Robin Cook - Crisis

Jack tried to adjust his speed exactly equal to the car in front, despite feeling it was much too fast for the weather. He felt he had little choice. He was reluctant to slow down for fear the Hummer would ram him in a similar fashion as the black Cadillac had. Meanwhile, he frantically tried to search for the Cadillac in his side and rearview mirrors, but it wasn't easy. It required taking his eyes off the car in front, which was nothing but a hazy blur despite the windshield wipers working at top speed. Jack didn't see the Cadillac, but he did catch glimpses of the Hummer driver alternately shaking his fist and giving him the finger when he sensed Jack was looking in his direction.

The need to concentrate on driving was not the only handicap in the search for his vehicular assailant. Whirling eddies of fog and water vapor were whipped up into a frenzy by the rushing vehicles, particularly the trucks whose eighteen wheels, each almost the size of Jack's car, flailed against the wet pavement, sending billows of mist into the air around the edges of their mud flaps.

Suddenly, to Jack's right a short stretch of shoulder appeared as a turnout for disabled vehicles. He had to make a snap decision, since the length of the turnout was not long, and at the speed his car and the others were traveling, the opportunity would soon be lost. Impulsively, Jack veered to the right out of the line of traffic, jammed on the brake, then fought against the car's tendency to skid first one way, then the other.

With great relief, Jack was able to bring the car to a stop, but he didn't get a moment to rest. In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the black Cadillac pulling out of the lines of traffic exactly as he had.

Jack sucked in a chestful of air, gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, and stomped the accelerator to the floor. The acceleration wasn't neck-snapping, but it was still impressive. Ahead, the fenced end of the pullout rapidly loomed, forcing Jack again to merge abruptly into the traffic. This time it wasn't blind, but it caused the same fury in the driver behind. Yet with the Cadillac obviously still in pursuit, Jack didn't concern himself. In fact, there was a good side. The man continued to express his anger by riding Jack's tail. Under normal circumstances, Jack would have considered such a situation dangerous and irritating. But now it meant that there was no room for the Cadillac, which would have been far worse than a mere irate driver.

Jack knew that coming ahead some miles down the road was his turnoff that surprisingly forked from the far left lane. Not too far beyond that were tollbooths marking the end of the toll road. Jack tried to reason which was better. The tollbooths meant staff and maybe even State Troopers, which was good, but it also meant long lines, which was bad. Although David Thomas had relieved Franco of his gun, Jack knew the man undoubtedly had access to others. If Franco was crazy enough to ram him in an attempt to push him out into traffic, Jack felt he'd have little qualms about shooting at him. The exit road had less staff and no troopers, which was bad, but no lines, particularly in two fast lanes, which was good.

As Jack was weighing these possibilities, he'd been vaguely aware that some distance beyond the buildings spanning the toll road, a true shoulder appeared. He'd not thought much about it since he had no intention of pulling out of the traffic for a second time. What he'd not considered was the Cadillac using the breakdown lane to catch up.

It wasn't until the Cadillac pulled alongside that Jack caught sight of it. And when he did, he saw that its driver's-side window was down. More important, Franco was driving with one hand. In his other hand was a gun, which he proceeded to stick out the window. Jack touched his brakes and simultaneously his passengerside window shattered into a million pieces and a bullet hole appeared in the plastic cover over the windshield support to Jack's immediate left.

The man behind Jack was back to blowing his horn continuously in utter exasperation. Jack could fully understand his agitation. He was also impressed the man had been able to avoid a collision, making Jack vow never to complain about Boston drivers ever again.

The next instant after Jack had touched his brake, he pressed the accelerator to the floor and used his newly developed merging technique to move laterally across several lanes of traffic. Now everybody around him was beeping to beat the band. Jack couldn't rest on his laurels since Franco had pulled an even greater merging feat and was now in the same lane as Jack with only one vehicle between them. Ahead, Jack saw the sign for his turnoff, Allston-Cambridge Left Lane, rapidly approach and then whip by. Impulsively, he made a snap decision that depended on his agile, compact Accent being able to make a tighter, high-speed turn than Franco's boat-like vintage Cadillac. Franco cooperated by remaining in lane, presumably avoiding using the relatively empty far-left lane to overtake Jack for fear of being forced off the road by the swiftly approaching exit.

Jack's entire body tensed as he fixed his eyes on his goal. What he wanted to do was execute a left turn as sharp as he could into the exit without rolling the car and clear a triangle of barrel-sized yellow plastic containers placed to cushion any vehicles destined to hit the concrete exit abutment. What he hoped was that Franco would have to sail on past.

At what he hoped was the proper instant, Jack whipped the steering wheel counterclockwise. He heard the tires screech in protest and felt the powerful centrifugal force attempting to fish-tail the car or cause it to flip. Tentatively, he touched the brake, not knowing if it helped or hindered. For a second it felt as if the car was on two wheels, but it straightened itself and agilely missed the protective canisters with several feet to spare.

Rapidly throwing the steering wheel in the opposite direction, Jack straightened the car on the exit, heading for the line of toll-booths directly ahead. He began to brake. At that point, he glanced into the mirror just in time to see Franco slam sideways into the apex of yellow barrels. What was most impressive was that the Cadillac was already upside down, ostensibly having immediately rolled when Franco tried to follow Jack.

Jack winced at the force of the impact, which threw tires and other debris into the air. He found himself marveling at the degree of Franco's anger, which had obviously trumped any rationality.

As Jack approached the line of tollbooths, the two attendants leapt out from their stations, abandoning the drivers waiting to pay their tolls. One of the attendants was carrying a fire extinguisher. Jack checked his rearview mirror. He now saw tendrils of fire licking up the side of the upended vehicle.

With the reassurance that there was little he could do, Jack drove off. As he put some distance between himself and the whole episode beginning with Franco slamming into the back of his car, he got progressively more anxious, to the point that he was noticeably shaking. In some respects, such a response surprised him more than the experience itself had. It hadn't been that many years ago that he would have relished such a happening. Now he felt more responsible. Laurie was depending on him to stay alive and be at Riverside Church at one thirty the very next day.

When Jack pulled into the Langley-Peerson Funeral Home twenty minutes later, he'd recovered enough to recognize he had a responsibility to report what he knew about Franco's accident, although he didn't want to take time to go to the Boston police. Remaining in the car, he got out his phone and Liam Flanagan's business card, which had his cell number. Jack placed the call. When Liam answered, Jack could hear a babble of voices in the background.