John Nance - Lockout

“Stop this car, Will,” she commanded, her voice low and terse.

“No.”

He’d seen her glance at something on her iPhone and was already suspicious. But there was no way to predict her suddenly pointing at something in the darkened residential street ahead as she screamed at ear-splitting volume: “STOP!”

His foot jammed hard on the brakes, and the SUV went into a four-wheel skid, the police cruiser slamming on its brakes right behind and almost rear-ending them.

“What? WHAT?” he demanded, eyes aflame and looking panicked. The doors of the police car had already been flung open, and two cops had emerged from each side clearing leather with their weapons.

“I’m getting out!” she said, her hand on the door latch as he suddenly jammed the accelerator to the floor again, knocking her door closed before she could get a shoulder into it, the engine roaring, but not loudly enough to mask the sound of gunfire as the rear window of the SUV exploded in glass shards.

The time it was taking for the two startled officers to turn and dive back into their car was all Will needed to dart off into a side street and begin another frantic slalom course, braking suddenly in an alley several wild turns and blocks away, peeling into a blessedly empty back driveway nestled between two high hedges before killing the lights and turning off the engine.

This time Jenny succeeded in flinging her door wide and leaping from the SUV before he had a chance to react.

Somewhere in the distance the sound of a helicopter approaching reached his ears. It would be a matter of minutes at best before the airborne Night Sun spotlight located the SUV, its shattered rear window clearly visible. The quick search necessary to illuminate two running figures would be child’s play after that.

Will was breathing hard as he took a few seconds to calculate the odds of various options, but there seemed only one. He left the engine running and flung open the door, jumping out and reclosing both doors before running as hard as he could in the direction Jenny had taken.

She had the key to this whole thing. Hell, she was the key, he thought. And he mustn’t lose her…

Somewhere in the back of her mind Jenny realized that running for your life and taking the time to carry your high heels in order to save them were rather conflicting goals. But she had a death grip on both the pumps and her computer case as she accelerated into the fastest dash she could manage. She couldn’t hear footsteps behind her with the background roar of DC traffic even at night, but she was sure Bronson would be hell for leather after her, his long legs giving him an easy advantage, and the cops and whoever else was chasing them hot on his trail.

I don’t believe this! she thought, the surreal nature of everything that had accompanied the last few hours continuing to accelerate into total confusion in her mind. She had the means to save that airplane full of people—maybe—and time was running out, and people were trying to stop her. Why?

So who the hell is he? she wondered, pondering Seth’s note just long enough to stumble and almost fall on her face on a concrete walkway. She stubbed her toe but recovered enough balance to stay on her feet and force the pain away to keep moving.

A sloping lawn on her right led up to a modest home, and she veered off, slipping a bit in her stocking feet as they hit the soft grass, scrambling around the side and down a driveway, jogging left through an unfenced backyard and then across the next street between yet another pair of houses, running mostly on the balls of her feet. She could hear the startled comment of someone who’d seen her flash past, and for a second she weighed the prospect of seeking help and entry into someone’s house versus continuing to be a running target.

Running won out, but she wondered if she’d shaken Bronson or if he was still pursuing her. Maybe, she thought, he’d been confused by her zigzagging, but just to hedge the bet, she broke left at the next driveway and doubled back toward the street she’d just crossed, all but diving behind a tall hedge in someone’s front lawn and trying to squelch her heavy breathing as she watched for any sign of him.

There was no one, at least no one running or in obvious pursuit. There was a helicopter overhead a few blocks away, obviously searching for them.

She thought of her cell phone. Maybe it was time for a 911 call? Or would what’s-his-name be tied into that network as well?

I don’t even know who I’m running from! she thought.

A sudden sound to her left caused her heart to leap, and she turned to find a thankfully calm and curious Labrador who had ambled over to see who was hiding behind his owner’s hedge. Still on guard, she petted him, listening for footsteps that weren’t there.

Maybe, she thought, the home she was crouching beside had a Wi-Fi she could use, but then the glow of her computer screen would be a dead giveaway.

The dog was licking her ear and whining, and she reached to the left to push him away only to have her wrist grabbed as Will Bronson whirled her around to face him and slammed her back onto the ground, straddling her.

“Scream and I swear I’ll strangle you right here,” he hissed, a strong hand on each wrist, penning her arms to the damp ground.

“What are you going to do, rape me? Have at it, bastard.”

“Rape… what? Seriously?”

“What else should I conclude? You’re straddling me, and you just threatened to strangle me!”

“Why did you run? We need to stay together!” he asked.

“Why did I run ? You’re the one driving like a maniac! Why? We’ve got cops shooting at us! Who are we running from anyway?”

His head was on a swivel, looking in all directions, then back at her, speaking tersely and low.

“Our agents. The cops. Federal police. I don’t know, but I’ll bet there’s what they used to call an all-points bulletin out for us and not getting us caught, killed, or locked up seemed to serve the interests of saving that planeload of people. But answer me, Jenny. Please. Why are you running from me? ”

“Because, apparently, you’re not who you claim to be.”

“Aha! According to whom?”

“Seth, my boss, and the CIA. So, who are you, really?”

“It was that message, then?”

“What?”

“You got a text in the car and got all cold and silent.”

“Yes. That text. It said to get away from you. I’m beginning to see why. How the hell did you find me, by the way?”

“Your ‘Find my iPhone’ function. Comes in handy.”

“Shit.”

He sighed, a bit too loudly. “All right. You know my name, but… there’s more.”

“Of course there is!”

“I’m not an operative… a spy, Jenny.”

“Right. And I’m not really female. Yank my panties off and you’ll find out.”

“ What ?”

He looked almost comically perplexed, she noted, as if she’d flung another language at him. He was shaking his head as if to rid it of whatever cobwebs had filtered her words.

“What is it with you women and sex, Jenny?”

“We women ? WE women? What kind of sexist nonsense is that?”

“Just what it sounds like! Yes, you women! Jeez! Rape? Pulling off panties? We’re in the middle of a freaking crisis here, and that’s all you can think of?”

“Not all. But you have to admit that some of my most sensitive lady parts are in rather intimate and vulnerable proximity to you at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah.” He raised up on his knees, taking the pressure off her hips. “Listen to me. I am with DIA, but I’m just an analyst who stumbled onto what appeared to me to be a suspicious operation. I’ve seen several before in my department and have always felt guilty for doing nothing. This time I had to act.”