AN: I apologize for any errors made in my translation...my German's
pretty rusty these days.
************************************************************
Mercedes flung the book on the floor of the car, dropping into
the seat. Jamming the key in the ignition, the powerful engine roared
to life as she punched the clutch to the floor, dropped the gearshift
into first, then revving the engine hard and shifting up to second.
The vintage Porsche answered the call, its deep, throaty bass
growl echoing off the buildings as Mercedes flew out of the parking lot
and into the dark.
*****************
On the Highway
Her feet danced over the pedals with an instinctual ease she'd
thought she'd lost as the car accelerated up the highway. So far, no
police. She could only hope it stayed that way. With an expert's
touch, she slid between the lanes, passing other cars in a blink with
only inches to spare. She didn't look at the speedometer; she didn't
need to. And she didn't care; it wasn't fast enough.
Zipping around a Camaro with less than six inches to spare, she
started a mental inventory of what was available to her. Not much,
but it would have to be enough. Her service weapon was at home, but
under the seat was her own Luger-- a copy of a WWII antique, but in
perfect working order. The only other weapon was a small knife she
kept in the car for emergencies. Well, something was better than
nothing.
She reached for her cell phone. It was a longshot that anyone
would take her seriously, but she had to try. Harm's machine picked up
on the third ring.
"Damn," she cursed as the message played, then beeped. "Harm,
it's Mercedes. Please...just hear me out on this one," she pleaded.
"I found a note in my car from the Ripper this afternoon. It said
there's going to be more victims, and that... Harm, I think he's after
Mac. I'm on my way there right now. Please, check it out. If I'm
nuts, fine. I'd rather be nuts and have her be okay than the
opposite. Harm, please, just go check---"
BEEP!
"Scheisse!" CD cursed, throwing the phone away in frustration.
Gunning the car, she sped toward Georgetown, praying.
*****************************************************************
Twenty Minutes Later
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown
The Porsche screeched to a halt outside Mac's building, tires
smoking. She jumped out, tucking the Luger into her jeans and
securing the knife in a back pocket as she ran into the building.
She slowed outside the door, listening for anything unusual.
Nothing. She quietly knocked on the door. This time, she'd be glad
if she encountered an annoyed Marine. But again, nothing. She tried
the door, which opened in her hand. Not good.
Drawing the Luger, she pushed the door open from her crouch next
to the frame. It swung wide, revealing the dimly-lit, seemingly empty
apartment. Gun in front but pointed down, she moved in silently,
scanning the room.
As she approached the bedroom, something hit her head, hard.
She slid to the floor as blackness surrounded her.
*****************
Harm's Apartment
"Thanks again for the ride, sir. I know I haven't earned any
favors lately, and it's out of your way," Harm told the Admiral as he
unlocked the door. "Can I offer you something to drink?"
"I'd appreciate that Commander," he replied, following Harm into
the apartment.
"Help yousel-- Webb, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you to show up, " Webb replied amiably from his
seat at the kitchen island. "Got some news of Sergei for you. Things
are looking promising. By the way, you've got a message."
"Thanks, I think." Harm tossed his overcoat over the couch and
hit the play message button, while Chegwidden grabbed a couple of beers
out of the fridge. "So, what's the big news...." Harm's voice
trailed off as Mercedes's desperate message played.
"...he's after Mac. I'm on my way there right now. Please,
check it out. If I'm nuts, fine. I'd rather be nuts and have her be
okay than the opposite. Harm, please, just go check---"
Harm grabbed the phone, dialing Mac's number. A moment later he
slammed it down. "No answer," he stated, worry making itself evident
on his features as he looked at the other men.
"Mr. Webb, I assume you're armed?" the Admiral asked, returning
Harm's gaze. Webb nodded, getting up from his seat. "Commander, get
your sidearm and meet us downstairs."
TBC...
pretty rusty these days.
************************************************************
Mercedes flung the book on the floor of the car, dropping into
the seat. Jamming the key in the ignition, the powerful engine roared
to life as she punched the clutch to the floor, dropped the gearshift
into first, then revving the engine hard and shifting up to second.
The vintage Porsche answered the call, its deep, throaty bass
growl echoing off the buildings as Mercedes flew out of the parking lot
and into the dark.
*****************
On the Highway
Her feet danced over the pedals with an instinctual ease she'd
thought she'd lost as the car accelerated up the highway. So far, no
police. She could only hope it stayed that way. With an expert's
touch, she slid between the lanes, passing other cars in a blink with
only inches to spare. She didn't look at the speedometer; she didn't
need to. And she didn't care; it wasn't fast enough.
Zipping around a Camaro with less than six inches to spare, she
started a mental inventory of what was available to her. Not much,
but it would have to be enough. Her service weapon was at home, but
under the seat was her own Luger-- a copy of a WWII antique, but in
perfect working order. The only other weapon was a small knife she
kept in the car for emergencies. Well, something was better than
nothing.
She reached for her cell phone. It was a longshot that anyone
would take her seriously, but she had to try. Harm's machine picked up
on the third ring.
"Damn," she cursed as the message played, then beeped. "Harm,
it's Mercedes. Please...just hear me out on this one," she pleaded.
"I found a note in my car from the Ripper this afternoon. It said
there's going to be more victims, and that... Harm, I think he's after
Mac. I'm on my way there right now. Please, check it out. If I'm
nuts, fine. I'd rather be nuts and have her be okay than the
opposite. Harm, please, just go check---"
BEEP!
"Scheisse!" CD cursed, throwing the phone away in frustration.
Gunning the car, she sped toward Georgetown, praying.
*****************************************************************
Twenty Minutes Later
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown
The Porsche screeched to a halt outside Mac's building, tires
smoking. She jumped out, tucking the Luger into her jeans and
securing the knife in a back pocket as she ran into the building.
She slowed outside the door, listening for anything unusual.
Nothing. She quietly knocked on the door. This time, she'd be glad
if she encountered an annoyed Marine. But again, nothing. She tried
the door, which opened in her hand. Not good.
Drawing the Luger, she pushed the door open from her crouch next
to the frame. It swung wide, revealing the dimly-lit, seemingly empty
apartment. Gun in front but pointed down, she moved in silently,
scanning the room.
As she approached the bedroom, something hit her head, hard.
She slid to the floor as blackness surrounded her.
*****************
Harm's Apartment
"Thanks again for the ride, sir. I know I haven't earned any
favors lately, and it's out of your way," Harm told the Admiral as he
unlocked the door. "Can I offer you something to drink?"
"I'd appreciate that Commander," he replied, following Harm into
the apartment.
"Help yousel-- Webb, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you to show up, " Webb replied amiably from his
seat at the kitchen island. "Got some news of Sergei for you. Things
are looking promising. By the way, you've got a message."
"Thanks, I think." Harm tossed his overcoat over the couch and
hit the play message button, while Chegwidden grabbed a couple of beers
out of the fridge. "So, what's the big news...." Harm's voice
trailed off as Mercedes's desperate message played.
"...he's after Mac. I'm on my way there right now. Please,
check it out. If I'm nuts, fine. I'd rather be nuts and have her be
okay than the opposite. Harm, please, just go check---"
Harm grabbed the phone, dialing Mac's number. A moment later he
slammed it down. "No answer," he stated, worry making itself evident
on his features as he looked at the other men.
"Mr. Webb, I assume you're armed?" the Admiral asked, returning
Harm's gaze. Webb nodded, getting up from his seat. "Commander, get
your sidearm and meet us downstairs."
TBC...