He slid out of the shattered window, feeling the glass slice his left knee and bumping his back hard as he reacted to the cut. He flopped completely into the water and struggled to his feet in the four-foot-deep pond. He slogged to the edge, knowing the bomb was about to explode. Gasping for breath, he flopped onto the bank, exhausted.
Wells was in a pretty good trot with his Ruger.22 tight in his right hand. He was passing some apartments near the interstate but hadn’t heard a blast yet. It didn’t really matter. It was just to divert traffic anyway. He was a little surprised Tasker or Bolini weren’t chasing him. They may have been crazy enough to defuse his bomb. Wouldn’t be hard. Just yank off the timer. He looked over his shoulder again. Nothing. Then, as he reached the next block, he heard it. Like a beautiful symphony. The boom reverberated through the neighborhood and houses, almost sounding like several explosions. He looked back to see the fireball just above the trees. That didn’t make sense, because the overpass should have absorbed the blast and fireball. It was pretty all the same.
He turned at the last block and saw his semi still secure and waiting for him. He fumbled for the keys and climbed up the small ladder to the cab. He cranked over the engine and gave the motor a little time to warm up. Looking up, he noticed the traffic already backing up from the van blast. Black smoke was rising from the area of the massive overpass. The way these people stopped to stare at a car with a flat tire, traffic would be backed up to Broward County soon, and people would be fighting to get off the highway and crowd onto the city streets.
Tasker started to get up when he felt hands on him. He looked up as Bolini dragged him out of the mud and onto his feet.
“Move it,” Bolini grunted as he pulled Tasker along on a trot.
From the shoulder of Interstate 95, Tasker saw Sutter, Camy and Jimmy Lail running toward them. Bolini pointed to the fence and shouted, “Cross the fence here and cut him off. He’s right there.” Bolini pointed into the neighborhood just west of the interstate.
Without a word, Sutter and Jimmy turned and bolted for the fence, Sutter taking it in one graceful leap. Camy raced back to Jimmy’s little Honda on the side of the interstate. Tasker watched as she backed the car and turned it facing the fence separating the road from the neighborhood. She gunned the engine and ripped through the old battered chain-link barrier.
Tasker was running on his own power now, headed for Bolini’s car, when he heard the boom and then felt the shock wave of the blast. They both turned to see the fireball climb from the exit loop and rise straight into the air where no overpass of concrete could block it and cause damage. They both headed back toward the blast and were relieved when they saw no cars charred on the loop. The bushes around the pond smoldered, and it looked like the water had absorbed a lot of the blast.
Tasker’s gold Jeep Cherokee was an unrecognizable heap in the shallows of the ponds. The van looked like Godzilla had kicked it. Tasker still smiled.
Bolini patted him hard on the back. “Let’s get that son of a bitch.”
Sutter gulped air after the first two blocks. He was good at sprints and even the occasional long jump, but distance events were not his strong suit. Jimmy Lail had surprised him by having some wind and good legs. He was half a block ahead, weaving through yards and checking parked cars with his Sig nine-millimeter already drawn and ready.
They’d come straight from the interstate and headed toward the Orange Bowl, then cut into this neighborhood. A kid on a bike said he’d just seen a man jogging and pointed them in his direction. They knew he had to be here somewhere, but this street was about to end at some pine trees. Then Sutter intended to go left toward the Orange Bowl and send the FBI man right back toward the interstate.
Sutter started to notice a second uncomfortable sensation other than being winded. He was starting to sweat. In good slacks and a nice shirt. That didn’t happen to a cop that was thinking properly.
Then came the blast. Just the concussion and sound made Sutter and Jimmy duck. He looked over his shoulder and saw the fireball rising from a few blocks behind, the orange and yellow dissipating into the sky.
“Oh shit!” Sutter said. “We need to check on Tasker and Bolini.”
Jimmy Lail was too far ahead of him to hear.
When Sutter was about to yell to him, Jimmy saw something at the corner and aimed his gun. He waved excitedly.
Sutter used his sprinter’s speed and was up to Jimmy in a few seconds and immediately saw the idling semi tractor-trailer with Wells in the front seat. A smaller tanker was hitched behind the cab. Sutter didn’t want to think what was in it.
Jimmy said, “I’ll stop this asshole.” He marched forward with his pistol out for Wells to see.
Wells opened the truck’s cab door, leaned out and popped two rounds off with a small-caliber pistol.
Jimmy Lail immediately dodged behind a parked car and crouched.
Sutter moved toward the truck, his Glock drawn. He fired once at the truck cab to keep Wells’ head down, then advanced quickly. He could hear Jimmy, behind him now, start to shoot, too. The sound of the nine-millimeter rounds smacking into the semi cab made Wells duck.
The truck started to move, but when Sutter raised his pistol he felt a stabbing pain in his left foot and ankle. He went down, watching as Wells carefully drove around him to get the big rig moving. Sutter turned and saw Jimmy dive out of the truck’s path as Wells blasted the giant air horn.
Now Camy in the Honda turned down the street. She squealed to a stop next to Sutter and burst out of the car to him. She looked at him, then pulled a white gym towel from inside the car and immediately held it to his ankle, saying, “You’ll be okay.”
“What happened? I thought I twisted my ankle.”
Jimmy was with him now. “Man, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
Sutter just looked at him. “Don’t tell me.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot you.”
Sutter wanted to smack him, but turned to Camy. “Catch the truck, catch the truck. Wells is in it.”
She looked up quickly, but no one was sure where the semi had gone after it took the first turn.
thirty-four
Tasker felt like a train-wreck survivor. He was wobbling his way through the neighborhood after his partners and Wells, blood running down his face, hair burnt in patches, legs bloody and soaking wet. This was no dignified day at the office.
Bolini was checking the area of the blast for injuries and to explain to responding cops what happened. Tasker couldn’t risk losing Wells. He was about to sit down and rest for a second when he heard the gunfire. It was coming from the end of the street. He picked up his pitiful pace.
He reached the last street just in time to see a semi tractor-trailer driven by Daniel Wells roll down the street, blaring his horn. In its wake he saw Jimmy Lail standing with Camy over Sutter, who was down, a block away. He turned and moved as fast as he could to the injured Miami cop.
“What happened? You all right?” he gasped as he came upon his partner.
Sutter seemed more pissed than injured. “That jerk-weed shot me.”
“Why?”
Jimmy, walking up behind, mumbled, “It was an accident.”
Tasker stood up and spun to meet the FBI man face to face, but instantly realized how embarrassed Lail was and that it really had been an accident.
Camy started to jump in the Honda. Jimmy followed her. She said, “We need to find the truck.”
Tasker nodded his head. “Go, go. Bolini will be here in a second.”
A minute later, Bolini pulled up in his Ford Taurus and Tasker grabbed Sutter, then piled in, Sutter careful with his leg but fully mobile.