Odnośniki
|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Snake punched in the coordinates he d copied from the copter conversation
he d monitored on his VHP transceiver. A few seconds later his dot jumped to
the lower left of the screen as a blinking star appeared in the upper right.
The readout said: 17.2 km 43 NE. Not far at all. About seven miles& as the
crow flies.
But out here, that might mean fifteen, twenty, thirty miles by road if you
could find the roads. His software had the capacity to link him up to a street
map and lead him to his destination but no software developer in the universe
offered a package on the pinelands. Too bad his GPS program couldn t download
a satellite photo of the area.
Maybe next year.
But he had the next best thing: He d scanned a sectional map of Central
Jersey into his hard drive. He fixed his blinking dot on the town of Jenkins,
entered the scale, and voila! he was in business.
Now he had to find a way to get his dot to that blinking star in the middle
of nowhere before the feds. The object vehicle might not be Poppy s truck,
but he couldn t risk sitting here and doing nothing.
He heard a deep rumble and glanced at the sky. Thunder. That storm was coming
on fast. He threw the Jeep into gear and started moving. Not quite as good as
having a helicopter to follow, but at least he d know when he was heading in
the right direction and when he wasn t. And he d be approaching the spot from
the opposite direction. Maybe he was already closer than the feds. And who
knew? Maybe the storm would help him get there first.
As he drove he passed through an area of burned-out trees. Lightning? A
careless camper? Whatever, it looked like there d been a helluva fire here.
All the trunks had been scorched coal black, the smaller branches seared right
off. But the trees weren t dead. Every trunk had little branchlets forcing
their way through the charred crust of the bark and sprouting new bright-green
needles. Can t kill these damn things, he thought. Then he grinned. Maybe this
is a good place for me. I like these pines. No matter what you do to them,
they keep coming back. I m just like your pines. Poppy. You can t kill me,
can t stop me. I keep coming. And I m coming for you, bitch.
12
Page 254
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Dan Keane stared out his office window, wondering why he hadn t heard
anything from Decker since this morning. He checked his watch. A little after
three already. Had anything happened at that motel in Tuckerton? Should he
call? Would that make him appear too interested?
But how could you appear too interested in something like this? Yes, he
should call. He was useless here, otherwise. Couldn t concentrate, couldn t
think about anything else.
But as he reached for the phone, his intercom buzzed. That might be Decker
now. He hit the button.
Yes?
A restaurant just called, his secretary said.
A restaurant?
Yes. Very rude. Said you were supposed to call them about confirming a
reservation. Il Gia-something. They hung up before I could get the name
straight.
Dan stiffened. Salinas s place. Calling here? Oh, Lord. It could only be bad
news.
I know the place.
Want me to ?
No, thanks. I ll take care of it later. Hold my calls, Thelma. I m going out
for a short walk.
The heat on Sixth Street hit him as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk.
Like summer. He peeled off his wool suit coat and went searching for a phone.
Wild thoughts danced around him as he walked. What could Salinas possibly
have to tell him? What was so important that he risked a call to the DEA
offices?
He spotted a phone at the corner by NASA and picked up his pace toward it. As
he fished for a quarter, he made his usual survey of the area to make sure no
one was too close. Pretty clear. Not even a pretzel cart this time. Just a
bicycle messenger speeding along in his direction. No problem there. Those
guys could really move. He d be past before Dan finished dialing. He found the
quarter and plunked it into the slot. As he waited for it to register, he
glanced around again. The bike messenger was almost on top of him racing
helmet, dark sports glasses, skin-tight bicycle pants and top, riding a slim
French street bike. But he seemed to have lost speed. As Dan watched, he
pulled something metallic from his messenger pouch. It was pointed at him
before he recognized it as a silenced automatic. He saw the tiny muzzle
flashes light the dark hole of the silencer bore.
Before he could move, before he could scream, he felt the slugs hit him. No
piercing pain more like iron-fisted punches to his chest and abdomen,
exploding through his back, lifting him off the ground and hurling him
backward. He saw the intense blue of the sky for an instant, and then it, the
street, the city, the world all dimmed and went away,
Page 255
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
13
Move, you son of a bitch! Move! John Vanduyne felt as if his shoulder was
about to pull out of the socket, but he wouldn t back off.
Lightning flashed as he dug his feet into the sand and leaned everything he
had against the Roadmaster s rear fender. The tire spun, kicking up sand that
was picked up by the rising wind and swirled into his face. Damn rearwheel
drives, anyway! Why the hell was anyone still making them?
He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed harder. The car rocked forward, the tire
rising halfway out of the hole it had dug for itself.
Keep going! he shouted to Decker over the thunder and the whine of the
engine. We re almost there!
We re But then the car began to slip backward, and nothing he could do
could keep it from sinking back into the sand.
John leaned against the bumper and pounded his fist on the trunk. He wanted
to scream.
They d been doing so well, making good time following the helicopter along
the pair of sandy ruts that passed for a road out here when suddenly they d
rounded a corner and found a deer standing in their path. Decker d slammed on
the brakes, the deer bolted into the brush, and they hadn t moved an inch
since.
And now it began to rain huge drops splattering the car and his head and
back. John looked at the gray, lowering sky and wondered how things could get
worse. A slashing bolt of lightning gave him an answer of sorts, so he
stumbled to the passenger door and dropped into the seat.
Decker was on the hand-held transceiver. All right, Special One. Safe home.
And thanks. John knew who he was talking to: the helicopter.
They ve leaving?
Decker nodded. Heading back to base. This weather s getting too heavy for
them. John nodded silently. He d been expecting that.
Hey, Decker said, they hung on as long as they could maybe longer than
they should have. I hope they don t have trouble getting back to Lakehurst.
I know. It s just
The sky opened up then and the rain dropped in sheets.
Hang in there, Decker said. We re close. The rain ought to thicken up the
sand and help us get out of this hole. As soon as it stops, we ll get moving
again.
But where? We ll have to wait for the copter to
No. They gave me directions. There s a smaller road that cuts off to the
Page 256
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
right about half a mile ahead of us here. We take that for about a mile or so
and look for another trail off to the right. The truck s in there.
The rain increased, bringing visibility down to zero. The pines disappeared.
With the deafening tattoo on the car roof and the incessant roar of the
thunder, they could have been sitting under Niagara Falls.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plblacksoulman.xlx.pl
|
