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Smithfield, North Carolina, under normal circumstances, would have been a town that, if you blink, you would have missed it. The sign stated a population of thirteen-thousand people. However, Noah couldn’t help but scan rooftops and around each corner as they turned right on East Market Street.
“Expecting someone?” Bishop’s eyes followed him through the rearview mirror.
“Pike didn’t tell you?” Noah tried to see inside a minivan that passed on the left. A small child in the backseat stared him down while the driver ignored him.
The FBI agent shook his head. “Tell me what?”
Noah remained silent. The real story wouldn’t be believed, and he didn’t know which side of the fence Bishop lay. If he were sent through Walter Scott, nothing he could say would make a difference. Bishop shrugged and kept his eyes on the road.
While being more discrete, Noah waited.
Miriam and Dennis had agreed on one thing. Despite paying the full contract, they doubted Noah would be considered one-hundred percent free and clear of danger. Scott would keep pushing or follow up—others could be hired from different organizations. Walter had garnered a wealth of contacts throughout the years, and it would not be difficult. Noah’s resources, on the other hand, were all but gone.
Mid-morning traffic hour was light as they drove into the morning sun and approached the edge of town. East Market Street ended at the I-95 on-ramp, and with the morning sun in their eyes, they didn’t have a chance to see the shooter on the rail overpass.
The first round went through the windshield, and the impact sent the bullet tumbling.
Instead of a straight trajectory, it veered to the side, over Bishop’s right shoulder, and through the backseat, missing Noah by six inches. The slight deflection saved the federal agent’s life. The wind noise followed the pop through the hole.
“Get down!” Bishop swerved the SUV.
Noah ducked as a second round punched through the roof and out the rear window. A hole the size of a softball appeared in the tempered glass, and cracks radiated outward.
“Jesus Christ!” Bishop kept low while peeking over the dashboard. Luckily there were no other cars in the area. He swerved in the opposite lane as another round hit the windshield. It would have sprayed gray matter over the interior if Noah had been sitting upright. He didn’t have to look to see how close that had come. The bullet tinged off the wire barrier.
When Bishop swerved to the opposite side, Noah slid across the bench seat until the handcuff pulled tight against the handle. “Get under the bridge! They’ll have no target then.”
Noah had enough of being a human pinball. Using his teeth, he pulled the Velcro straps back on the brace until he could slide out his hand. The SUV was approaching the overpass and safety. At best, the shooter would have to reposition to fire underneath—temporary protection. He peeled back a small tear in the fabric on the underside of the brace and removed a long-handled handcuff key. As Bishop kept up a zig-zag pattern, the cuff on his right wrist opened. While painful, he had enough strength in his left hand to turn the key.
“Are you hit?” Noah realized he was screaming, but Bishop answered the same way.
“No. You?”
“I’m good. Get undercover. Call it in!”
Another round went through the roof and into the seat behind the driver as the angle closed. “Fuck, that was close!”
The moment stretched on for an eternity, and both men could see a figure dressed in black stand with a long rifle. Bishop parked in the middle of the road, under the overpass. He drew a Sig Sauer P226 and stepped outside the vehicle as he pulled out a cell phone. The pistol shook in his hand as it swept the area.
While he was distracted, Noah slipped the key back into the brace and wore it again. “Open the door. Get me out of here!” The last thing he wanted to be was a stationary target. There was zero doubt in his mind that the shooter was after him and not the agent. He would be easy pickings unless he could get out. “Hurry up!”
Bishop was yelling on his phone as he spun in circles. Noah brought up a foot and slammed it into the door to get the agent’s attention. When the agent flicked the handle to open the door, all hell broke loose.