3

Professor felt the car start to move. He’d thought he detected a hint of recognition when he’d approached, but now Jimmy was freaking out.

“Letson, it’s me. Pete Chapman. We did Phase One together. I was in the teams. I served with Dane and Bones.”

The car lurched as Jimmy stomped down on the brake again. “Professor?”

The nasally voice was like nails on a chalkboard, transporting Professor back in time.

Can’t do it. I quit.

Professor managed a nod. “That’s me.”

Jimmy’s face registered a range of expressions. Surprise, dismay... Embarrassment? Professor could almost see the gears turning behind the other man’s eyes, and imagined him being sucked into the same remembrance of their brief acquaintance.

But he wasn’t interested in taking Jimmy for a walk down memory lane. “Let’s exchange our info, just like this was a real accident.”

“It felt pretty real to me,” Jimmy remarked sourly, then he cocked his head to the side. “Wait a sec. You hit me on purpose. What’s going on? What do you want?” A pause, and then, “Who are you working for?”

Professor ignored the question. “Letson, you need to tell me what you were doing in there. Whatever it is, whatever laws you’ve broken, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“What makes you think I want your help?” Jimmy shot back.

Professor sighed.

“You’re working for Tam Broderick’s outfit, aren’t you?” Jimmy pressed. “Yeah, I know all about that. Dane told me some of it, and I figured out the rest.”

“That’s great, Letson. So, you know I’m one of the good guys. My question is, are you?”

“Oh, so working for the government automatically equals good guys. I’ll have to remember that.”

“Knock it off, Letson,” Professor snapped. “You just walked out of a Secure Compartmented Information Facility, and we both know that you don’t have a security clearance, which tells me that, at the very least, you presented falsified credentials. That’s a crime. Fortunately for you, I’m not a cop or I’d have to arrest you right now. But you’ve got about thirty seconds to convince me that you are one of the good guys, before I do call the cops, so don’t waste it... Twenty-nine... Twenty-eight...”

Jimmy glowered for about three more seconds, then looked down just long enough to move the gearshift lever into park, and roll the window the rest of the way down. That gave him about twenty seconds, but Professor figured the point was made, so he stopped counting. As Jimmy launched into an explanation of the events that had prompted him to go off the grid, Professor raised a hand to stop him.

“Give me the Cliff’s Notes version.” What he really wanted was to confirm that Jimmy wasn’t knowingly or unknowingly carrying out state-sponsored espionage.

“Maddock asked me to research an old plane wreck,” Jimmy said. “When I tried, somebody came after me. I have no idea who or why, but they’re good.”

Professor blew out his cheeks. He wanted more details, but there was a time and place and this wasn’t either. “All right, Dane trusts you. So does Tam in a weird grudging sort of way—”

Jimmy snorted with derisive laughter. “I’ll have to add that to my CV.”

“We can finish this conversation somewhere else,” Professor went on. “But before we move an inch, I need your word that you aren’t trying to remove classified materials from this site. We don’t need the NSA coming after us.”

“Trust me,” Jimmy replied. “I know better than to...”

He trailed off as a car—a silver Ford Taurus—rushed past in the outside lane. Most of the vehicles that had gone by during their brief encounter had observed the courtesy of changing lanes to give them a wide berth, but the Ford passed close enough that Professor had to lean in to avoid being struck. As soon as the vehicle cleared the front end of Jimmy’s rental, the driver cut to the right and slammed on the brakes, screeching to a stop diagonally in front of Jimmy’s car.

“Crap!” Professor snarled. From the corner of his eye, he saw another car—same make but white—swerve off the road behind them, pulling in close behind his rental, blocking them in. There were two men in the car to the front, and probably at least as many in the car behind. He didn’t need to know anything more than that to know that he and Jimmy were in serious trouble.

He reached for the door handle, already mentally choreographing how he would shove Jimmy into the passenger seat, take his place behind the wheel, bump his way out of the trap—

The door handle didn’t move.

He pounded his fist on the roof. “Letson, open the—”

The doors of the blocking vehicles were thrown open in unison, the occupants emerging. The men seemed to have been turned out of the same mold—big, muscular frames covered in loose-fitting jackets; short, utilitarian haircuts. They were heavies. Mercs. Hired guns. Probably former military though probably not SEALs or Special Forces—operators knew the importance of blending in. These men weren’t displaying weapons, but their strong-side hands were conspicuously under their jacket flaps, clearly signaling both possession and intent.

There was no time to explain himself to Jimmy, so instead Professor reached in through the open window, stabbing his finger down on the electronic lock button. All four doors unlocked with a mechanical click, but instead of opening the driver’s door, Professor side-stepped to the rear-left passenger door, opened it, and climbed in.

“Punch it!”

Jimmy craned his head around, staring at Professor in disbelief. “What—?”

Outside, the four men were just moments away from reaching the car, at which point, if he and Jimmy were lucky, they would only be ordered out at gunpoint.

“Go! Drive!”

“We’re blocked in.”

“So?”

Jimmy’s head snapped around to face front and without further questions, he put the still-idling car in gear. There was a grinding sound as he cranked the wheel, and then the car lurched into motion. The front end of the rented Hyundai swung to the left, forcing one of the heavies to dance out of the way, and then came to a jarring stop as it crunched into the rear end of the blocking vehicle.

Jimmy shifted into reverse, cranked the wheel the opposite way, and stomped the gas again. With a jolt, the Hyundai shot backward, its rear tires rolling off the pavement, bumping onto the soft gravel beyond. Just as quickly, Jimmy switched directions and the red sedan jumped back up onto the pavement and shot past the car and onto the roadway.

Professor kept watch on the four heavies and wasn’t at all surprised to see them drawing their weapons.

“Head down!” he warned.

But the men did not fire, or if they did, the weapons were fitted with suppressors and none of the shots found their mark. Jimmy accelerated, drove under the overpass and into the turn that would bring them around in a rising circle to join the southbound freeway.

Professor risked a quick peek out the rear window and saw that the four men were returning to their vehicles, no doubt planning to give chase.

And probably calling in reinforcements, he thought. He brought his gaze forward just as the curve in the road eclipsed his view of the men.

“Any idea who those guys are?” he asked.

“I was going to ask you,” Jimmy replied. “I don’t think they were NSA.”

Professor shook his head. “No. Definitely private sector.”

Jimmy offered no comment, appearing instead to focus on the approach to the freeway. He maintained acceleration, merging into the light traffic. Professor didn’t need to look back to know that the other two cars would soon close with them. Getting on the freeway had probably been a bad move, though realistically, there weren’t a whole lot of other places they could have gone.

He shifted forward, leaning into the gap between the front seats to get a better look at the road ahead. Jimmy was now moving with the flow of traffic—the speedometer showed them doing about seventy even though the posted speed limit was fifty-five miles per hour.

“Floor it,” Professor advised. “We need to put some space between us and them. And we need to get onto surface streets, find somewhere to ditch this car.”

“What if we get pulled over?”

“I doubt we will, but even if that happens, those guys won’t try anything with a state trooper standing here.”

Jimmy cocked his head to the side in a shrug of resignation and then pressed down on the accelerator, adding another five miles per hour to their speed, and as soon as he was clear, swung the car into the faster moving inside lane. A green sign over the left lane announced the next exit—Exit 9—NSA Employees Only.

“Crap again,” Professor muttered. It would be at least another mile before they would get another opportunity to leave the freeway and hopefully ditch their pursuers, but going back to the National Security Agency headquarters wasn’t an option. “Keep going. Take the next exit.”

Jimmy nodded and continued weaving in and out of traffic, accelerating the whole time. The speedometer ticked up to eighty. Eighty-five. Yet Jimmy seemed cool as a cucumber.

“Pretty fancy driving there, Letson,” Professor admitted, grudgingly.

“It’s just Jimmy. And thanks. I play a lot of GTA.”

“GTA?”

“Grand Theft Auto. PlayStation. You know, video games?”

“Ah,” Professor said, now a little less impressed. “Well maybe dial it down a little. There’s no reset button for this game.”

“Reset button.” Jimmy snorted, wagging his head. “Okay, Dad, whatever you say.”

“Dad? We’re the same age.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“This isn’t a game, Letson. Whatever you were running from just caught up with you. And I just happen to have a bit more experience dealing with the real world life and death stuff.”

“Is that a fact? You know, I was doing just fine before you decided to rear-end me, so maybe you’re not the best person to be giving me advice about the real world.”

Professor shuffled through his deck of scathing retorts but decided he had better things to do. “Take the next exit, whatever it is.”

“Exit eight,” Jimmy said, answering the unasked question. “Fort Mead and Laurel.”

“You know the area?”

“Pretty well. There’s an airport just off the exit.”

“Airport?” Professor sat up a little straighter.

“A small one. Three-thousand-foot runway. Mostly services single-engine planes. A few helicopters.”

The seed of a plan began to take root in Professor’s mind. “Perfect. Go there.”

“Awesome,” Jimmy said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Are we going to charter a plane, or just steal one?”

“I don’t know. Did Grand Theft Auto teach you how to fly, too?”

“Actually, yeah. Though I prefer Flight Simulator. More realistic.”

Professor shook his head wearily. “Just get us to the airport. I’ll take care of the rest.”

A few seconds later, another sign heralded Tipton Airport, and Professor spotted the exit lane veering off to the right. Jimmy waited until the last second to cut across both lanes and steered onto the upward sloping ramp, slowing a little as he neared the crest and entered the traffic circle at the top. As he did, Professor looked back again and saw several cars coming up the ramp behind them; he recognized two of them—the silver and white Ford sedans that had tried to block them earlier.

“Damn it,” he muttered. His plan had been to ditch the car at the airport and then hoof it into the woods, hoping the men chasing them would assume they had boarded a plane, but to make it convincing, they would need a little more lead time. “Okay, forget the airport for now. Blow past and just try to lose these guys.”

Jimmy feathered the brakes as he went into the soft right at the traffic circle, curling back around, but halfway through the turn, he began accelerating again. The tires squealed a little as G-forces pulled them to the left, but Jimmy deftly steered out of the slide and maintained pressure on the gas pedal as they shot down the country road.

The turn-off to the airport flashed by, and then the road narrowed to an ordinary two-lane country road. Off to the right, on the far side of a wetland, Professor could see the freeway running parallel to their current course, but then the road curved to the left leaving both the marsh and the freeway behind.

Though he was loath to admit it, Professor thought Jimmy was handling the situation pretty well. Maybe video games were good for something more than just mindless entertainment. But as capable as he seemed, Jimmy’s virtual driving practice was no match for the kind of tactical driving instruction Professor had received in the SEALs, and judging by the quickness with which they were closing the gap, the men in the chase cars had taken the same course.

The silver car rocketed down the straightaway and was just a hundred yards—and maybe five seconds—behind them as they entered the turn. Professor could make out the hard visages of the two heavies in the front seats. They weren’t showing guns which meant they were probably going to try to force the Hyundai off the road.

Probably.

“Letson—”

“Jimmy!”

“Fine, Jimmy. Do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you. No questions. Got it?”

He expected questions, but Jimmy just said, “Yeah.”

Behind them, the lead car abruptly swung into the left lane and shot forward again—the driver had to be pushing over the century mark—and blew past them like they were standing still. Professor tracked them for a second, then glanced back and saw the second Ford closing from the rear.

“They’re trying to box us in,” he said.

Right on cue, the silver Ford pulled back into the right lane a hundred yards or more ahead of them, brake lights flaring red as the driver started shedding speed. Jimmy reflexively tapped his brakes, too, even though the other car was still several lengths ahead.

“No,” Professor shouted. “Floor it.”

“But—” Jimmy started to say, but then cut himself off and did as instructed, depressing the accelerator. The Hyundai shot forward, rapidly closing with the lead car, which was still slowing. The driver of the silver Ford, still following the playbook, turned diagonally, cutting the road and coming to a full stop right on top of the center line, blocking both lanes.

“Go left,” Professor urged. “Pass him on the shoulder.”

“Left? But what if—” Jimmy caught himself again, and after waiting a beat, cranked the wheel over, aiming for the shoulder on the far side of the road.

Professor knew why Jimmy had almost balked. The Taurus was blocking their view of the oncoming lane, and if anyone was trying to pass the Ford on the shoulder, the Hyundai would hit them head-on. But it was the last thing the men in the Ford would expect them to do, and therefore was exactly what had to be done. Hopefully, the shoulder would be clear.

It wasn’t.

A pickup, still partially shrouded behind a cloud of rubber smoke after slamming on its brakes to avoid hitting the Ford, was just beginning to pull onto the shoulder in order to pass. Jimmy, to his credit, did not put on the brakes, but pushed the throttle harder, whipping the Hyundai hard to the right, threading the gap between the front end of the pickup and the silver car.

He almost made it.

The right front corner of the Taurus caught the Hyundai’s right side with an ugly crunching sound. The impact pushed the Ford sideways, which caused the left corner to swing into the Hyundai’s flanks but then with a torturous squeal, Jimmy’s car broke free and rocketed ahead as he stomped the gas pedal to the floor.

“Yeah,” he chortled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Better than video games, right?” Professor said, unable to hide a grin.

“Yeah. Except I’ll be on the hook for the damage.”

“Should have signed the waiver,” Professor replied, still grinning. He checked behind them and saw the Ford just starting to move again, then returned his gaze to the road ahead. They were approaching some commercial buildings. A gas station and a general store on the right, a restaurant or tavern on the left. He almost told Jimmy to pull off and park the car, lie low and hope their pursuers would pass them by, but the trailing cars were still within easy visual range, and the parking lots were small and sparsely occupied.

He looked further down the road to where the trees returned and spotted a sign and a turn lane that seemed to plunge straight into the woods. “Think you can make that right turn up there?”

Jimmy leaned forward a little as if to get a better look. “You mean without slowing down? I can try.”

“Do it.”

The Hyundai surged a little as Jimmy revved the gas, but then he eased up, letting the car coast the rest of the way to the exit. “Hang on!” he shouted, though the warning wasn’t necessary, and then hauled the wheel sharply to the right. The tires screeched on the pavement. Professor could feel the right side of the vehicle growing lighter, trying to take off—or flip over—but gravity won out. The car skidded into the turn and Jimmy accelerated again, and just like that they were shooting down the narrow tree-lined lane. The road curved a little to the left, then continued straight for a couple hundred yards before turning left again.

Perfect, Professor thought, and then added aloud, “Get around that bend as soon as you can, then find a place to pull off. Left side would be best, but just get us into the woods.”

He kept watch out the rear window while Jimmy raced the Hyundai to the turn. The road behind them remained empty, at least until the turn blocked his view of it. He craned his head forward again, scanning the road ahead until he saw what he was looking for. “There,” he shouted, stabbing a finger over Jimmy’s shoulder. “Hard left.”

Jimmy cranked the wheel and the Hyundai squealed across the road and into a paved turnout—a parking area for the welcome center on the opposite side of the road.

“Turn it around,” Professor said. “And back into the woods. Hurry.”

Jimmy complied without comment, executing a surprisingly close approximation of a bootlegger’s turn—surprising since the rental had an automatic transmission, front-wheel drive and anti-lock brakes. The Hyundai whipped around one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to face the road. There was a slight jolt as the rear wheels skidded off the edge of the pavement and onto the soft grassy earth beyond, and then another as Jimmy powered forward, bringing the car up close to the woods at the edge of the parking area.

“Head down,” Professor instructed. “But be ready to take off.”

“I got it,” Jimmy said, a little irritably. “We’re going to fake them out and then head back the other way. I’m not as stupid as you seem to think.”

Professor frowned but let the comment pass. He hunched over, staying low behind Jimmy’s seat, watching the road.

The wait was interminable. “Think we lost them?” Jimmy asked.

“Not yet.” It felt like they had been waiting for several minutes, but Professor had been watching the sweep second hand of his Omega wristwatch and knew that just thirty seconds had passed.

Fifteen more seconds ticked by and then without any warning whatsoever, the silver Taurus burst from behind the trees, racing past. The white Ford was only a few car lengths behind. Neither one slowed, the drivers evidently hyper-focused on the road and catching up to their elusive prey.

“Wait for it,” Professor warned.

The two vehicles continued down the road, passing out of view.

“Now. Get us back to the road.”

Jimmy had the car moving before the command was finished. He steered back onto the road and accelerated away. Professor kept a constant vigil to their rear, watching for any sign that the pursuers had grown wise to the deception. It occurred to him that they, like himself, might have tagged Jimmy’s car, but that seemed unlikely. If the heavies had been tracking Jimmy all along, they wouldn’t have made their move when and where they had, nor would they have waited until he was done at the NSA. The more plausible explanation was that they had come in response to something Jimmy had done—another silent alarm triggered by his investigation.

Jimmy had definitely kicked a hornet’s nest.

The road behind them stayed clear all the way to the bend leading back to the road, and for the first time since the chase began, Professor allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

“Where to?” Jimmy asked as they rounded the last bend, slowing to pull back onto the main road. “Should I go back to the airport?”

“Let’s head back to the freeway,” Professor turned around. “I’ll take you to a safe house—Look out!”

It came from out of nowhere, an ominous black shape—an SUV or pickup—rushing at them from their right. There was no time to react, barely time to brace for the collision.

Not that it did any good.