She noticed his interest in the car and smiled. She had a cute, almost impish smile that teased of fun that any man would want to explore.
“You like the car?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “It’s a thing of beauty.”
“And a blast to drive. That’s my father. He used to love that car. I keep it these days, stored for safe keeping, out of respect and nostalgia.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
“Don’t be,” she replied. “It was a long time ago. He was unwell. There was nothing anyone could do. I took over his business and have been managing his family enterprise ever since.”
Ben stared at her. “Have we met before?”
Sam eyes flashed a warning.
But Ben ignored it. “No. I do remember you. It’s your smile, you see. I would never forget your smile. Even if you injected me with a sedative and an amnesic the last time we met. What was your name? Emma! That’s right!”
The elevator door opened with a beep.
Emma levelled a Berretta M9 handgun at them both. “Yes. That would be me. I’ve seen how fast you move. Now stand over there.”
Ben shuffled backward.
Sam looked at her. “What do you want?”
“The same thing everyone wants — to live forever — and, so long as we’re asking, I’d like to become filthy rich.”
“Is that why you turned to producing methamphetamines?” Sam asked.
She took an audible gasp, her face suddenly pale. “What do you know about that?” She shrugged. “If you must know, that one I didn’t do for riches. That one I did out of desperation. My father died, and I inherited his legitimate business, which was about to go bankrupt. I mean, how does someone screw up pharmaceuticals in America?”
Sam said, “Indeed?”
“And I needed his business to stay afloat, long enough for me to change the world.”
Sam stared at her with piercing blue eyes. “You want to cure cancer?”
“I do.”
“Is that why you sent a team of mercenaries to Bolshoi Zayatsky to stop my friends finding out the truth?”
She smiled, shook her head, denying it, but without any real enthusiasm. “I’m afraid I never liked spy movies and I don’t have time for soliloquies… Ben, you’re coming with me, Sam… Goodbye.”
Sam looked at her, fear and disbelief written on his hardened face.
She shifted her hand, aimed the Berretta at his chest and squeezed the trigger.
Bang!
Chapter Fifty-Six
Ben dived at Emma.
The forced knocked her over. Still gripping the handgun, she tried to turn it on him, but she was no match for his speed.
He disarmed her in one movement.
She put her palms skyward. “I’m sorry. You don’t understand what’s at stake here. You don’t understand what THEY will do to me if I don’t get you back.”
“Who are THEY?
“No. I can’t say, they will kill me.”
Ben pointed the handgun at her. “If you don’t say, I will kill you!”
She shrugged. “Some things are bigger than you, bigger than me. Some things are worth sacrificing everything for.”
“Emma! Who’s behind this!”
She pulled a flick knife out and lunged at him.
Ben squeezed the trigger, and released three rounds before she got anywhere near him. He shook his head, looking at her once beautiful body, now horribly distorted in death. She never even stood a chance.
Ben turned to Sam. “You okay?”
He clutched his chest. Blood dribbled out a single gunshot wound to the right side of his chest. He coughed. There was a fine mist of blood in his mouth. “I’m not going to lie to you, this hurts like hell!”
Ben said, “Sweet Jesus, you’ve been shot! We need to get you to the hospital.”
“No. We need to get you out. It’s your life that counts now.”
Ben rolled Emma over, taking her ID swipe card and her keys to her car — a Porsche Cayenne. “Time to go. Can you walk?”
Sam nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
He stood up, but couldn’t stay up.
Ben put his arm under Sam’s left shoulder and helped him into the elevator. He hit the button for the carpark.
Outside, Ben found her car parked closest to the elevator.
He clicked the remote button and opened the door to slide Sam in. Next to him, Sam’s breathing was getting faster.
“You okay? Can you breathe?”
“I’ll live,” Sam said. “Go!”
Ben turned the ignition key and the V8 Turbo roared. He released the electronic handbrake and drove down the series of downward spiralling ramps.
At the bottom, he pulled onto Cortland Drive, and then turned right onto 8th Street. The Porsche SUV hugged the snow-covered road like a tractor on steroids. He flicked the paddles behind the steering wheel and changed down gears again, turning left onto 4th. He gunned the accelerator and raced forward. When he reached 6th Street he shoved his foot on the brake.
The Porsche fishtailed on the ice, until its ABS anti-skid system managed to determine the most successful means of bringing the heavy SUV to a stop.
Ben stared at the array of police cars, blocking his escape route by every means. His heart pounded in the back of his head and he felt fear stir in his throat like bile. At the end of the bridge, a single snow plow blocked his only means across the Souris River and out of the trap.
Sam looked at him. “What?”
Ben said, “We’ve had a good run, Sam. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But we both know it’s time for you to get out.”
Sam laughed. “You don’t want me to come?”
“You know what has to happen from here. This isn’t Thelma and Louise — hell, I still don’t know if I like you. Either way, there’s no reason for you to follow me to the end.”
Sam gave him his hand. “You’re okay, Ben.”
Ben took it with a firm shake. “Yeah, you too. Thanks for everything.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Good luck.”
Sam stepped out of the car, collapsing on the icy road. Behind him, an ambulance raced to greet him.
Ben revved the powerful V8 Turbo.
He released the brake and the Porsche leapt into an eager gallop.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Special Agent Ryan Devereaux stood at the bridge on 6th Street. His eyes squinted as he fixed his gaze on the black SUV.
“What the hell’s he trying to do?” He levelled his eyes directly at him. “Doesn’t Ben know he’s surrounded? There’s no way out of this alive.”
The Secretary of Defense stood next to Devereaux. “There’s no way out of this for him even if he comes willingly.”
He met her gaze through narrowed eyes. “Everyone should be given a chance.”
“Not Ben. You know what’s at stake.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The Porsche picked up speed, racing straight for the bridge.
Devereaux and the Secretary of Defense stepped back.
The Porsche shot toward the bridge.
It was an exercise in futility. With the snow plow parked in the middle of the bridge, there was no way he could get across it. And everywhere else was thick snow. There was only one way in and one way out of the area.
It was Ben’s own personal labyrinth.
The SUV swerved at the last moment, breaking through the railing and driving off the side of the bridge.
It launched into the air, and crashed through the thin layer of ice into the flowing water beneath.
Devereaux and the Secretary of Defense ran to the edge of the bridge.
The water was flowing fast beneath the ice. They watched as the car drifted down the river, far below the ice. It might take weeks to locate the car. One thing was certain: no one could survive that.