They were low-profile machines, boasting full-time four-wheel drive and meant to compete with the Audis and BMWs of the world. They had no problem hitting eighty miles per hour on the undulating coastal road.
“Chinese models,” Kurt said. “Doesn’t prove anything, but…”
Joe kept the pace up as best he could, but the uneven road dipped and swerved as it followed the narrow strip of land at the edge of the fjord, forcing him to brake here and there. “We’re losing ground.”
Kurt turned to Paul, who was still leaning forward, covering his eyes like a man praying or meditating. “How soon will they catch the van?”
“Hard to tell exactly,” Paul said. “But it won’t be long.”
They needed a weapon, something they could use at range. Unbuckling his seat belt, Kurt climbed out of the front seat, squeezed between the captain’s chairs, and into the back seat. From there, he went over the seat backs into the cargo compartment that took up the aft end of the vehicle.
Flicking on an overhead light, he studied the options. The rig was set up with all kinds of equipment and gear. He found plenty of items that might make for useful weapons if they got in close. But he needed something more.
The climbing equipment was on the left side. Bundled ropes and safety harnesses. Hammers, spikes, and carabiners. In a large box underneath that gear he found what he was looking for. Pulling it out, he grinned. “I’ve always thought this might come in handy.”
Kurt held on as the rig weaved through a chicane-like section of the road and straightened out. Flipping the lid of the box open, Kurt found a tube-shaped device with a spear-like point sticking out the front end. A warning tag attached to the handle read: Danger—High Explosives.
—
In the back of the gray van up ahead, Gamay was holding on tight and regretting her insistence on being the one to confront Ridley. She wasn’t particularly worried about dealing with him. He hadbeen bleeding and limping and hyperventilating as he climbed into the driver’s seat. A few choice kicks would subdue him, if it came to that. But she wasn’t sure she’d get the chance. The van was swinging from side to side even on the straight parts of the road. Ridley drove it as if he were drunk and hyped up on energy drinks at the same time. He grunted and cursed, holding the wheel with one hand and using the other to press against his abdomen in hopes of slowing the bleeding.
The next turn came quickly. He grabbed the wheel with both hands, wrenching it to the side. Gamay tumbled over and slammed into the side panel. The bang sounded like an off-key gong. Enough to get Ridley to turn.
He looked back through the partition and turned the interior lights on. Gamay was caught like a deer in the headlights.
“Who the hell are you?” Ridley shouted.
Gamay was stunned by the question. “I’m here to help you,” she blurted out.
“What?” he shouted, turning his attention back to the road.
She didn’t really know what she meant by that, either. She tried to elaborate. “Someone’s obviously trying to kill you. I can protect you.”
When he turned around again, he had a pistol in his hand. He pointed it through the opening in the divider and pulled the trigger.
Gamay dove to the deck and out of the way. A second shot hit the sheet metal behind her.
Ridley was dividing his attention between her and the road. Looking in the back, glancing at the road, swerving, and then turning back to her again.
By now Gamay had crawled up to the partition and positioned herself right under it. When he pointed the gun through the gap, she thrust her hands upward, hitting his wrist from below and knockingthe gun free. It fell into the back section of the van, rattling around as they flew across a bump.
Gamay went for it, but Ridley smartly doused the lights and swerved hard enough to send her rolling into the side panel once again.
As she grabbed a cargo strap for stability, Ridley turned his attention back to the road.
Gamay spotted the gun and stretched for it, only to be thwarted when something slammed into the van from behind. The van lurched forward, skidded, and threatened to roll.
Gamay gripped the cargo strap as if her life depended on it—which it probably did.
The van straightened, with Ridley somehow managing to keep it on the road. But another impact hit seconds later. This time the back doors flew open.
Gamay hoped to see the Big Orange Rig. Instead she saw the headlights from two smaller cars weaving back and forth as if looking for another chance to attack. One had lost a headlight, presumably from ramming the van, but it seemed undeterred as it raced in again.
The third impact was less jarring, the chase car hitting one of the swinging doors instead of the van’s bumper. The door flew off, tumbling away in the dark. The light poured in.
Looking around the cargo compartment, Gamay spotted Ridley’s pistol rattling on the metal floor beside the wheel well. Letting go of the strap, she lunged for it as it started sliding toward the open door. Landing on her stomach and stretching full out, she grabbed it before it went over the edge.
Pulling back to a safer spot, she brought the weapon to bear, aiming at the nearest car as it crossed in front of her. She fired several shots into the windshield, hoping to hit the driver. The bulletssplattered against the glass, leaving circular impressions, but failing to go through. Still, the car swerved to one side and skidded on the icy shoulder and slid off into the brush. She hoped it might be out of the race, but it didn’t roll or crash and was soon bumping its way back toward the road.
