"He's switching on his turn signal. He's coming after us, all right," Jason said tightly as we hit the off-ramp leading up to the crossroad and the bridge. "Which way do I turn?"
"Left, towards those mountains. Accelerate over highway and maintain high speed until we are beyond the first rise of ground, that will hide us from highway. As for you, Mr. Helm-" The Chinaman frowned at me thoughtfully. I knew what was on his mind. He had a decision to make. On the one hand, if we were stopped by the policeman following us, a tightly bound prisoner would be hard to explain. On the other hand, if he cut me loose, I might cause trouble.
"As for you, Mr. Helm, you will remain tied," he said. I should have been flattered. It showed that he thought highly of me. He went on, "If you place any value upon human life, you will do nothing further to arouse suspicion. You understand. If we cannot satisfy this policeman somehow, we will be forced to kill him."
Bobbie Prince gasped. "But you can't… I mean, if you shoot a cop, you'll have them all-" She stopped, jolted into silence as Jason made his left turn onto the overpass, accelerating hard. The sound of the engine and the exhaust hammered back at us from the concrete railings. A quick descent followed; and we had the highway behind us and were heading up the gentle slope away from it, still picking up speed. Jason was having his hands full keeping the wagon headed straight in the soft gravel of the little ranch road.
"The fuzz is off the bridge, sir. He's coming right after us.,,
"Get us over the hill; then slow down and let him overtake us."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Soo looked at the girl beside me. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously gentle: "Your concern for the life of a bourgeois constable speaks well for your humanitarianism, Miss Prince, but not so well for your training and loyalty."
"No, you don't understand!" Bobbie licked her lips. "I just meant that for practical reasons… I mean, we can't very well finish our job if every pig in the state is hunting for us."
"I promise to consider all practical aspects carefully, Miss Prince." The Chinaman's voice was still soft. "You will concern yourself with prisoner. He is your responsibility. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Jason spoke without turning his head. "Do I slow down as soon as we're out of sight?"
"Yes."
The station wagon was almost airborne as it topped the rise, the road dropping away unexpectedly beyond. For a moment I thought Jason was going to lose it in a wild skid; then he had it under control once more, coasting, letting the speed drop without touching the brake.
"Here comes Fuzzy. He's turned on his flasher," Jason said. "Do we stop?"
"Of course we stop. Would we resist officer of the law in performance of duty? Jason."
"Yes, sir."
"I will speak with him. If I make signal, you know what to do."
"Yes, sir."
We rolled to a halt at the side of the gravel road. At once, Mr. Soo got out and walked back towards the patrol car as it parked behind us. When I started to turn my head to watch, Bobbie gestured with my gun.
"Don't move!" she breathed. "Sit perfectly still, darling!"
Jason had got out more slowly than the Chinaman. He walked back there deliberately, leaving the station wagon door open. Now I could hear them talking back there.
"… stolen car?" Mr. Soo was saying. "My dear officer, you must be mistaken."
"No, sir. This station wagon was reported stolen just a few hours ago. The word came from California. They said for us to watch for you, you might be heading east. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to-"
"No!"
That was Bobbie Prince, beside me. Her small sound of protest was drowned by the reverberating noise of a single shot. I heard something fall to the ground behind me. Bobbie was staring out the back window. Slowly she turned to look at me. Her face was white and her blue eyes were wide and shocked.
"Hell, it's just a pig," I said.
"Damn you!" she hissed. "Damn you, be quiet!"
"You'd better get out there and take a look," I said. "You don't want to miss the chance of seeing a freshly dead pig, do you? Anyway, you might as well start getting used to stiffs. Practice up. You'll see a lot more of them shortly, including mine-" She made a funny little sound in her throat; then she was scrambling into the front seat, hampered by her long legs and the headrests. Finally she got all of herself over and behind the wheel. The jerk, as she sent the car forward, slammed the open door and set me back against the vinyl-upholstered cushions. I looked back to see the lean man called Jason aiming a big revolver at us, but before he could shoot, Mr. Soo had pulled his arm down.
The last I saw, as we dipped into an arroyo, was the two of them dragging the uniformed body towards the police car parked at the side of the road, its red light still flashing steadily.
XXVII
For a girl born in the land of the rickshaw, if her story was correct, she had internal combustion ambitions. She took the gravel road at a pace that had me bouncing around the rear seat while I tried to peel away the decorative foil that covered my sharp-edged belt buckle. Succeeding in this, I got to work on my bonds. They were tough, braided clothesline, which is difficult stuff to cut under the best conditions; and in spite of the jolting of the car, it seemed desirable to do the job without severing any essential veins or arteries..
Abruptly, Bobbie swerved the big wagon to the side of the road, skidded it to a halt, cut the engine, and began to cry, burying her face in her arms, folded on the steering wheel. We were now quite high in the foothills of the mountain range towards which the road seemed to lead. Looking out the rear window, I could see the geometrically correct line the distant freeway made across the empty landscape. A little closer, I could see the police car where we'd left it. Somebody had turned off the flasher.
It had company; a jeep and a truck mounting a big white cylinder. Mr. Soo was undoubtedly holding a council of war.
If I could see them, they could see me; and I renewed my efforts with the trick buckle, but it was slow going.
"Oh, stop wiggling!" Bobbie said abruptly, lifting her head. She ran her sleeve across her eyes, and did some wiggling of her own, digging into the pocket of her jeans, not designed for quick-draw work. There was a metallic click. "Here… Well, stick out your wrists, stupid!"
She was holding my knife over the back of the seat, open, edge up. I held out my hands. A moment later I was free. She turned the knife around and presented it to me handle first. I reached down to cut the ropes about my ankles, and straightened up, closing and pocketing the knife.
"Thanks," I said. "What about my gun?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. I can't give you that. I'm helping you get away, isn't that enough?"
"Not really," I said. "It's not my job to get away."
"Well, I don't want to be involved in any more killing!" I said deliberately, "What are you so uptight about, sweetheart? Like I said before, it was just a lousy cop. I thought you hated the pigs."
"You're not very funny. You're not funny at all!" She drew a ragged breath. "I don't want anybody else to be killed, not even you! Don't you understand? I certainly can't help you kill them… Ouch, what are you doing?"
I'd seized her left hand, which had been resting on the top of the seat as she sat twisted around to look at me. There are several ways of exerting pressure on a hand so that the owner thereof can't move without tearing a few ligaments in the fingers or wrist and causing himself-or herself-excruciating pain in the process. I picked the one that seemed most appropriate.
When, having tested my grip and found it agonizingly effective, she was quiet once more, I looked over the seat. My revolver was lying where she'd dropped it when she started driving, on the seat beside her. I picked it up.