Lee CHILD: Better off Dead

She waited a beat, presumably to make sure I wasn’t about to freak out. She wanted my full attention. That was clear. Then she said, “Move back. One step only.” Her voice was firm but calm, with no hint of panic or doubt.

I moved back. One step. I made it a large one. And I realized why she’d been looking down through the steering wheel at the floor of the vehicle. There was a piece of mirror wedged between the gas pedal and the transmission tunnel. She must have cut it to the right size and positioned it to give an early warning of anyone who approached her.

“Where’s your buddy?” She glanced left and right.

“There’s no one else,” I said. “Just me.”

Her eyes darted across to the rearview mirror. It was angled so she could spot anyone sneaking up behind her. “They only sent one guy? Really?”

She sounded half offended, half disappointed. I was starting to like her.

“No one sent me.”

“Don’t lie.” She jabbed the gun forward for emphasis. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. One of you or a whole squad? You get the same deal. Tell me where Michael is. Tell me now. And tell me the truth, or I’ll shoot you in the stomach and leave you here to die.”

“I would love to tell you.” I held my hands up, palms out. “But there’s a problem. I can’t. I don’t know who Michael is.”

“Don’t…” She paused and glanced around again. “Wait. Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Don’t get smart. Your Jeep, then. Your motorcycle. Whatever mode of transport you used to get here.”

“I walked here.”

“Bullshit.”

“Did you hear an engine just now? Any kind of mechanical sound?”

“OK,” she said after a long moment. “You walked. From where? And why?”

“Slow down.” I tried to make my voice sound friendly and unthreatening. “Let’s think this through. I could recount my day to you, minute by minute. In other circumstances I’d be happy to. But right now, are my travel arrangements that important? Maybe a better question would be: Am I the person you were waiting for? The person with information about Michael?”

She didn’t answer.

“Because if I’m not, and the real guy shows up with me still here, your whole crashed car routine is never going to fly.”

She still didn’t respond.

“Is there some law that says only people you want to ambush can use this road? Is it off-limits to everyone else?”

I saw her glance at her watch.

“Look at me. I’m on my own. I’m on foot. I’m unarmed. Is that what you were expecting? Does it make sense to you?”

Her head moved an inch to the left and her eyes narrowed a fraction. A moment later I caught it, too. There was a sound. In the distance. A vehicle engine. Rough. Ragged. And moving closer.

“Decision time,” I said.

She stayed silent. The engine note grew louder.

“Think about Michael,” I said. “I don’t know where he is. But if whoever’s coming does, and you keep me here, you’ll lose your chance. You’ll never find out.”

She didn’t speak. The engine note grew louder still. Then she gestured toward the other side of the road. “Over there. Quick. Ten yards up there’s a ditch. At an angle. Like a streambed. It’s dried out. Get in it. Keep your head down. Stay still. Don’t make a sound. Don’t alert them. Don’t do anything to screw this up. Because if you do…”

“Don’t worry.” I was already moving. “I get the picture.”

The ditch was right where she said it would be. I found it, no problem. I got there before the approaching vehicle was in sight. The streambed was dry. I figured it could provide adequate cover. But the bigger issue was whether to hide at all. Or to leave.

I looked over at the Jeep. The woman was back in position, slumped across the steering wheel. Her head was turned away from me. I was out of range of her mirror. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to see me. But even if she did spot me I doubted she would risk taking a shot. She wouldn’t want to alert whoever was coming for her.

Leaving was the sensible option. There was no doubt about that. But there was a problem. I had questions. A whole bunch of them. Like who was this woman? Who was Michael? Who was coming after her? And would she really shoot someone in the stomach and leave them to die?

I checked the road. Saw a speck in the distance, shrouded in dust. I figured I still had time so I picked up a rock from the floor of the ditch. It was about the size of a cinder block. I positioned it on the lip, between me and the Jeep. I found another, a little narrower and flatter. Rested it at an angle against the first one so that there was a triangular gap between them. A small one. Just the right size for me to squint through with one eye. High school physics at work. The sight line opened up away from me like I was looking through an invisible cone. It gave me a clear view of the Jeep and the area around it. But the angle narrowed correspondingly in reverse so no one at that distance would be able to spot me watching them.

The approaching vehicle emerged from its cloud. It was another Jeep. Also ex-military. It was making steady progress. Slow and unhurried. Then, when it was close to the spot where I’d been when I noticed the skid marks, it slewed a little to the side and stopped. There were two men in it. A driver and a passenger. Both were wearing khaki T-shirts. They had khaki baseball caps and mirrored sunglasses. Some kind of an urgent conversation broke out between them. There was a whole lot of gesticulating and pointing toward the tree. That told me they hadn’t expected anyone to be in place before them. Or that they hadn’t expected anyone with a matching vehicle, which suggested they were from the same outfit. Or that they hadn’t expected either thing. I thought maybe they’d call the new development in. Ask for updated orders. Or if they were smart, withdraw altogether. But they did neither. They started moving again, faster than before, then pulled in next to the driver’s side of the woman’s Jeep.

“Unbelievable.” The passenger jumped down and stood between the two vehicles. I could see the grip of a pistol protruding from the waistband of his cargo pants. It was knurled and worn. “Her?”

The driver looped around and joined him. He put his hands on his hips. He also had a gun. “Shit. Dendoncker’s going to be pissed.”

“Not our problem.” The passenger took hold of his pistol. “Come on. Let’s do it.”

“Is she still alive?” The driver scratched his temple.

“I hope so.” The passenger stepped forward. “We deserve a little fun.” He reached for the side of the woman’s neck with his free hand. “Ever done it with a gimp? I haven’t. Always wondered what it would be like.”

The driver crowded in closer. “I –”

The woman sat up. She twisted to the side. Raised her gun. And shot the passenger in the face. The top of his skull was obliterated. One moment it was there. The next it was a hint of pink mist drifting in the surrounding air. His empty hat fluttered to the ground. His body folded over backward. One arm was still stretched out and it swung around and slapped the driver on the thigh as he fell. His neck clattered into the open doorway of his Jeep.

The driver went for his gun. He grabbed it, right-handed. He started to pull it clear of his waistband. Got it about three quarters of the way out. Then he tried to bring it to bear. The move was premature. It was a sloppy mistake. The barrel was still trapped by his belt. His hand slipped off the grip. The weapon was left hanging loose and unbalanced. It pivoted around and fell. He tried to catch it. And missed. He leaned down, started to scratch around frantically in the dirt, then saw the woman’s gun. Its muzzle was moving. Zeroing in on his face. He stopped himself. Jumped back. Dived for cover behind the woman’s Jeep. Crawled forward a couple of yards until he reached the road then scrambled to his feet. He started to run. The woman swiveled around in her seat. She took a breath. Aimed. Then she pulled the trigger. The bullet must have come within an inch of removing the guy’s right ear. He flung himself down to the left and rolled over twice. The woman climbed out of the Jeep. She moved around to its rear. That was the first time I noticed she favored her left leg. She waited for the guy to get back on his feet then fired again. This time the bullet almost took off his left ear. He threw himself down the opposite way and started to wriggle along on the ground like a snake.