“You’ve got two gunshot wounds, you may not have time.”
“Ferris, can you handle Henning?”
“The bullet went through his vest, but it missed his lungs. He’s still in a bad way.”
The convenience store’s supervisor said, “I called nine-one-one. An ambulance is on the way.”
“Harv, Grangeland,” Nathan said. “Bridgestone’s on the roof of the building north of the property. We’ll use the rear exit and stay against the perimeter wall for cover. When we get to the driveway, Harv will retrieve the SUV. Ferris, let your SWAT teams know what we’re doing. Tell them to hold their fire until we’re in the SUV. We’ve got to hurry, let’s move.”
The three of them passed through a stockroom and burst through the rear door facing the freeway. They hugged the wall as they traversed to the northwest corner of the property. All of them heard it. An engine started, followed by the squeal of tires as a vehicle accelerated toward the east. Nathan was limping but kept up with Harv and Grangeland as they ran toward the SUV. Blood had already soaked his sock and shoe.
“Harv, you drive. Grangeland, follow us in the Crown Vic. Let’s move.”
Just as Nathan closed the passenger door, another deafening explosion rocked the night.
The island under the diesel pumps vanished in a white flash. The freight truck parked at the island was blown ten feet sideways from the force of the blast. Lying on its side, one hundred gallons of diesel fuel in its cab tanks ignited, sending a fiery mushroom up to the bottom of the metal canopy covering the islands. Eerie flame spread along the underside of its surface and shot skyward at the edges. Some of the truckers parked in the transient area began driving their rigs out of the danger zone. Men and machines were going every direction. People were screaming and running for cover. Like black ants against a red background, the SWAT team sprinted for the protection of the convenience store, two of them dragging a wounded comrade.
Harv turned right out of the parking lot. With the windows of the SUV gone, they could hear the roaring headers of Ernie’s retreating vehicle. It was running east with its lights out.
“That’s him. Punch it, Harv.” He flipped on the thermal imager and immediately saw the heat signature of the fleeing vehicle’s exhaust. “Straight ahead, four or five hundred yards.”
The Expedition’s engine answered the call. Within ten seconds, they were doing eighty miles an hour. Harv stomped the accelerator and brought their speed up to 110. “Stay with him, Harv. Wait one. He’s slowing, turning south. I’ve still got him. We’re coming up on the turn in five hundred yards.”
“Nate, put the NV visor on my head, we should go dark.”
Nathan reached into the duffel bag on the seat between them, grabbed the night-vision visor, and saw blood covering the lower half of his arm. He turned the device on, removed the lens cap, and placed it on Harv’s head before pivoting the scope down to his partner’s eye.
Harvey made a slight adjustment and said, “Good to go.”
Nathan keyed the radio. “Grangeland, we’re switching to night vision. Hang back a little. We’re going dark.”
“Copy.”
Harv killed the headlights and the road disappeared into blackness. Behind them, Grangeland also went dark.
“Turn here, to the right,” Nathan said. Confirming what he already knew, fresh skid marks marred the pavement where Bridgestone had made a four-wheel slide around the corner. They were now paralleling a sandy dry wash on the eastern side of the road, thick with oak trees and underbrush.
“How you doing, Nate?”
“I’m okay. Stay with him.”
Nathan glanced over his shoulder and saw Grangeland make the turn. Through the thin fog, he saw several other vehicles leaving the driveway from Pete’s Truck Palace to join the pursuit. Bring it on. The more the merrier. The cold wind rushing in the windows against his bare skin became an issue. Compounded by the blood acting like water, Nathan was losing body heat quickly. He fought back a shiver and leaned forward as much as he could to avoid the worst of the wind.
“You okay?” Harvey asked.
“Never better. Keep closing, Harv. We’ll intercept him in thirty seconds.”
“I’m on it.”
Chapter 22
Ernie Bridgestone whooped in triumph when he lost sight of the headlights pursuing him. He’d lost them.
“Fuckin’ pussies,” he said aloud. “Now who’s doing the squealing?”
He was sure he’d scored at least one hit, maybe two on McBride, the big man with scars on his face. With a little luck they’d be fatal shots. Bleed out slowly, you piece of shit.
Leonard had been wrong about him getting caught after all. Sometimes he wondered if his older brother truly had the balls for this type of thing, trained Ranger or not. He’d been conveniently missing when the time came to head down here and take care of business. Ernie shook his head. He’d actually enjoyed blowing Amber to smithereens. The lousy bitch. She’d betrayed him for the last time. He’d easily spotted the two FBI agents tailing her. Besides, she had it coming for lying to him all these years. Hell, Janey was an adult, she could take of herself. He wasn’t worried about her at all. In fact, she was better off without that sleazy-
He looked in side-view mirror. “What the fu-?”
* * *
Nathan pulled his Sig and hung out the window. When Harv closed to within twenty-five yards, Nathan took aim with both hands and emptied a magazine at the fleeing pickup truck. Each shot he fired illuminated the hood of the SUV in stroboscopic flashes. He aimed low and right, hoping for a skipping shot off the asphalt into the rear tire. He didn’t want to shoot the cab because they needed Ernie alive. He couldn’t risk a lucky head shot. He had an appointment with Ernie’s fingers-an appointment he intended to keep.
Nathan passed the empty gun to Harv and received a fully loaded weapon in return. The chill on his exposed skin felt like a million ice picks. He ignored the hideous sensation and took careful aim. Ernie had begun to swerve back and forth, which actually improved Nathan’s odds of blowing out a tire. Harv kept the Expedition on the centerline of the road. Nathan let loose with another full magazine. Got it. Rubber began to peel away from the punctured tire. A baseball-sized piece whizzed past his head and he pulled himself back into the interior. Shredded chunks of rubber thumped off the Expedition’s shattered windshield.
“Good shooting,” Harv said.
Ernie’s truck swerved right, then back to the left before he regained control. It skidded to a stop on the left shoulder. Ernie jumped out and took off into the dry wash. Harv braked hard and pulled in behind the truck.
“He’s wearing a sidearm, Harv. Looked like a nineteen-eleven.”
“I saw it.”
Nathan was in no shape for a foot chase. Although not life-threatening, his right-calf wound was bleeding at a damned ugly clip. “Get him, Harv, we could lose him in there. Take the thermal imager. I’ll be right behind you.”
Harv didn’t have time to strap on his holster, so he jammed four magazines into his front pockets. “His ass is mine.”
Nathan watched him disappear into the blackness. Be careful, old friend.
Grangeland pulled in behind the SUV and killed the engine. She rushed to the passenger door and saw Nathan donning a night-vision visor.
“No way,” she said. “Give that to me. You’re in no shape to go out there. Your color’s nearly gone and you’re shaking like a leaf.”
She was right. He wasn’t in good shape-in fact, he was in terrible shape. The blood loss combined with the shock and adrenaline wearing off had hammered him. He handed her the visor. “Harv’s got a ten-second head start. He’s got a thermal imager and night vision with him. We need Bridgestone alive, understood?”
“Yes,” she said. Three seconds later she vanished into the moonless void.
Nathan gathered as much strength as he could and shouted, “Grangeland’s coming, Harv, not me.” He didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one.