The Solomon Key (19 page)

Scott shrugged. “Name’s Frank.”

“How’d you get here, Frank?”

Meeting his stare, he asked, “Is there a problem?”

The cop laughed. “No, I don’t think so. But I was just curious because there’s only four cars in the parking lot. None of which belongs to you.”

“Got dropped off.” He saw the cop look at his ringless finger.

“Girlfriend?” he asked.

“Boyfriend.” He let that hang for a second. “That bother you?”

Shaking his head, the cop smiled. “I didn’t place you as a homosexual. Thought you were flirting with Cindy.”

“That’s why girls like gay guys. They’re really nice to them.” He thought the cop was about to get up, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked another question. The wrong question.

“Can I see your identification card?”

Scott couldn’t help himself. “I have Al-Qaeda written all over me, don’t I? What gave it away? Wait, don’t tell me,
Danielle’s
is a favorite terrorist hot spot, isn’t it?” But that didn’t amuse the cop as much as it did Scott. He sighed, “I left it at home.”

“And where might that be?”

“Loudon Road.” It was the only road he knew around here.

The cop nodded, pretending to be satisfied. And then he got up. “Well, now that I know where you live, Frank, I’m sure I’ll be running into you again soon.”

“Look forward to it.”

Then he walked straight out of the diner, waving to Cindy as he went. Scott watched him climb into his patrol car and get right on his computer.

It was time to leave.

Cindy walked over. “Is everything okay?” she asked, worried though with a trace of excitement detectable in her voice.

“No, not really.” He put the books back in the bag and looked out the window. The cop was already coming back in.

With a shotgun.

Scott wondered if the MAV back at the house actually did manage to transmit his image before Mayhew shot it. Or maybe they found the Humvee already. There was no doubt that this guy had already called for backup. He was going to come in, point the gun at his chest, and wait until the cavalry showed up. Whether that was more police or the military, Scott had no intention of finding out. He got to his feet, put the bag over his shoulder, and told Cindy to get him a steak knife. Then he looked at the young couple. “Get out!” They didn’t even hesitate.

The cook came out. “What’s going on here?”

“Just get back in the kitchen and shut up!” Scott yelled.

Cindy ran back to him just as the cop came in through the doors, shotgun held tight against his shoulder. The couple ran past him, fleeing the diner.

“Freeze!” he yelled.

In one smooth burst of speed, Scott had the knife out of Cindy’s hand and pressed against her throat. “Put the gun down,” he said, his voice cold and flat.

But the cop didn’t even hesitate, just stood there aiming the shotgun, not seeming to care that he couldn’t use it without killing Cindy.

Cindy was tense in Scott’s grip, and he could feel the fear running through her body. He leaned his head forward and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Then he kissed her ear.

The cop took a step closer.

“Take one more step forward, and I’ll cut her head off.”

The cop, who had just been talking to Cindy, almost smiled. Like he’d enjoy seeing that. And images of the urban training exercises that had been taking place in the US since the 1990’s flashed through Scott’s mind. He suddenly knew that the cop wasn’t going to wait for backup. He pushed the knife away from Cindy’s throat and slowly raised his hands. The cop responded predictably by motioning with the shotgun, waving it away from Cindy and toward an imaginary spot next to her that he wanted Scott to fill. So that he could blow him into pieces unhindered. Scott nodded and lowered his arms. He took as much time as he dared, forcing the cop’s patience, hoping he would get impatient and repeat the same motion with the shotgun.

“Come on! Step away from her!”

And the barrel moved away. It would only be gone for a second, but that’s all the time Scott would need. The cop was only ten feet away, which would keep the pellets somewhat concentrated. It’d be close, but he needed to leave before the state police showed up. They’d have machine guns. So he did it. Bent his right knee forward, dropping it hard into the back of Cindy’s, sending her falling awkwardly to her right. Scott went down with her, mimicking her movement and using her as a shield. He knew the suddenness of the move would confuse the cop.

And it did. As the cop brought the barrel back around, he hesitated while trying to figure out what happened, why they were suddenly falling clumsily to the floor. It was only a split second, but before he could recover, the knife was already half way to his throat.

Scott threw it as he went down, aiming for his chest but letting it go too early, the blade landing straight in the cop’s neck.

The cop pulled the trigger just as the knife hit, a deafening boom rocketing over their heads as they fell flat against the floor, the glass window in the back shattering.

Cindy lifted her head, moved the hair out of her eyes, and watched in horror as the cop collapsed to the floor, slipping in his own blood, trying frantically to pull the knife from his throat.

Scrambling to his feet, Scott grabbed Cindy underneath the arms and lifted her up, pushing her forward. “Go!” She ran, jumped over the flailing cop, and went to the door, Scott pausing only long enough to grab the shotgun and take the pistol from the officer’s holster.

Cindy went straight to her car and spent about five seconds fumbling with the keys before finally getting the doors open. Scott climbed into the passenger’s seat as she started the car. She peeled out of the parking lot and went north up Loudon. Two police cars flew past them, heading to the diner.

Scott watched their flashing lights fade in the rearview mirror before looking over at Cindy. Her face was pale, her hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Thanks,” he said.

She swallowed. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

He knew that once the cops watched the tape, his face would be everywhere. Cindy’s face would be everywhere. There wouldn’t be a camera out there that wouldn’t be trying to match every face it saw with his and hers. And once that guy in the diner told the cops that he went with Cindy, they would simply hit the kill switch on her car and come get them. Yeah, it was bad.

He looked over at her, and when she looked back at him, her eyes did all the talking.

He had even more decisions to make.

20

C
indy pulled the car up alongside the motel just as Scott instructed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said. Then he jumped out of the car and ran for the motel, leaving her trembling at the wheel.

Scott flung the door open so hard that it slammed off the adjacent wall, but Mayhew didn’t even turn his head to look. He was sitting at the end of the bed with his feet on the floor and the remote in his hands, the light from the television illuminating both the room and his transfixed face.

“Let’s go,” Scott urged. But he didn’t get a response. “Mayhew! Let’s go!”

He whispered instead, “Look at this.”

Stepping into the room, Scott grabbed him and shook him out of his stupor. “We don’t have time for this!”

Blinking away the hold the TV had on him, Mayhew quickly began looking around for the gun and his sleeveless jacket. Finding both, he paused before the changing scenes on the wall again.

Scott pulled him out of the room and pushed him into the parking lot. Before closing the door behind them, however, he took a peak at the TV himself, wondering what had captured Mayhew so intently. But the images being broadcasted were indiscernible, the camera jerking all over the place. He could tell there was fire and that people were running. And then he caught the words across the bottom of the screen.

NEWS ALERT: TERROR STRIKES NORTH AMERICA.

He closed the door and ran to Cindy’s car. “Come on, over here.”

Mayhew was confused. “What—”

“Do you have the ring?” Scott cut him off.

“How did—”

“Do you have the ring?” Scott yelled.

“Yeah...”

“Just get in the back!”

Climbing in, Scott told Cindy, “Go.” He tried to say it as calmly as he could, not wanting to upset her anymore than was necessary.

“Where am I going?” she asked, but only a portion of her voice made it into her words.

Mayhew was confused. “Who is
she
?”

They both ignored him.

Scott’s mind was racing through the options, trying to figure something out. “Just drive, anywhere. Go the speed limit. We’ll see how far we can get before they hit the kill switch.”

“Kill switch?” Cindy asked.

“Yeah.”

She pulled back onto Loudon Road. “The GPS?”

He nodded.

Mayhew leaned forward. “What happened?”

“Killed a cop.” And then he thought of something else. “Do you have a phone on you?” he asked Cindy.

“Yeah.”

“Give it to me.”

Digging it out of her tight pants, she hesitantly handed it over.

Without a word, he rolled down his window and threw it from the car.

“What are you doing?” Cindy screamed. “That was my phone!”

“They’re tracking it.”

“It was off!”

“It’s always generating a signal.”

A tear slipped out from the corner of her eye.

Mayhew was confused, but he understood enough to realize that the scenario didn’t allow time for unimportant questions. “How long?”

Scott looked out the window. “I don’t know. The police are on the scene now, two possible eye-witnesses, the video…”

Mayhew drew his own conclusion. “Any minute then.”

Cindy spoke up. “The cameras weren’t on.”

Scott looked at her. “What do you mean?”

She repeated herself. “They weren’t on.”

“Why not?” he asked.

She seemed to blush and turned her eyes away from the road for a second. “We turned them off.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“And you’re sure no one else turned them back on?”

She shook her head. “We closed, forgot to put them back online. I saw that they were still off when I came in today. I wasn’t going to point it out.”

There was no missing the reason for shutting off the cameras, but Scott didn’t care. It meant that they couldn’t have been tied into the central surveillance system. Shutting that off wasn’t so simple and would hardly go unnoticed. No, it was just a simple security feed copied to discs for insurance purposes. They’d caught a huge break. But still, the two guys in the diner had seen them leave in Cindy’s car. They’d find them that way.

“Is this car under your name?” he asked Cindy.

“It’s not mine,” she answered.

That’s why she’d fumbled about with keys instead of just using her thumb print. “Who’s is it?”

She looked at him. “A friend’s.”

He didn’t care if she had a hundred “friends”
at the moment, and he sighed with relief. It would buy them more time. They just might make it out of the state.

Mayhew was watching the road ahead. “We need to stay on the smaller roads. If we get on the interstate, they’ll just set a trap for us.”

He was right. Once they pieced everything together and located them on a major road, they’d have time to set up a blockade. And they’d hit the kill switch just as they approached it, trapping them in a dead car facing a line of tanks. Yeah, better to keep them guessing, any extra hoops translating to more minutes of freedom.

Cindy looked over to Scott, then up into the rearview mirror at Mayhew. “You’re not really terrorists, are you?”

Mayhew sneered, “Depends who you ask.”

But Scott quickly clarified before Mayhew’s answer could shake her apart. “No, we’re not terrorists.”

“Why didn’t you show him your ID card?”

“Because I don’t have one.”

“I thought only terrorists didn’t have identification cards,” she mumbled to herself.

Scott watched the light from the street lamps pass over her face. Her eyes were fixed ahead, like quarks in a dam, the wideness of them signaling the pressure building up from behind. He could tell that she no longer wanted to be in the car.

“You have no reason to fear us, Cindy.”

She looked at him and forced a short, though unsure, smile. “I’ll take you to the state line.”

Scott nodded his thanks. “Just stay off the major roads.” Then he turned around to look at Mayhew. “What’s the news saying?”

“Turn the radio on.”

Flicking a switch on the steering wheel, Cindy brought the HUD up on the windshield and selected the local news station, though it didn’t matter which station she chose, all of them now under the control of FEMA.

Unconfirmed reports of terrorism all across the North American Union. Dallas. Manhattan. Seattle. Phoenix. Boston. Miami. Mexico City. Tijuana. Cozumel. Toronto. Montreal. Vancouver. Ottawa.

The voice was reporting an estimated half million people dead, major infrastructure collapse, power outages all across the continent, possible biochemical agents in the air…

The voice was telling people to stay in their homes for now, to await further instructions and to locate their emergency kits.

All three of them sat in silence as the voice painted a nightmarish vision of their world — even though all they could see were two beams of light stretching out over an empty road ahead of them. The reality was hard to grasp. Dallas, Toronto, Tijuana… it might as well have been the moon that was attacked. Other people, other places.

But Scott knew that was all about to change, that these new events would bring full Martial Law to the country and the complete collapse of the economy. The ghost of a former president whispered in his ear,
And out of these troubled times, a third objective, a New World Order can emerge...

Mayhew quoted David Rockefeller. “‘All we need is the right major crisis, and the nations will accept the New World Order.’”

21

M
ayhew and Cindy were both asleep with Scott at the wheel, the car faithfully continuing to propel them down empty roads. So far so good, but there was still a ways to go.