
of Brian's 9-mm.

Ronnie wanted to look, but kept her eyes glued to the roadway ahead. She guided the Escalade past a slow-moving four-door sedan, and off the exit ramp, onto the two-lane highway. Just as the Escalade settled into the westbound lane, several voices melded into a disharmonious scream of terror. In that moment, something crashed into the side of the Escalade. The vehicle fishtailed across the asphalt as Ronni fought to maintain control of the steering wheel. She heard Lexis ordering the two Conner females onto the floorboard. Brian screamed out in pain as Elliott emptied his magazine into the creature. A split second later, Ronni heard the dull
pop
of another 9-mm, and let out a yelp of her own as a hot shell casing fell down the back of her black blouse.

The gunfire ceased as if someone had flipped an “off” switch and Ronni knew the battle was over. For several seconds the only sound inside the Escalade was that of labored breathing and a few muffled moans from the back seat. Elliott had reloaded and leaned out of the shattered passenger window, checking the roadway and exit ramp behind them.

“Check in, folks!”

“We shot the bastard up, but I don't think we killed it. Jesus, I've been doing this shit for a long time and I've never seen
anything
like that! It—it tore through the roof and door panels like a can opener!”

Ronni glanced up and noted the five long gashes in the steel rooftop. She white-knuckled the steering wheel to reduce the involuntary shudder that went through her slender body.

From the back seat Lexis said, “I'm good. Our guests are good. Brian is bleeding. Hold on while I … dear God. His arm…”

“What is it, Lexis? What's wrong with his arm?”

“It's—gone, Ronni. From the shoulder. His arm is gone!”

Jesus, help us!
“Take your jacket and roll it up as tightly as you can. Then hold pressure to the wound. We aren't far from the airfield now. Maybe twenty minutes out. They'll have a paramedic on board the plane.”

Elliott looked into the back seat, then turned to Ronni. “Hell, Brian doesn't need a paramedic,” said Elliott. “He needs last rites. This is your fault, you know. I knew this would happen if you took that exit. I gave you an order, and you disobeyed. When King dies, and he will, you'll be tried by the Order for insubordination to a superior.”

“Oh, shut up, Elliott. Before they can try me for that, they'll have to assign me to a superior!”

When Elliott failed to reply, Ronni figured the retort had sailed over his head or he was fuming and scheming on her demise in silence. She figured the latter was a safe bet. While she had never considered him more than an aggravation in the past, Elliott Glenn was now openly hostile. He might be an asshole, but he was a dangerous asshole, and her superior in terms of rank and seniority. Ronni would have to be very, very careful around him from this point forward.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“What now, Lexis?”

“Brian's dead, Ronni. I tried. I really did, but he lost so much blood. So much…”

“Forget Brian!” said Elliott. “The Ford and Lincoln are still with us.”

Ronni's grip on the wheel tightened again. She looked into the rearview mirror and saw the youngest Conner staring back at her. Looking past the girl, Ronni noted a pair of vehicles following at a distance. As she pressed down on the accelerator, she said, “Are you sure it's them?”

“No doubt about it. You can't mistake the headlights and grill work on either model. They closed the gap for a little bit, then dropped back. Shit! Another problem!”

“For Christ's sake, what now?”

“Red and blue flashing lights up on the interstate. Looks like somebody notified the Arizona Highway Patrol.”

Her voice devoid of emotion or inflection, Lexis said, “Cell phones: Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, huh?”

Ronni cursed under her breath. The last thing they needed was law enforcement intervention.
We've got to shake them
. She quickly calculated the distance to the turn-off that would take them to the airport. Driving off-road would slow them down, but it might also give them an advantage. Ronni had grown up driving in the desert country surrounding Tel Aviv. She knew the hazards of partially hidden sink holes and small rocks that could rip holes in oil pans, break brake fluid lines, or puncture radiators.

The Escalade was equipped with an off-road package that included skid plates to protect the underside of the vehicle, and an over-size radiator. The Ford that followed them might have a similar setup, but it was worth a shot. She knew damn well an older-model low-riding luxury car couldn't keep up in the desert. Besides, the longer she kept to the asphalt, the better chance they had of being spotted by state or local police, and that would mean disaster. Off-road was the only real choice.

“Buckle up if you haven't already,” said Ronni. “We're going off-road.”

Immediately, Elliott objected, but she ignored him and punched the accelerator. By the time the truck and Lincoln realized the Escalade was pulling away, Ronni had increased her lead by nearly a quarter mile.

“Hang on!” She flipped the kill switch that would deactivate the Escalade's brake and tail lights, then turned off the headlights. She glanced up through the broken windshield and noticed the half moon. While not exactly bright, it would provide more than enough light. She steered the SUV across the eastbound lane and into the shallow ditch that bordered the shoulder of the highway. A hard bump, and the Escalade was off the shoulder of the blacktop and speeding across open desert.

“Well, look at this, will ya?” said Lexis. “The station wagon slowed down. He's watching us from the highway. But the damn Lincoln jumped the median and is coming this way. He just cut his lights and jumped the ditch. In fact, I think he's gaining. This son of a bitch is serious!”

“Let him bring it,” said Ronni. And she meant it. The Lincoln had been on their ass since the beginning of the operation. No doubt the driver had been close enough to witness the bizarre cat creature attack the Escalade, and he'd also witnessed the muzzle flashes from at least three handguns. He knew the occupants of the SUV were heavily armed, and still he followed them into the desert.

“Lexis, get Reading on the phone. Tell him we're about fifteen miles out and still coming in hot.”

*   *   *

Sam decided there might be more to Enrique DeLorenzo than met the eye. At first, the man had balked when Falco produced a magnetic police-style strobe light from one of the equipment bags. He protested, saying use of the light was illegal and would only call undue attention to them. Falco countered, pointing out the advantages of having police lights in certain emergency situations.
“People tend to move their asses out of the way when they see blue lights.”

“I still think it's too risky, Thomas, and we've got enough trouble with this operation without asking for more. But if you really think—”

Falco said, “Excellent decision, Rikki. Leave everything to me. We won't use the light unless we need a diversion.” Falco gave Sam a quick wink before stashing the light into a small equipment bag.

The next surprise came when the three reached the top parking deck and Enrique's rental car turned out to be a sleek Lexus ES350. As they maneuvered through town, the ES350 looked and rode like a luxury executive car. But once they reached Interstate-10, Enrique released the beast within and the car performed like it was made for oval tracks instead of geriatric highway driving. The rich kid from Manhattan handled the car like he'd been road racing all of his life. Weaving in and out of traffic, he reached peak speeds nearing 120 miles per hour. He seemed to possess a sixth sense, knowing when to back off the accelerator, and when to push it. The miles separating Phoenix and Florence melted away.

As they neared the Casa Grande exit, Sam leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Mindful of Joriel's long-standing admonition, he was afraid to reach for
Kat.
At the same time, he was afraid not to. There was no doubt in his mind they were all heading into a shit storm and for the sake of his sanity, he had to know if his mom and sister were okay. He also wanted a firm fix on their whereabouts. He wouldn't have time to make a leisurely search of the area once they arrived at the airfield.