TWENTY-NINE
As soon as Locke’s head had appeared over the front of the cab platform, Cutter realized what had happened. Driving the Liebherr had been as easy as he thought it might be, and he had tasked Simkins with patrolling the perimeter of the platform to make sure no one got close enough to take pot shots at him in the cab.
The suitcase sat on the floor next to Cutter. He couldn’t destroy it back at the Gordian compound, which meant he’d had to steal it. The Liebherr had presented a unique possibility, and the plan had worked perfectly. He just needed to make sure he could get to his impromptu escape point before they could figure out a way to stop the truck. Once there, he could flee along with the crowds. If he was stopped before that, there would be no way off the truck without being spotted. He would be surrounded easily. He couldn’t let that happen.
With the mirrors, he had kept his pursuers at bay, using Simkins as his sniper. Locke had figured out how to thwart that tactic. Cutter had guessed it was only a matter of time before Locke tried something else.
Then he’d seen Locke’s face pop up. Simkins had rushed over without checking over the side and got surprised by Locke, who pulled Simkins down. Cutter had lost sight of them both. But he knew the stairs in front of the radiator went almost to the ground. If they were still on it, Cutter had an excellent way to take care of the problem.
Ahead was some kind of outdoor storage facility for a building supplier. Piles of bricks were stacked for shipping, each pile taller than the last and at least six feet thick.
All Cutter had to do was run into them. The truck would absorb the impact without even slowing down. Even if the stairs weren’t completely crushed, being hit by a ton of bricks would take care of Locke.
Too bad about Simkins, though. He was a good soldier, and he would die like one.
Grant, who kept the Tesla parallel to the dump truck, watched in horror as the Liebherr purposely approached the piles of bricks, spaced out at 50 foot intervals to allow forklifts to carry the brick pallets out. The first was 10 feet high, the one behind that 15 feet, and the third one twenty feet. He was certain the driver knew Locke was on the stairs.
He saw Locke get his warning. Locke kneed the man who had fallen down the stairs with him and scrambled up the radiator stairway. The gunman, still holding his midsection, was at the bottom of the stairs when the truck hit the first pile.
The hijacker was pulverized by the bricks, which also ripped apart the stairs just below Locke’s feet. He lost his footing for a moment, and Grant held his breath. Locke recovered and pulled himself up five more feet, out of the way of a second pile of bricks that exploded against the front of the truck, its hardened-steel radiator grill merely dented by the mass of bricks. Grant had seen him cheat death too many times to think Locke would fail now, but he still couldn’t believe his friend’s luck.
Locke leaped up to the top of the stairs just as the third pile wrenched the stairs loose from the top, and Grant was sure Locke was going to fall.
He blinked and saw that one bolt still held. Locke dangled from a piece of railing that jutted out in front of the engine. He was too far from the right side staircase to swing himself over. If he fell, it was twenty feet to the ground at 40 mph. Grant didn’t care how lucky Locke was, there would be no surviving that.
Grant had to help him somehow.
The Tesla started pinging. Grant looked at the instrument panel and saw the issue. The batteries of the all- electric car were almost out of juice. He could already feel it starting to slow down, which meant he had one chance to help Locke.
The Liebherr driver, probably thinking he’d killed Locke, had swung back onto the main road, trailed by a gaggle of police cars, headed toward some unknown destination. He obviously felt impervious high up in that cab.
Grant forced the Tesla over in front of the truck, his foot jammed to the floor to keep the sports car from slowing down. He lined himself up under Locke, who was straining to keep hold.
The back of the Tesla was mere feet in front of the enormous truck. Locke’s feet swung high above Grant’s left shoulder. Grant couldn’t get close enough for Locke to land in the car’s passenger cabin. If Locke hit the trunk, he’d most likely bounce off and under the truck’s undercarriage. Grant would have to try something else, something even he thought was crazy.
He swung the Tesla so that it was alongside with the right-side stairway that went straight down to the bottom front of the truck. It had survived the battering by the brick piles. He hit the cruise control and took one final look ahead to make sure he had enough straight road. The adrenaline was flooding through him just like he was about to jump out of an airplane, except this was about 100 times more dangerous. He shouted at the top of his lungs to pump himself up.
He stood on the seat, stabilizing the steering wheel. Then in one fluid motion, Grant jumped up and leaped onto the Liebherr’s right-side stairway. He gave another shout for making it.
With the steering wheel uncontrolled, the Tesla swung left and disappeared under the truck’s massive wheels. Grant heard the crunch of smashed metal. The Tesla was gone.
He turned and saw Locke still hanging by two hands, but his grip seemed to be fading. Grant braced himself against the railing of the steeper right-side staircase and leaned out as far as he could stretch. Locke let go with one hand. They could just barely grab each other’s hands.
“On three!” Grant yelled. “One! Two! Three!”
He yanked Locke’s hand as Locke released his grip on the railing. He plunged down, and Grant reeled him in like a prize tuna. For a second, Locke’s feet bounced against the asphalt. Grant heaved and pulled him up.
When they were both secure on the staircase, they fell to the stairs, panting for air.
Locke wiped his brow with his sleeve, then pushed himself up slowly. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“And you think I’m nuts?” he said, his voice shakier than Grant had ever heard it before.
“Bat-shit cuckoo,” Grant replied.
Locke held out his hand, and Grant shook it.
“Thanks,” Locke said. “I owe you several for that maneuver.”
“And we owe Tesla a new car.”
“We’ve got bigger problems.” Locke pointed at an approaching sign. It said Splash World parking lot next right. “That’s how he’s planning to get away.”
“Let’s get him then,” Grant said climbing toward the top of the staircase. He felt Locke grab his ankle.
“Guy’s got the AR-15 trained on us. He’ll take us out before we get halfway to the cab.” Locke took out his Leatherman tool. “Here. You’re the electrical engineer. Since you’re on board now, you can do it.”
The truck swerved around and into the Splash World parking lot. It began mowing through cars like Bigfoot’s gigantic brother.
“And hurry,” Locke added.
The engine bay was open on the side for easy access and maintenance. Like most modern engines, the Liebherr’s was computer controlled. If Grant could disable the computer, the truck’s safeguards would kick in, cut off the fuel supply, and the brakes would automatically engage.
“If I had known you’d go to all this trouble to get me on the truck,” Grant yelled as he climbed into the roaring engine bay, “I would have made you drive.”
He could see a checkered view of the park fence through the front grill. It was swiftly approaching. He unfolded the Leatherman and opened the wire cutters carefully. If he dropped it, they’d be royally screwed.
Grant could make out screams in the distance, but he didn’t see anyone getting run over by the truck. At least that was something. Up ahead, he saw what the driver was aiming for. A collection of waterslides. If the
