Rink gave an expansive shrug. 'Who knows? They coulda been acting together long before any of this happened.'
'No. I don't believe that. Chance threw them together. I think John became an unwilling puppet. The evidence is all there. Remember that it was John who saved the old woman, that it was John who gave us the tools to hunt Cain down. It was his decision to take my cell phone. Do you really believe he'd have done that if he was working with Cain?'
'No, I don't. An' I don't think he'd offer himself up as a sacrifice, either. I'm only playing advocate here. I don't suppose we'll ever know the true story.'
'Only way we're gonna find that out is to save John,' I said. 'If I have my way, Cain won't be around to do any explaining.'
Out here on the fringes of the Mojave Desert, there was a surreal cast to the early evening sky. Behind us, hovering above the Pacific Ocean, the sun's final gasp made the sky a mother-of-pearl banner. Alongside the road, Joshua trees cast elongated shadows like accusing fingers, pointing the way to the showdown ahead.
Four vehicles ahead, Cain flicked on his lights, ensuring that we could follow him as the night began to descend over the desert.
While he drove, Rink drank mineral water courtesy of the government. He offered me some. Pity that the bottle didn't contain something a little stronger. Nonetheless, I accepted it and chugged down a grateful mouthful.
Really, I should've been thirstier than I was, I should've felt the
need for food. Neither of us had eaten anything since early that morning. However, the continued release of adrenaline ensured that nothing would pass my lips that required my stomach to hold on to it. Anything more solid than the spring water, I suspected, would end up projected out the window in a couple of miles.
As night came, Rink pushed the SUV on. One of the cars between us turned up a side road and Rink filled the gap it left.
For two more hours Cain led us on a merry dance. Then, as if concerned that we might miss him turning off the main route, he used his turn signal, slowed down dramatically, and crawled to an intersection.
Two of the cars ahead of us overtook him before he reached the turnoff. As Cain swept to the right, the remaining car continued on to the east, and I saw Cain hit the brakes a couple of times, ensuring that we didn't lose him.
'Considerate son of a bitch,' Rink muttered.
Then Cain was on the overpass, crossing the interstate, heading northward. On the bridge he slowed to a crawl, watched as we swung onto the off ramp. Then he gave the Dodge gas and peeled away.
'I guess we're getting close now, and he wants time to prepare,' I said.
The GPS tracker had been obsolete for some hours now. Throughout it had traveled cradled in my palms, for no other reason than it stopped me fiddling with my gun. Luck, or maybe foresight, caused me to check the screen. The cursor indicating the latest triangulated location of the cell phone had finally stopped moving. I didn't even bother to frown. Cain had discovered our deception. Maybe he'd found John was carrying the device as soon as they'd left the house at Long Beach; maybe it was much later. Whatever. When he'd slowed down, it wasn't to taunt us, it was to throw away the phone.
It was clear that he wanted us nearby. More clear was his need to buy a little time before we arrived at the meeting ground.
'Put your foot down, Rink.'
'I can still see his lights,' Rink said. 'I won't lose him.'
'He won't let you lose him,' I said. 'He'll make sure we know ex- actly where he is. But he'll be prepared for our arrival, and I don't want to allow him that advantage.'
37
'you don't look so good.' Cain studied his passenger. His words, he decided, were an understatement. John was spread across the backseat of the Dodge like yesterday's fast-food wrappers; cold, soiled, and greasy. Blood from his wound caked his clothing all down his side. His hands were also reddishbrown and he had smears on his forehead. Perspiration oozed from him like water from a half-dead boiler.
'I said that you don't look so good, John,' Cain said, watching John's eyelids flutter in the rearview mirror.
'Turn off the light, willya?' John mumbled incoherently.
'I need to check that you're okay,' Cain said, but he reached up and flicked off the interior lights.
'Why? You're gonna kill me,' John said, his voice coming out like marbles over a tin sheet. 'Or have you forgotten?'
'You keep saying that. I might have a change of mind.'
'Yeah, right.' John forced himself to sit upright.
'Lay back down.'
'I'm fine.'
'The road gets kinda rough up ahead. It would be better if you were lying down. Less chance you'll open up your wound again.'
'My wound's fine.'
Cain gave a humorless laugh. 'Suit yourself.'
'Better than suiting you,' John said with little conviction.
Cain drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. 'You know, I'm not sure this old heap will get us where we're going. Not in any shape, at least.'
'Won't matter,' John told him. 'You won't need it for the return trip. You'll be getting a lift in the coroner's
