Michael Palmer - Fatal

"What are you talking about?"

"This is my first time on a motorcycle. Now I know why I said no thanks so many times."

"But this isn't exactly — "

"Rutledge!"

High up and behind them, Verne had pulled to a stop at the rim. The twin beams of the Land Rover knifed out over the huge crater. Against the bright night sky, Matt could make out Grimes's silhouette, standing hands on hips on the edge of the embankment.

"What?" Matt yelled up, using the light from the Rover to scan the nearly empty lake. The sides, as far as he could see, were too steep to ride back up, but he sensed he was viewing only a small portion of the excavation. The lake bed itself was lined with three-or four-inch stones, extending up a foot or so beyond where they were standing. If the water wasn't too deep, and if the stones covered the entire bottom, it was possible they could ride across. Big ifs. And ride across to what?

"There's no way out of there except on foot, Matt. Come up and let's talk."

"Sounds good to me. You've always been an upstanding, trustworthy guy. Just turn off those lights and we'll be right up."

"Rutledge, my man has a rifle and he's a damn good shot. Come out of there now and I can keep you from getting killed."

"Just how do you plan on doing that?" he asked, buying a little time. "Nikki," he whispered, "how're you holding up?"

"My kidneys are still bouncing, and my heart hasn't slowed down from that little ride down the cliff, but at least I'm not thinking about my headache anymore. Where are we?"

Matt was pleased to hear her humor, and if anything, her voice sounded stronger.

"We're in Disneyland a year or two before Mickey arrives," he replied. "Listen, if you can handle it, I'm going to try and motor around the lake just in case the slope gets any less someplace and we can drive out. Can you hang on?"

"Would it be easier if I was on the back?"

"Not if you fall off."

"I can do it."

"Keep your feet on those rests at all times. If you hit the exhaust with your bare tootsies, you're going to need smaller shoes."

"Rutledge, this is your last chance!"

"Okay, we're coming, we're coming," Matt called out, buying time. "Nikki, you all set?"

"Is there something I should be holding on to?"

"Those railings beside your seat, or else me."

She slipped her arms around his waist, squeezed tightly, and pressed her cheek against his back.

"Go," she said.

Matt squinted through the darkness to gauge how far ahead he could see in order to skirt the water's edge without turning on his headlight. Then he picked up a stone and threw it across the water as far as he could. Along with a splash, he heard the distinct click of rock hitting rock. That far out at least the water was very shallow.

"Rutledge!"

Matt shifted into first and gunned the Harley ahead. If there was a rifle crack from overhead, he didn't hear it. Ten, twenty, thirty mph. The magnificent bike surged forward over the stones. Over his shoulder he could see that the Rover had backed up and was now paralleling them overhead, a short distance back. The darkness made speed difficult, and Matt finally gave in and switched on his light for a short while. The lake, while not quite as vast as he had thought, was an oval, maybe half a mile long and a quarter mile across. If, in fact, it had actually been a shady lake, there might have been some trees overhead to slow up or even detour Verne and Grimes. But as things stood, they were having no trouble racing along twenty or thirty feet above them. The engine noise from the Harley reverberated off the water and the steep walls, making it impossible to tell if they were being fired on or not.

It was then that Matt spotted the opening up ahead. It was a massive, corrugated steel tunnel built through the embankment on their right. The opening was about six feet across, and the floor was three feet or so above the stony track where they were riding. From the way it was positioned, it had to have been constructed to empty the lake. He judged that there was enough of a slope up to the floor so that they could make it over the edge and inside — provided they came at it head-on, through the water. If the depth at the center of the lake was greater than a foot, though, they probably wouldn't make it across on the Harley. Matt thought about looping out into the lake and then back toward the tunnel, but that would still leave Grimes and Verne directly above them. Riding across from the other side made more sense — provided, of course, they made it.

He switched on the high beam of the Harley, checked the odometer as they passed the tunnel, and accelerated again. The shifting stones made it challenging to keep the bike upright. Thirty felt barely controllable, but he pushed the bike to thirty-five. Overhead, the Land Rover kept pace.

Nikki continued to be the perfect passenger, holding on tightly, yet staying relaxed enough not to affect Matt's delicate balancing act. The woman was tough.

To their right, the embankment continued steep and high. The slim hope that there would be a gentler slope at the end of the lake vanished. If anything, the grade was even sharper. As they passed the hairpin end and sped down the other side, Matt watched the odometer until he was at the point directly across the lake from the tunnel. Then he cut off his headlight and made a sharp left-hand turn into the water. If Nikki was startled at the move, she hid it

well. Matt plowed ahead as fast as he dared. The water — probably from recent heavy rains — was six or so inches deep, and the stony bottom was identical to the track on which they had been riding. If the depth increased much, passage would probably be impossible. If they stalled and couldn't get restarted, Matt had decided to leave the bike where it was and try to make it to the tunnel on foot.

"Come on, baby," he urged. "You can do this."

Through his rearview, he could see the lights of the Rover shining directly out over the lake. Confusion at last, he thought, smiling.

Come on, bike!

They were at least at the center of the lake now and the depth was holding. If he could keep the Harley upright while maintaining his speed slow enough to prevent water from splashing up into the electrical system, they were going to make it across. His fear now was that even though he entered the water at the right spot, he hadn't held a straight enough line during the crossing. Behind them, the Land Rover was on the move again, continuing around the lake toward the spot where they had started. With luck, neither Verne nor Grimes knew anything about the tunnel. If that was the case, in Matt's perfect scenario, he, Nikki, and the Harley would vanish like something straight out of Siegfried and Roy.

He waited as long as he dared, then flicked on the headlight. They were no more than fifty yards from shore, and the tunnel was there, just twenty feet or so to the right.

"Hang on tight!" he hollered over his shoulder.

The arms around him tightened a notch. He swung right, straightening the path to the opening, and called on the Harley for some more speed. Engine screaming, they exploded out of the water, up the low bank, and hurtled into the tunnel. The corrugated steel ceiling flashed past less than a foot above their heads. The bike jounced viciously over the floor. Ahead, there was only darkness. Ten yards, twenty, fifty. Matt slowed. The end of the tunnel was just ahead. He cut the light and rolled out into a dry streambed that sloped gently downhill. Braking to a stop, he checked behind them. The metal tunnel was built into concrete, with a massive metal door that was, gratefully, open all the way. It seemed that Shady Lake was something of an engineering marvel — a reservoir that provided recreation and a source of water for the pools and golf course. It wasn't clear where the water to fill the lake would be diverted from. Maybe that's why the construction had stalled, Matt mused, smiling.