“No. Why?”
“Sydney isn’t our final destination. We’ve got a connecting three-hour flight. Pine Gap is in the middle of the Australian outback, near Alice Springs.”
This time Vince didn’t groan. “You just love trying to make me miserable.”
“No,” Morgan said. “You do just fine on your own.”
FIVE
If the bullet had gone through one of the front tires, the Land Rover would have skidded off the road and plummeted into the Shotover River long ago. And although the right rear tire was punctured, it hadn’t shredded, so Tyler was able to open up some distance between him and the rear-wheel-drive Toyota on the snowy road. With the curves throwing off their aim, the pursuers’ shots went wild. So far luck had favored the pursued.
But two new problems faced them. Grant was now out of shells, and they had come down to an elevation where snow no longer covered the road. At the speed Tyler was going, the pavement would rip the punctured tire to tatters in minutes.
“Where are the cops?” Tyler said to Grant in the backseat.
“The dispatcher says they’re about two miles away.”
Tyler saw in the mirror that the Toyota was closing fast. “If we stop, we’ll never be able to hold out until the police get here.”
“There’s a small town up ahead,” Fay said. “Arthurs Point. We could run into a shop and get help.”
“Do the shop owners carry guns?”
“Shop owners in gun shops do.”
“I don’t suppose there are any gun shops in this little town.”
“I don’t think so.”
Hiding in a store might work, or it might get innocent bystanders killed. Given that the gunmen were still in hot pursuit, it didn’t seem like they cared much about witnesses.
Tyler saw a red sign flash by for Shotover Jet, the jet boats that take passengers on a high-speed ride down the Shotover River canyon. Grant had shown him a brief video of the boats when they were planning their trip to Queenstown, but Tyler hadn’t thought about it further because of the cold weather.
“Fay,” he said, “do the jet boats run in the winter?”
“Oh, yes. Year round.”
He glanced in the mirror and saw Grant nodding. “It’d be hard for them to follow us.”
Bullets hammered the tailgate.
“Down!” Tyler shouted, but nobody had to be told to duck.
The Toyota was less than a hundred yards behind them.
The rear wheel was now grinding along the asphalt, throwing up a shower of sparks. At any moment the wheel itself might fly off, and then they would be easy prey.
“Since they’re after
“Don’t worry, Fay,” Tyler said. “That’s not an option.”
“Good, because if you’re thinking of using the jet boats to get away from these men, the turnoff is coming up on the right.”
Tyler was impressed. Even though she was frightened, Fay still kept her wits. Sure enough, a new sign for the jet boats pointed to the right. Tyler cranked the wheel and grimaced as the rear hub squealed against the road in protest.
Tyler approached a fork in the road. “Which way?”
Fay indicated a gravel lane straight ahead. The Land Rover passed a parking lot where startled tourists watched the SUV flash by. Tyler slammed on the brakes as they turned down a tree-covered decline.
He accelerated again when they reached a rocky beach along a bend in the river. On the right were several of the bright-red jet boats still stowed on their trailers. Two boats were in the water, and Tyler could make out the twin-jets poking from the back of the sleek craft just above the waterline. Each of the identical boats was big enough to hold twenty passengers, and an aerodynamic roll-bar stretched across rear, giving them the appearance of sports cars.
Not that Tyler knew much about boats. Cars and planes were the vehicles he spent his time on. But Grant was a fanatic for boats. He had several of them back in Seattle and hosted a party on his thirty-foot Bayliner every August on Lake Washington to watch the Navy’s Blue Angels perform their air show. In addition to the cabin cruiser, he also owned a jet boat for water skiing.
If they made it onto one of the Shotover boats, Grant would be the one driving.
To their left, a group of passengers were waiting for their ride, already decked out in weather gear and life jackets. Several of them yelled as Tyler skidded across the stones.
One of the docked jet boats was unloading tourists, and the other was empty. Tyler had been hoping there would be only one boat, but with the Toyota rushing down the road toward them, blocking their sole way out, they were committed. Standing and fighting wasn’t an option.
He stopped and the three of them jumped out. Fay sprinted for the empty boat. Seeing that he didn’t have to help her, Grant waved the shotgun around in the air, sending the tourists and jet-boat operators scattering back toward the guest center in terror.
With the Land Rover covering their escape, they pounded across the dock and climbed into the boat. Passengers were rapidly evacuating the other one.
The Toyota smashed into the SUV, and more shots split the air. Tyler felt a round zing past him as he helped Fay into the boat. Grant tossed the shotgun on the deck and leaped in, quickly examining the dashboard. He found the ignition and hit the button. The engines turned over, burbling with barely restrained power.
While Fay belted herself into her seat in the front row, Tyler threw the lines off. “Clear!” The massive Blaine sprang out of the car and ran along the dock, snapping off shots from his pistol. Tyler dropped to the deck.
“Hold on!” Grant yelled.
He threw the throttle forward. With a deafening roar, the jet boat surged into the river. As the boat pulled away, Blaine jumped from the dock and landed in the back row.
“Watch out!” Tyler shouted to Grant, who turned around and saw that they had a hitchhiker. Blaine raised his pistol to fire. Tyler, in the front row of seats next to Fay, was too far away to do anything. He pulled her down to get her out of the line of fire and told her to stay as low as she could.
In the middle of the river, Grant turned the steering wheel all the way right, and the boat whirled around in a 360-degree spin. As he struggled to keep from being tossed out of the boat, Blaine was thrown into the handle bar in front of his seat and dropped the pistol into the third row.
“He lost it!” Tyler yelled as he saw Foreman draw a bead with his own pistol from the dock. “Go! Go!”
Grant goosed the throttle, and the boat darted ahead just as rounds slammed into it. Tyler couldn’t hear over the cacophonous engines, but Foreman rushed through the fleeing passengers from the other boat and screamed at the operator, who dived over the side into the freezing water. Foreman climbed in, obviously intent on continuing the pursuit.
Having regained his footing, Tyler vaulted into the second row of seats and leaned down, searching frantically for the dropped pistol. Blaine had the same idea and spotted it before Tyler did. He bent over to snatch it, but Tyler grabbed his arm to prevent him reaching it. Neither would let go of the other, and both of them fell into the third row as they entered the narrow canyon downriver.
Because of the precise control the engine nozzles afforded them, the Shotover Jet boats could come within a foot of the canyon walls, nearly brushing the rocky outcroppings as they rocketed down the river at sixty knots. Though it seemed dangerous, the highly trained operators made it a safe thrill.
Tyler just hoped that Grant had as much skill as the normal operators, because they were coming awfully close to hitting the cliffs.
