earlier, heading in the direction of San Diego. lt had been decided to carry out the intercept well away from the builtup area of the city, but close enough to city limits to allow rapid access to hospital if that became necessary.
A radio message came through that Cook's car had been spotted in the vicinity and was still approaching. lt was expected to reach the roadblock in the next few minutes. Teresa removed the safety catch, and placed her gun next to Patresse's on the hot paintwork of the police car.
She wiped her brow with the back of a sleeve, and they both spat into the dust at the side of the road.
Teresa stepped back from the car. She gazed at the surrounding scenery: the low hills, the small trees, the sagebrush, the telegraph poles alongside the highway, the buildings of San Diego behind, and a distant glimpse of the sea. Teresa knew that this was a finality, that there was nothing beyond or behind what she could see, but that everything within sight and touch was flawless, seamless, a self- enclosed reality.
She stretched her hands and arms down behind her back, linking the fingers, then tensing them until the knuckles popped. Her barrel chest and protruding belly swelled out before her.
She brought her hands back, and flexed the fingers in the sunlight, turning her hands to and fro. There was a tattoo of a blue heart inscribed with the name 'Tammy' visible beneath the forest of black hairs on her right hand. Her palms were sweating, so she wiped them on the seat of her pants. She picked up her gun, crouched down, rested her left forearm along the hot metal of the car, and sighted the weapon towards one of the cars currently slowing down to pass through the roadblock.
Beside her, Rico Patresse was doing the same. He was talking football: the Aztecs game upcoming at the weekend was going to be a tough one, so long as they fielded the same side from last week. What they needed to do
A blue Pontiac appeared at the corner, following two other cars. Teresa and Rico hunched down, trigger fingers relaxed but ready to fire.
'You wanna bet he won't stop?' said Patresse.
'Nah, he'll stop,' Teresa said, and recoiled mentally from the sound of her own voice, redolent of too much old beer and stale smoke. 'They always haveter stop in the end.'
They both laughed. She shifted the gum to her cheek and wadded it behind her teeth, so as to concentrate on her aim.
She heard a car approaching from behind their position, and broke her concentration long enough to glance quickly over her shoulder. A silverandblue Chevrolet station wagon was driving slowly towards the roadblock. An overweight, elderly black woman was at the wheel, peering anxiously ahead.
'Who let that goddamn car through?' Teresa shouted,
even as she realized who the driver must be.
'Get back, lady!' Officer Patresse shouted, without shifting his position. He and Teresa both waved their arms. The station wagon kept on coming. lt steered between the two police cars, and drove uncertainly on. For a few seconds the car was in their line of fire, blocking most of their view.
Beyond it, Just in sight around it, Teresa could see the Pontiac, still driving towards them.
Finally, the Chevrolet lumbered out of the way, and in the same instant the driver of the blue car must have seen the roadblock. The Pontiac's nose suddenly dipped down and the rear end skidded round. There was the sound of tyres, and a cloud of dust rose in the air.
The driver's door opened, and a figure half fell, half scrambled out. He pulled open the rear passenger door, and dragged out a man with his hands tied behind his back. The hostage collapsed on the surface of the highway. The driver crouched down beside him, and pulled a rifle out of the car. He moved swiftly, and handled the weapon with appalling skill and exactness of motion.
The Chevrolet was alongside him at this moment, and Teresa could see the woman driver looking in horror at what was happening beside her. She braked suddenly, throwing up more dust. It was getting difficult to see clearly.
'Take him out, joe!' said Patresse.
Teresa fired, and a spurt of dust flew up beneath the trunk of Cook's car. The man immediately swung the rifle towards her, and fired twice in quick succession. The first bullet buried itself somewhere in the body of the police car, the second screeched along the metal hood and snatched at Teresa's nonfiring arm. Pain flashed through her.
'Shit!' she yelled in her barroom voice, turned hoarse with agony.
' You hit bad, joe?'
Her hand was still working, her alm was steady. She dashed to one side, crouching low, and threw herself on the rocky ground behind the police car. She had a clear line of fire. She took alm on Cook, but things had changed again.
The driver of the Chevy had climbed out of her car and was holding a gun, levelling it at Cook.
'Hey, joe!' Rico shouted. 'The witness has a handgun! You want me to shoot her?'
'Hell, no! Leave it to me!'
She still had a clear line to Cook, so she fired. Then again, and again. Her third bullet struck him and he was thrown to the ground. Beside him, the hostage was struggling to get away.
Cook sat upright slowly, got hold of his rifle, took aim at her, fired. He fell back.
Gravel and grit flew up in front of Teresa's face, spitting into her mouth, eyes and hair. She ducked down, waiting for the next shot, but after a few seconds of silence she chanced another look.
Her last bullet must have struck him decisively. Cook was again lying on his back in the road. He was still gripping the rifle, which was standing on its stock, pointing at the sky. As Teresa watched him his grip relaxed, and the rifle clattered to the ground.
She got to her feet, and with her gun aimed steadily at Cook's body she returned to the shelter of the police car.
