Dragon - Cussler Clive - Страница 65
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Pitt’s face suddenly became etched with anxious concern. “What word of Loren?”
Sandecker shook his head. “Only that she and Diaz are alive and hidden in a secret location.”
“That’s it?” Pitt said, irritated. “No investigation, no operation to free them?”
“Until the bomb-car threat is eliminated, the President’s hands are tied.”
“Bed,” mumbled Giordino, cagily changing the subject to cool Pitt down. “Take me to my bed.”
Pitt dipped his head at the little Italian. “Get him. His eyes haven’t been open since we left Germany.”
“You made good time,” said Sandecker. “Have a pleasant flight?”
“Slept most of it. And with the jet lag working in our favor flying west, I’m wide awake.”
“Frank Mancuso remained with the art objects’?” Sandecker inquired.
Pitt nodded. “Just before we took off, he received a message from Kern ordering him to pack up the Japanese embassy art and fly it to Tokyo.”
“A smoke screen to pacify the Germans.” Sandecker smiled. “The art is actually going to a vault in San Francisco. When the time is ripe, the President will present it to the Japanese people as a goodwill gesture.” He gestured to the seats of the Jeep. “Get in. Since you’re so bright and bushy-tailed, I’ll let you drive.”
“Fine by me,” Pitt said agreeably.
After they threw their bags in the luggage compartment, Pitt slid behind the steering wheel as the admiral and Giordino entered from the opposite side. Sandecker took the front passenger seat, Giordino the back. Pitt shifted the running engine into drive and wheeled the Jeep down a dark road to a gatehouse that stood hidden in a grove of trees. A uniformed security guard stepped out, peered inside the car a moment, then saluted Sandecker and waved them through to a back-country highway.
Three kilometers later, Pitt turned the Jeep onto the Capital Beltway and headed toward the lights of Washington. Traffic at that time of morning was almost nonexistent. He set the cruise control on 110 kilometers and sat back as the big four-wheel-drive rolled effortlessly over the pavement.
They drove in silence for several minutes. Sandecker stared absently through the windshield. Pitt didn’t need a strong imagination to know the admiral didn’t leave a warm bed to meet them without a good reason. The huge Havana was strangely missing from his mouth, and his hands were clasped across his chest, sure signs of inner tension. His eyes were like ice cubes. He definitely had something heavy on his mind.
Pitt decided to give him an opening. “Where do we go from here?” he asked.
“Say again,” Sandecker mumbled in mock distraction.
“What does the great eagle have in store for us next? A nice week’s vacation, I hope.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not, but you’re going to tell me, right?”
Sandecker yawned to prolong the agony. “Well, I’m afraid you two are off on another airplane ride again.”
“Where?”
“The Pacific.”
“Where exactly in the Pacific?”
“Palau. The team, or what’s left of it, is to assemble at the Information Gathering and Collection Point for new instructions from the Director of Field Operations.”
“Without the bureaucratic title crap, what you’re saying is we’re meeting with Mel Penner.”
Sandecker smiled, and his eyes softened considerably. “You have a deft manner of slicing to the gut of the matter.”
Pitt was wary. He could see the axe was about to fall. “When?” he asked quickly.
“In precisely one hour and fifty minutes. You’re taking a commercial airline out of Dulles.”
“A pity we didn’t land there,” Pitt said sourly, “and saved you the drive.”
“Security reasons. Kern thought it best if you arrive at the terminal by car, pick up the tickets, and board like any other tourists flying to the South Seas.”
“We could use a change of clothes.”
“Kern sent a man to pack clean things in suitcases. They’ve already been checked through.”
“Very thoughtful of him. I must remind myself to change my security alarms when I return—”
Pitt broke off and studied the reflection in his rearview mirror. The same pair of headlights had been on the Jeep’s tail since they swung onto the beltway. For the last several kilometers they had maintained an exact distance. He punched off the cruise control and increased speed slightly. The lights dropped back and moved forward again.
“Something wrong?” asked Sandecker.
“We’ve picked up a tail.”
Giordino turned and peered through the big rear window. “More than one. I make out three vans in a convoy.”
Pitt stared thoughtfully into the mirror. The beginning of a grin drew across his face. “Whoever is after us isn’t taking any chances. They’ve sent a full platoon.”
Sandecker snatched a car phone and dialed the MAIT team safe line. “This is Admiral Sandecker!” he snapped, ignoring any attempt at procedural codes. “I’m on the Capital Beltway heading south near Morningside. We are being followed—”
“Make that pursued,” Pitt interrupted him. “They’re closing fast.”
Suddenly a burst of gunfire tore through the roof of the Jeep just above their heads. “Correction,” Giordino said in utter calm. “Change pursued to attacked.”
Sandecker slouched down on the floor and spoke rapidly into the car phone’s mouthpiece, giving location and instructions. Pitt had already slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The high torque of the big 5.9-liter V-8 kicked in, and the Jeep swiftly leaped down the beltway at 150 kph.
“The agent on duty is sending out a call for the highway patrol,” announced Sandecker.
“Tell them to put on some speed,” Pitt urged, whipping the big Jeep back and forth across the three lanes of highway to throw off their pursuers’ aim.
“They’re not playing fair,” Giordino said contritely. He dropped down on the floor between the seats as another burst sprayed the rear window’s glass over him, passed through the car, and took out half the windshield. “They’ve got guns, and we don’t.”
“I think I can fix that.” Pitt spared him a quick glance down and back.
“How?”
“By getting off this damn highway, where we make a perfect target, and taking every bend in the next road I can find until we hit a town.”
“The turnoff for Phelps Point is coming up,” advised Sandecker, peeping over the dashboard.
Pitt stole a quick look in the rearview mirror. He could see now that the vans were painted in the color scheme of ambulances. Even as he observed them, their red and blue flashing lights blinked. Their sirens remained mute, however, as the drivers pulled abreast of each other, covering the entire southbound lanes of the beltway to increase their firepower.
Pitt could make out men clad in black aiming automatic weapons out the side windows. Whoever planned the assassination had covered every base. There must have been four men to a van. Twelve who were armed to the teeth against three who probably had only one Swiss Army knife between them.
Pitt had an idea for evening the odds a bit. The off-ramp to Phelps Point was still two hundred meters ahead. No time. The next barrage of massed fire would blow them off the road. Without touching the brakes and warning the pursuing killers of his intention by flashing red taillights, he abruptly threw the Jeep into a crabwise slide and shot across two lanes and down an embankment.
The timing was perfect. A hail of gunfire missed the big Grand Wagoneer as it swept over the landscaped grass and surfed through a shallow ditch filled with half a meter of water. Then all tires bounced free of the ground as it soared over the other edge of the ditch, landing with a screeching of rubber on a frontage road that paralleled the beltway.
The pursuers lost time as they skidded to a stop in confusion. Pitt gained almost ten seconds before they regrouped and roared down the off-ramp onto the frontage road and resumed the chase.
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