Chapter 25
Garcia blasted through an intersection, a blaring horn his only concession to the red light. Behind him the police siren screamed; the patrol car's lights flashing like a strobe. He could hear shots again, and he snuck a quick glance in the rear view mirror. "Get down, Eppes. The goddamn idiot is shooting at us." Don lay partially sideways in the seat, against the door, still holding Charlie in front of him.
Edgerton spoke brusquely as he peered out through the back window, one hand on the headrest to keep from being thrown against the door. "I don't think it's the officer that's shooting; I think it's the SUV behind him."
They roared around one corner, then another. More shots popped, a block or two back, and Edgerton saw the squad car suddenly veer wildly, bouncing over a curb, and smash headlong into a building.
"Shit," said Garcia. "I'm sure that cop called us in. Guess who they're gonna blame for that."
"They're cutting off our options," agreed Edgerton. "It's just them and us now."
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Mahir delivered commands through his cell phone with cold intensity. His men had fallen in behind him, driving the two dark sedans, and he was speaking to the driver of the second car. "Head due north, toward Highway 2. We will try to delay them. Once you reach the highway, reduce your speed and call me for further directions."
He hung up and punched in the other sedan behind him. "Head north by a block or two, quickly, and try to cut them off. Keep them headed east until I tell you otherwise."
He snapped his phone shut and glared at his man in the passenger seat, who was leaning out of the window taking aim at the police car, trying to steady his pistol. "Can you not shoot? Get rid of him."
His cell phone rang, and he answered it curtly. "Mahir."
Paulson's voice came over the line. "I've got my men rounded up, and we're in the SUV, heading out behind you. Where are you?"
"Heading east, on a main thoroughfare. We are expecting them to turn north eventually, and try to make Highway 2. It will take them up to the border."
"We can't let them get ahead of us on the highway."
"I am already working on that," replied Mahir, clutching the armrest as the SUV roared around a corner.
Paulson could hear the faint sound of sirens, then gunshots, over the line. "It sounds like you have a police escort."
Mahir watched as a bullet shattered the squad car driver's window just as the vehicle turned sideways. It spun out of the turn, then veered off and struck a building with horrific force. "Not any more," he said impassively.
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Garcia glanced to his left as he passed a cross street, his attention captured by a dark sedan going as fast as he was. A quick block flew by, and there it was again, as he looked to his left up the next street. "We've got one on our left. Edgerton, are you loaded up?"
Edgerton held up his pistol. "Ready."
Garcia leaned over, fumbling on the floor with his eyes on the road, and grabbed a map of Hermosillo at his feet. He had picked it up at the gas station, and was damn glad he did. "Eppes, can you handle a map? Look for the best way to Highway 2." He tossed it over the rear seat as he spoke and Don shifted his grip on Charlie, holding him with one arm, as he grabbed the map and shook it open.
Charlie turned slightly and grasped the front of Don's shirt with his left hand, trying to keep himself steady. The IV was still inserted into the back of it; Edgerton had wrapped it up with the sheet. His head rested on Don's chest, and the map hung right in front of him, dancing before his eyes. There were basically only three ways out of Hermosillo: Highway 2, which headed north, Highway 16, which went due east, and another major highway that went south. The roads west were tiny, not major thoroughfares, and they wandered off toward the ocean. The only way to the border from Hermosillo was Highway 2; to get the next road north, one had to travel east all the way to Chihuahua.
Don peered at the bouncing map over Charlie's dark curls. "It looks like we've got a major thoroughfare coming up in two blocks; it starts north and veers east, and puts you at an interchange for Highway 2 that's just a bit north of here," he said.
Garcia shot another glance to his left as the next street shot past. "That sedan is still there. What in the hell is he doing?" Shots rang out, and he swore as two bullets hit the Buick with muffled thuds.
Charlie took a deep breath, trying to find enough strength to speak loudly enough to be heard. "It's basic herding strategy. They want you to continue in the direction you're going."
"There's another interchange further out, if we stay on this road," said Don. "It's not as direct, and it's the last chance to get on Highway 2."
"I don't think we have a choice – that sedan's blocking us from taking the first one," said Garcia, grimly. "What's the SUV doing?"
Edgerton was frowning out the back window. "They're just hanging with us, a ways back."
"Herding," said Charlie, weakly. The Buick hit a pothole, and the resulting thump sent a shock wave of pain through his body. He closed his eyes and twisted his hand in Don's shirt.
Garcia shot past the main thoroughfare that would have led them to the first ramp to Highway 2, and frowned. "The sedan's gone. What in the hell?"
"Still herding," said Charlie, panting. "They've removed a restriction, so you can go north now." Talking was an effort, and his voice was weakening.
"What'd he say?" yelled Garcia over his shoulder.
Don called back. "He said they're still herding. They want you to go north now."
"Why would they do that?" asked Edgerton, frowning. "That's where we want to go."
"Delay," managed Charlie. He could feel pain intensifying; an aftershock was building.
Don stared at the map as the revelation hit him. "They delayed us so they could get people ahead of us. Once we get out on that highway, there will be nowhere else to go. They can block us off from the front and behind, and we'll be out in the middle of nowhere." Just like the ambush on the way to the airport, he thought.
"Well, screw that," said Garcia, his accent deepening, showing its barrio roots. "We ain't goin' north then. Hold on, I'm gonna try to throw that SUV."
It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. The SUV seemed to be slowing, dropping back, and in a few turns it was gone. Garcia frowned. "That was too easy."
"He thinks it doesn't matter," said Don. "He's assuming that you're getting on Highway 2, and he wants to be behind you. He can afford to take his time."
Garcia grinned, as he saw a sign ahead, indicating Highway 16. "Too bad for him," he said. "We're going to Chihuahua. I'm going to call in to Merrick." He felt at his belt for his cell phone, and his grin faded as he felt an empty phone holster. "Damn. Edgerton, do me a favor and report in. I can't find my phone."
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Paulson opened the cell phone that his man had found lying on the concrete steps outside the hospital side door. He hit the first number on speed dial, and listened as Walter Merrick came on the line, then hung up without a word. "FBI," he muttered, as Avilar shot him a curious glance from the driver's seat. "Goddamned FBI sent their people after us." He cursed himself mentally. Dr. Gonzalez had said something about an FBI man when he talked to her in the hallway; and he had assumed that she was talking about his own man, that she was mistaken. Unfortunately, she had turned out to be correct. That FBI agent had walked in right under their noses, and vanished like a ghost, along with Dr. Eppes.
"What's this world coming to?" said Sykes sarcastically from the back seat, and they all grinned except Paulson.
"You think this is funny?" he demanded.
Sykes shrugged, and grabbed the armrest as Avilar veered onto the ramp for Highway 2. "Mahir says they've got them surrounded, right? They aren't going anywhere. As soon as they get far enough up Highway 2, we'll nail 'em."
Paulson pulled out his own phone. "Everyone quiet for a minute. I need to report this out to Tompkins, and put some spin on this." He dialed and paused, with the phone to his ear. "Bob, thank God I caught you. We have a situation. Dr. Eppes was kidnapped from the hospital, moments ago. Jensen was guarding him, they killed him, broke his neck."
There was silence as Paulson listened to the response. "Yes, sir, we're in pursuit now. It's Conway, sir, and he seems to have some others with him – one of my guys got a look, said they look Middle Eastern. Yes, sir…"
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Charlie moaned and twisted against Don's chest, and Don looked down at him anxiously. "Charlie, what's wrong?"
"Af – uuhh – aftershock," groaned Charlie, grimacing.
"Still?" asked Don incredulously, alarm in his eyes. "From the shot they gave you?"
Charlie groaned, as a stronger wave began. "'Nother one," he gasped
"They gave you another injection?" repeated Don.
"Third one," Charlie gasped. "Two from Mahir, one innn hossspital… aaauuuhh."
Charlie was beginning to squirm in agony, trying desperately to hold in his cries of pain.
Don stared, aghast. "Three…," he said, his voice trailing off in shock.
Garcia and Edgerton sent alarmed glances over their seats. "What's wrong with him?" asked Garcia.
Don spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep hold of his brother, who was beginning to flail, his arms and legs jerking in involuntary agonized movements. "They gave him an injection when they tortured him – it produces extreme pain – and it repeats for several hours. The NSA bastards apparently gave him another one, in the hospital." His eyes met Edgerton's, dark with horror. "It's his third one." He didn't mention that Kafa had said a single shot had a thirty percent mortality rate; he didn't think it was the best idea to remind Charlie of that. The thought settled in his brain, however, along with the deep fear that it generated.
Charlie's arm shot out, and his wrist connected with the window with a nasty crack. Don hastily shifted his grip, and gathered in the arm. Charlie twisted again, and turned his head into Don's chest, trying to muffle the cry that he knew he could hold in no longer. Don felt the sound as well as heard it; it seemed as though every bone in his chest cavity vibrated, and his heart along with it.
Garcia glanced back at them in the rearview mirror, disconcerted, and back at the highway, then back again. He caught Don's initial look of despair, but at the next glance it had changed, to cold fury. Edgerton had turned back around in his seat, and was staring at the road, seemingly impassive, but Garcia could see a similar angry set to his jaw, the ice in his eyes. He was profoundly grateful that he wasn't the subject of their anger; those were two men that no one would want to cross.
Another muffled cry came from the back seat, and he glanced in the mirror again. Charlie was literally shaking; his body in spasm from the pain, and Garcia felt a twinge of superstitious fear at the unimaginable evil that had generated something so horrible. It was the work of Diablo, and he crossed himself, surreptitiously, as the car hurtled on into the darkness.
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End Chapter 25