James Huston - Marine One

I kept the accelerator on the floor and tried to avoid the cars that I was closing on at an increasing rate. I glanced at the speedometer as it passed through fifty, sixty, and seventy. I kept it floored. The minivan was coming after me, and the white sedan was right behind him. The car that had been to my right had spun completely around. I watched as he stopped, but only to be hit head-on by a Lincoln Navigator that couldn't go around him. I couldn't hear the impact, but I could see the glass flying. Good. I hoped the son of a bitch swallowed his mask and choked to death.

I looked back down and saw I was passing through a hundred miles per hour. I saw an exit approaching and knew exactly where I was. I had fished every creek wider than eighteen inches in Maryland. I knew the countryside like the back of my hand. I wasn't sure I'd be safer off the freeway, but I thought I knew just the place-and just the bridge-to lose whoever was following me. I wished I had put one of my handguns under the seat the way I had thought about hundreds of times, especially after Tinny had been killed. But of course that would have been illegal . And I had convinced myself I was being paranoid.

I looked to my right and turned sharply across the other two lanes and exited the freeway on the fly. I continued to accelerate recklessly down the off-ramp. As I got to the bottom, I slammed on the brakes and turned west onto a two-lane highway. I saw the other two cars racing down the off-ramp behind me as I pulled away from them. I checked the engine temperature, which was increasing.

After a mile I saw the road rising in front of me. The bridge. The small, arched bridge made of brick allowed a railroad track to pass underneath the road. It was an active track, but I didn't see trains on it often. I glanced down the track in both directions and didn't see any trains.

As I got to the front of the bridge, I slammed on the brakes. I started a turn to the right off the road as I crested the bridge and headed down the other side. I knew I was betting on my soccer-mom Volvo, which I had never wanted in the first place. The reviews I had read before buying it were screaming at me-made for driving to the woods, not through them. The four-wheel drive did exactly what I had hoped though as I turned sharply and dangerously off the road, down through the grass, and up steeply to the railroad tracks. I didn't know the width of the tracks or whether it was even possible to drive on the rails. I didn't even try. I forced the right wheels across the first rail and toward the right, but not all the way to it the other side. I straddled the left rail and accelerated, shocked by the jarring from the railroad ties. I suddenly saw dirt kick up in front of me.

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the sedan stopped on the bridge with two men firing at me. I was at least three hundred yards away. They had no real chance of hitting me, even with a rifle. But they might get lucky. I slouched down a little and pressed harder on the accelerator. The minivan tried the same turn I had tried. He started into the grass but the top-heavy Caravan just kept rolling. It rolled onto its side and slid down the hill into a mushy shoulder below. The two men in the sedan climbed back in and learned from what they had seen. They took the descending turn gently and slowly and successfully climbed up onto the tracks. Damn it.

I accelerated to seventy, straining the limits of my suspension, which was clattering and protesting. I watched for the water I knew was ahead as the sedan fell farther behind me. As I saw the first indication of water, I waited for the clearing I knew would be nearby. I saw it coming and slowed slightly. As I approached the dirt road that led away from the tracks, I turned hard left, jumped off the tracks, and flew down the embankment onto the dirt road into the woods.

Still intact, I tore through the woods on the rutted dirt road looking ahead for the right turn that would take me to a place I had once fished. It was memorable because it was the worst place I'd ever fished. Brackish water, no fish, and impossible to get to. But I had remembered it. And I had remembered that at this time of the year the water would be low and you could even drive across it in an emergency.

Just as I got to the other dirt road, I saw the sedan come down from the tracks and onto the dirt road. I had almost a mile on them now. I drove down to the end of the road, came to the T intersection, and turned hard right. Five hundred yards later I came out of the trees and onto a beachlike area of sand and loose gravel. I could feel the wheels bite and distribute the pull needed to keep me going. The water was lower than I had expected. No more than fifteen feet across and maybe eight inches deep. Fast or slow into the water? I had no idea. I just kept going, probably twenty miles an hour by then. The wheels sunk slightly as I approached the creek. I didn't even hesitate. This was my gamble. If I got stuck, it was going to be ugly. No one was around, probably wouldn't be for weeks.

The Volvo hit the creek and arches of water rose up on either side of the hood. The car made a sickening move to the side that told me I had just hydroplaned on the top of the water. The wheels settled into the water, straining to find something to grab, and hit the mucky creek bottom. One wheel would find a rock or solid piece of ground and push me forward, then another. Momentum alone was almost enough to carry me across, which made me think the sedan behind me might even make it.

I kept going and came out of the creek on the other side. I climbed up the shallow bank and away from the creek. The road on the other side was mushy, unused, and overgrown with tall grass, which didn't slow me down much. It would sure make it easy to figure out which way I had gone though. The Military Highway, as it was known, was less than a half mile ahead at the end of the dirt road and would take me straight to Annapolis.

I made the half mile in a half minute and climbed up onto the highway. No cars in sight in either direction. I stopped and got out as steam surrounded the car from the water on the hot engine and transmission. I strained to see the creek behind me and thought I could see the top of the sedan where the creek would be. It didn't seem to be moving.

I turned toward Annapolis and wondered if more of them were waiting there for me.

I went to my office, got out of my car carefully, looked around, and headed in. The Volvo had a huge dent in the passenger door, with mud and grass stains all around. The car looked as if it had been picked up in a tornado and thrown back down.

I waited to see anything out of the ordinary, but saw nothing. I went inside and Dolores directed me to the conference room, where everyone had gathered for lunch.

"Hi, everyone, sorry I'm late. I got sidetracked." I tossed the envelope to Justin. "Make five copies of each of the documents in there."

He was surprised by the look on my face and hurried out of the room, saying nothing.

I said, "Well, Wayne Bradley is ready to testify. He'll basically say what he said in his deposition."

They all returned to their sandwiches and outlines. "I've got to make a quick phone call. I'll be right back."

I stepped out of the conference room and into my office and sent a text message to Kathryn, who was sitting in the conference room. I told her to come to my office, to say she was going to the bathroom, and to invite no one else, under any circumstances. I waited. About three minutes later Kathryn walked into my office and closed the door.

"What is this about?"

"Hi, Kathryn," I said slowly. "How are you?" I looked at her like I was out of my mind and pointed at the ceiling and all around as if there could be a listening device somewhere.