“I would have brought the Ferrari, but we needed the trunk space for our luggage. You know, the luggage that my friend Tom and I were bringing on our vacation.”
“Who are you?”
“Sam Reilly.”
“No. What do you do here?”
“I offer some consultancy into maritime issues relating to national security for the Secretary of Defense.”
“And you drive a Rolls Royce?”
“No. Like I said before, my dad does. I just borrow it from time to time.”
“What’s your dad do?”
“He owns a shipping empire.”
Ben shook his head. “We’re going to be spotted in two minutes.”
“Afraid so. But hey, it handles like a champ. You want to try it out?”
Ben shook his head. “I think I’m going to have to keep you in the driver’s seat.”
“Suit yourself.” Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, and Ben climbed into the seat behind him. A smart move on Ben’s part. Sam closed his door, pressed the start button and the thumping V12 engine roared into life. He’d wanted to knock Ben out before they got much farther — it would be easier to sort things out if the guy were unconscious and not pointing a gun at Sam’s center mass — but it wasn’t meant to be.
Now that Ben was sitting behind him, it was almost impossible to take him out. Geometry had never found a way to take out a guy sitting directly behind a driver. Not while that driver is moving. No way. Just not feasible. No kind of four-dimensional planning could achieve it.
In fact, once again it struck him that Ben was far more aware of the situation than he should be. It wasn’t exactly a secret that it was hard to take someone out who was sitting directly behind you in a car, but it wasn’t exactly common knowledge, either.
Was the guy a terrorist, or wasn’t he?
Sam stared at Ben in the rear-view mirror. What he had thought at first glance in the hallway outside the Secretary’s office was definitely true.
Ben Gellie had violet eyes.
It was just barely possible that that didn’t mean anything. Violet eyes were rare, but not unheard of. Elizabeth Taylor had them. But they also showed up in a certain context.
The Master Builders.
An advanced civilization that had existed before Homo sapiens did, left some seriously strange, amazingly advanced technology behind — far more advanced than twenty-first century humanity had — and then…vanished.
A few shreds of their genetic code remained, hiding inside humanity. The Builders must have been closely related to Homo sapiens, in order to be able to cross with them. And it was said that they left behind a tendency toward violet eyes…
Elise, a computer whiz who worked for him, had purple eyes. As far as they could tell, she had one of the strongest genetic lines related to the ancient Master Builders. There had been others that he’d heard of, but if Ben Gellie shared the same genetics, that would make him only the second living person Sam had ever known to do so. It would also answer why his blood was so valuable — and why someone had illegally detained him.
A pair of men in white shirts and black ties walked behind the car, talking to each other. Sam waited until they were past, then slowly backed out of the parking space.
“Can we get a move on?” Ben said.
Sam smiled at the two men, who had turned to stare at the expensive car, and waved. “Smile,” he said through his teeth. Then he pulled forward and drove slowly between the cars around him. This was not the best time to get into a minor fender bender.
Fortunately, the VIP lot wasn’t that big, and it wasn’t packed with cars the way the other visitor lots were. Soon they were at the first exit gate. Sam waved at the guard at the booth, who wasn’t even looking — she was checking badges of the cars trying to get into the Pentagon, not the ones trying to get out.
Something moved behind them, catching Sam’s eye. Someone was running out of the Pentagon toward them, holding a cell phone close to his face.
Sam kept driving forward slowly. He had to pass the main visitors’ area and out the main gate before he could lose himself in the mess of streets around the Pentagon. Fortunately, at ten in the morning, the roads were about as clear as they would ever be during daylight hours.
Just as they were about to drive through the last gate, two metal panels rose out of the road, blocking either side of the gatehouse.
Lockdown.
Sam glanced in his review mirror, debating whether or not there was time to reverse and try to drive through one of the security fences instead. A car pulled up behind them. Short of getting out and running for it, they had no options. And even if they did, they weren’t going to make it very far.
A guard started walking from car to car, very obviously holding a semi-automatic rifle in both hands as he spoke to the drivers in line.
Sam rolled down his window. The cool air nibbled at his ear, and his breath fogged up as he leaned out the window, handing out his day pass. “Good morning, sir.”
The man took the day pass, casually running his eyes across the name, the face, before settling on the expensive car. He nodded. His voice curt, but respectful. “I’ll just be a minute, sir.”
Sam watched the man return to the guardhouse.
The guard went inside. A moment later, the metal plates were dropping back down to the road surface, and the line of cars slowly began moving through the gatehouse.
The guard watched the car drive by.
Sam wasn’t concerned.
It was a Rolls Royce, after all.
He shoved his foot on the accelerator and the Rolls Royce Phantom lurched forward.
Behind them, someone shouted, “Stop that car!”
Chapter Eight
Sam accelerated hard out of the parking lot, dropping down a couple gears to manage the long and maddening series of loops and turned onto I-395 North. The traffic was light and he was able to floor it again. The plan was to get Ben Gellie across the border into Canada, but the first priority was to get out of Washington, D.C.
He braked hard and swerved toward the inside lane, avoiding a slow-moving truck.
Behind him, Ben said, “How long do you think it’s going to take them to shut down the highways?”
Sam eased the Rolls Royce up to 110 miles an hour. “Not long. They’ll need to mobilize a lot of police to block all of them and right now, they don’t know which direction we’re heading.”
“There’s an exit coming up,” Ben said. “You should take it!”
Sam continued in the right lane, following I-395 North through Washington, D.C. “We’ll need to get off the highway soon, but I want to add some distance before we do.”
“You’re gambling with my life here!”
Sam smiled, ruefully. “I’m gambling with both our lives.”
To the west he spotted the blue and red flashing lights of emergency vehicles approaching in the distance. That meant they were still ahead of the first responders. But not for long. Up ahead, several cars started to brake. He cut out into the emergency lane and accelerated harder.
He heard Ben fasten his seatbelt. “You really are gambling with both our lives!”
Sam ignored him.
Up ahead the traffic was slowing again.
He merged to the right, taking the B2 exit, onto I-295.
At this time in the morning, it seemed unusually quiet. On the open highway, Sam released the reins and the Rolls Royce eagerly picked up its pace.
Over the next fifteen minutes, they had a clean run.
As soon as Maryland City came into view on their left the traffic began to slow dramatically. Up ahead, Sam spotted a pair of flashing emergency lights just below the 198 overpass. Ben swore. “Take this exit.”