Ryan shrugged, deflecting Morris’s well-meant advice-as wise and sincere as it might be, he knew he couldn’t take heed. “The last few days have been full of well-meaning people telling me I’m making a mistake, Lieutenant. But I’ve somehow survived, following only my hunches, listening to only my intuition. I’m running on raw instinct, relying on what my heart directs me to do. It’s not in my nature to quit,” Ryan explained, cognizant that time was slipping away.
He took a deep breath and continued, fully committed to his course of action. “I realize I’m going to jail when this is all over, but I’ll do it on my terms with a clear conscience that I spared nothing that could have saved my family…even if it costs my life. If you were in my shoes, maybe you’d understand. Shoot me if you must…but I’m leaving. Good luck, David,” he said conclusively.
Ryan slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and slowly drove away, leaving Morris standing alone on the side of the road. He didn’t have a clue where his determination came from; there seemed to be an untapped reservoir of strength within him, granting immeasurable courage, blind faith, and mystical protection from danger. It was like a metaphysical force pushed him inexorably forward, breaking down barriers, smashing obstacles that blocked his way. Jarrod had sacrificed himself to identify Jer’s kidnappers. It was time to repay that debt and reunite his family. Ryan felt an unrecognizable power coursing through his body; destiny lay ahead. I can’t let Jarrod down.
Morris stood on the side of the road, gun drawn, watching as the Navigator’s taillights slowly receded. Good luck, you crazy son-of-a-bitch, he thought. You’re on your own, Mr. Marshall.
But somehow he didn’t figure luck had anything to do with Marshall’s fate. Ryan’s tenacity and perseverance were immeasurable. Never had he encountered anyone with such stubborn and unwavering determination. He secretly admired the Marshalls and hoped whatever they had going for them would last a while longer. I hope I’m not attending a funeral when this is all over, he mused.
Morris’s only priority now was to get to the men in the Kenworth and impede their progress. He imagined they were awaiting a signal that the coast was clear before advancing their mission.
Morris opened the satchel and put on the night-vision goggles. The Foxfire mic would be useless from this range but he hooked it up anyway. He grabbed a couple of ammo clips and stuffed them in his back pockets for easy access. Starting out he climbed a barbed-wire fence to allow making a wide circle back to the truck. He covered the distance in just a few minutes.
When he arrived, Morris could hear the low rumble of the diesel engine still idling, but noticed that only the driver was still inside. The passenger had exited the vehicle and was standing inside the bed of the truck. He looked to be positioning a sniper rifle on top of the cab. Hell’s bells, not a moment too soon.
Morris gave the truck a wide berth and slinked back across the barbed wire fence, coming at it from the rear. Protocol dictated he take out the sniper first and then handle the driver. If done in reverse, he chanced drawing deadly fire from the sniper. He thought about simply shooting the tires from the darkened field, but this tactic would risk setting both men free, making them increasingly difficult to apprehend. Sniper first.
He moved cautiously, creeping steadily toward the back of the truck, hoping to surprise the sniper before he could retaliate.
“Police officer! Hold it right there, mister,” Morris shouted, stepping sprightly onto the bumper at the back of the truck, but keeping the thick steel tailgate between him and the sniper. “One twitch and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
The sniper froze, completely caught off-guard, assessing his next move.
“Tell your partner to exit the truck with his hands over his head,” Morris barked, realizing it would be impossible for him to cover both men from his position. “If either of you makes a false move, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
“Easy, mister,” Tom Starkovich replied. “I don’t want any trouble, but I’ve got a strict timetable…if we don’t respond on schedule, some hostages will be eliminated.”
“Yes, I know all about your man back at Wildcat and the hostages. Unfortunately for him, he’s missing his head and the police are on their way,” Morris said smugly. “Now if you’ll slowly put your hands on your head and back away from the rifle, we’ll step down…real easy like.”
The man in Morris’s sights reluctantly complied, placing his hands on his head, keeping his back exposed. He yelled to his partner, “Emil, we’ve got problems. Step out of the truck. There’s a man holding a gun on me. He wants your hands visible…do as he says.”
Morris heard the truck door open but the next few seconds compressed as if the laws of time and space were suspended. Everything happened instantaneously. As the driver stepped from the truck, the shooter took a quick step back and swung around, firing a barrage of bullets from a compact automatic weapon concealed on the front of his black vest. Morris ducked instinctively behind the protective steel gate but kept his hand over the top and blindly returned the man’s fire.
At the same time the driver exited the cab and began shouting, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed.”
Morris knew he’d hit the sniper, but it didn’t seem to stop him. There was no way he could have missed him firing six shots into the tight confines of the dump truck. And then it dawned on him: He’s wearing a vest. He heard the man’s spent clip hit the steel bed of the truck and another snap into place. Morris retreated, taking cover underneath the truck, and waited for the man to climb down. Lying flat on his stomach, he looked around, but he’d lost sight of the driver. There was no way to verify the man’s claim to be unarmed. One thing at a time… concentrate!
He fired off two well-aimed shots into the front tires, which audibly wheezed as the truck slumped to the ground. Having immobilized the truck gave Morris more leverage over the shooter, still hidden up top inside the dump bed. “Give it up, mister. You’re trapped. You can’t get past me. Let’s be reasonable,” he urged, buying time and calculating the possibilities.
“Can’t do it, sir,” Starkovich replied. “There’s too much depending on my unit.”
Morris picked up two important details from the man’s response. First, his comportment suggested he was military-trained and therefore a professional. And second, judging from the strain in the man’s voice, he could tell the shooter had been hit. I’ve got the advantage.
“Whatever your mission, it’s over,” Morris said. “You’ve been hit; I can hear it in your voice. I’ve been tracking you guys since the Quantum job. You’re done…give it up.”
“Sorry, sir, I’ve got to take this all the way. It’s just you against two of us and I’ve got the high ground.”
“That may be, but reinforcements are on the way,” Morris lied, buying time. “You can’t win.”
“We’ll see about that, sir.”
Damnit! Where’s the other guy?
SIXTY-SEVEN
Fort Knox Depository
Everything was in place: Terry Ventura completed the overhead electrical connection and the antigravity machine was ready to power up; Mills had the computers running and the microwave dish was extended and focused on the closest perimeter guard tower; the initiation sequence was the last step to complete. On Kilmer’s order, Mills began turning the large orange dial and the nuclear core started spinning inside the generator housing. Jarrod Conrad had only to enable the flow of gravitrons with his laptop equations. History was about to be made.
“Righto, yer on, Professor,” Kilmer said, roughly grabbing Jarrod’s arm and forcefully dragging him toward the control console. “No bullshit! Ya squib out, and yer rellies are dead.”
“I know, Chief,” Jarrod scoffed, unable to simply acquiesce to Kilmer’s insufferable bullying. “I promised to cooperate…that’s my intention.”
Then Jarrod raised his eyebrows, looking excited. “Actually, I’m just as interested as anyone to see if the antigravity generator you boys fashioned will handle the load. As I’ve said, there’s no empirical evidence to support how the machine will respond. We could be signing a death warrant for everyone within fifty miles of this base.”
