He nodded with satisfaction, then drove towards the exit.
It was difficult to keep the truck steady on account of the wind, so he drove with care. There was no hurry, after all. Nobody would be taking a sightseeing tour of the refinery just now, so there was no risk that the kids would be rescued. All he had to do was get to a safe distance — out of the way of the refinery and the course of the storms — and then detonate. Deliver the videotape to the newspapers in a day or so and the money would be his.
He left the refinery with a pleasing sense of confidence. Everything was going like clockwork.
There was nothing quite so satisfying as a good day's work.
Danny wasn't wasting any time — Ben thought the pickup was travelling much more quickly than when he himself was driving it. Maybe it just seemed that way: he and Angelo were being thrown around in the back with every sideways movement of the vehicle; and there were plenty of those. His body had taken some serious punishment today; now, though, he felt that it was being bruised beyond recognition.
Still, he wasn't about to complain. They had plenty of reasons to move quickly after all. It was essential that they caught up with the mercenary. The only thing that stood between them and the refinery going up in smoke was a tiny remote detonator. As they drove, nightmare flashes shrieked through Ben's mind of the man silently flicking the small switch that would cause untold disaster; when that happened, he found himself urging Danny to speed faster through the storm.
They had to stop him.
They had to.
But they had more than one reason for urging Danny on. The tornado — that massive, ugly giant that had flashed into their vision for only a few seconds — was following them. They couldn't see it; they couldn't even hear it above the rest of the storm. But it was there, like a stranger in the night creeping after them with a murderous intent. The very thought of it made Ben shudder and grip onto the edge of the pick-up truck that little bit more tightly.
He looked over at Angelo. His Italian friend was also hugging the edge of the truck, his long, dark hair blowing wildly in the screaming wind. Despite the terrifying scenario, however, Ben thought he could see a change in him. For the last few hours, he had seemed like all the fight had left him. He had seemed broken. But now there was a new determination about him. He had his head leaning over the edge of the pick-up truck and he was looking forward, not back.
They drove for a good twenty minutes without seeing another moving vehicle. As they wavered down the road, Ben suddenly panicked. What if they were heading in the wrong direction? What if the mercenary wasn't driving south at all? He tried to put that thought from his mind. He had to be. He wasn't stupid enough to follow the direction of the hurricane, was he? Not that it could be worse anywhere else than it was here. Along the sides of the road were signs of the devastation the storm had caused. Cars were upturned and roofs were flapping in the wind. There were no lights on anywhere, nor any sign of people. Ben wondered how long it would take to clear up this destruction. Months, probably. Years.
'There's something up ahead!' Angelo cried, his voice hoarse as it battled with the noise of the engine and the wind. 'I can see its lights.'
Ben stretched his neck over the edge of the truck and looked forwards. Sure enough, in the distance he saw some lights. He couldn't tell how far away they were — the rain meant that distances were a bit hazy — but he reckoned it couldn't have been more than a couple of hundred metres.
'Get down!' he shouted at Angelo. 'We can't let him know we're here.'
Angelo nodded and the two of them flung themselves down into the water that was sluicing around the back of the truck. It was deeply uncomfortable. With nothing to hold onto, they slid around uncontrollably. Ben felt the engine accelerating and as a result they were pushed further to the back: clearly Danny had also seen the vehicle up ahead and was risking the dangers of travelling even faster in the high winds to catch up with it.
Suddenly the truck slowed down.
Ben wished he could peer out to see what was happening but that was out of the question. Instead he stayed well hidden. Angelo was looking at him intently.
'Ready?' the Italian called grimly.
'Ready,' Ben replied. His skin was tingling with anticipation of what was to come.
The pick-up truck ground to a halt.
Ben tried to imagine what would be happening. He pictured the pick-up truck driving alongside the other vehicle, whatever it was; he imagined Danny leaning out of the window and flagging the attention of the mercenary. Now the two of them had stopped.
A car door slammed. Then another one.
Both men would be approaching each other.
Ben held his breath. It was all in Danny's hands now. All in the hands of a man Ben still couldn't be sure whether he could trust. A man who had already double-crossed them once that day. And there was nothing he or Angelo could do but wait and see what happened.
The mercenary had been keeping his eye on the road and his hands on the steering wheel. It was a difficult drive with the wind buffeting the truck from all sides, but he was in no hurry. He could afford to take it easy. To stay safe. He maintained a slow but steady speed as he continued down US Route 1. It wouldn't be long before he approached the Overseas Highway, a long road bridge that jutted up through the ocean and carried Route 1 from the Florida mainland to the Keys. He would use it to cross to Key Largo, the largest of the Keys and the nearest to the mainland. Once he was there, he estimated, he would be far enough away from the refinery and any damage the explosion might cause.
That was when he would detonate.
The roads were satisfyingly deserted. He hadn't seen a single car since he left the refinery. The evacuation process must have been swift; those that were still left would have battened down the hatches and prayed that the storm didn't cause them or their property too much damage. It suited him. It meant he had the road to himself.
Or did he?
He blinked as he looked in the rear-view mirror. Behind him, through the thick rain, he saw the unmistakable glare of a set of headlights.
He shrugged. It didn't matter. If somebody was fool enough to be out on the roads in this weather without good reason, that was their business, not his. He directed his attention back to the road ahead and concentrated on keeping the truck steady.
It was a minute or so later that he noticed the headlamps again. This time they were much closer. He furrowed his brows. Whoever was driving the vehicle must be going very quickly. Another look in the mirror verified this: the headlamps seemed to waver from side to side. The driver was obviously having difficulty keeping the truck on the road. In response, the mercenary slowed down. He didn't want to come off worse in a collision if the idiot behind him couldn't control his vehicle. Better to let it pass than try and outrun it.
His attention was split now, half of it on the road ahead, half of it on the approaching vehicle. It was close now — blindingly close. He could not look for too long at the headlamps in the mirror for fear of dazzling himself. He cursed the driver's stupidity. He was too close. Carry on like this and it could end badly for both of them.
Suddenly the vehicle pulled out as if to overtake, then drew alongside him. It was a pick-up truck with an open back, he saw. It looked vaguely familiar, but then there were thousands of pick-up trucks across America. He slowed slightly to allow it to pass more quickly, but to his amazement the pick-up kept level with him.