be in the wrecking business.”
Taggart laughed. “Used to be, he says.”
Hardin cautioned, “No fires. We don’t want to call attention to this one for a while.”
Pettibone shook his head. “Ain’t gonna be no fires. The engine’s off so there won’t be no spark to touch off any spilled gas.”
Hardin said, “Get to it, then. We got things to do, too.” He turned to Taggart. “You take Bauer’s arms and I’ll take his feet so we can carry him to the car.”
Taggart said, “You would leave me the hardest part of the work.”
“Rank has its privileges,” Hardin said, chuckling. He stood at Jack’s feet while Taggart stood at his head. Taggart hunkered down, getting his hands under Jack’s arms and clasping them on top of Jack’s chest. Hardin grabbed Jack’s feet by the ankles, holding them together and getting them under one arm. The lawmen straightened up, lifting Jack off the ground. He choked back a groan as the movement sent new pain waves shivering through him.
The scene came into view from a different perspective. The battered Mercedes slumped against a rocky mountainside. The pickup stood near it, facing north on the shoulder to the west of the road. The MRT car stood a dozen feet away, facing south in the southbound lane and blocking it. Red and blue lights flashed in the rooftop light rack.
Hardin and Taggart hauled Jack to their car. Hardin said, “Hold him up — I’ll get the door.” He was breathing hard, huffing and puffing. He set Jack’s feet down on the pavement. Taggart stood crouched holding up Jack’s upper body while Jack’s legs rested on the macadam. Hardin opened the vehicle’s rear door and helped Taggart heave Jack across the backseat. Pettibone called, “Remember, Reb wants him alive and able to talk.”
Taggart said, “We’ll treat him like an egg wrapped in cotton.” Hardin didn’t say anything, he was still trying to catch his breath. Taggart slammed the rear door shut. It was a patrol car so there were no handles on the inside back doors, and a wire cage separated the front seat from the back.
Taggart got behind the wheel and Hardin got in the front passenger seat. Hardin wheezed, “Man! I got to get in shape some of these days.”
Taggart said, “You’re in shape, you’ve been exercising those table muscles.”
Hardin told the other what he could do to himself. Taggart laughed, made a K-turn into the opposite lane, pointed the vehicle north, and drove away.
Hardin said, “No emergency lights. We don’t need them.” Taggart switched them off, said, “Like I told the man, it’s a dangerous road.”
Hardin said, “For some folks, yeah.”
A few cars passed them going in the opposite direction on the way to the Mountain Lake substation. The drive took less than ten minutes, each precious second giving Jack Bauer more time to collect his wits and gather what stores of energy remained to him. He could move now even though it hurt to do so. Every heartbeat was like a giant fist squeezing him, wringing him out like a wet washrag. His head pounded and he felt sick to his stomach.
The MRT car turned right into the drive leading to the substation. Hardin said, “Pull into the motor pool so we don’t have to carry him so far.”
The motor pool was a two-car garage attached to the substation. Its rollup door was open and its overhead lights burned bright. The car rolled to a halt inside one of the bays. A pair of chopped, heavy-duty Harley-Davidson motorcycles with extended front forks occupied the other bay.
Taggart switched off the headlights and engine. He and Hardin got out and went to one of the rear doors. Hardin opened it. Jack lay sprawled on his side across the backseat, legs bent at the knees. Hardin used the pointy toe of one of his boots to kick the sole of Jack’s shoe. He said, “Get up.”
He stepped back, unfastening the flap at the top of his sidearm so he could get at it more quickly. His hand rested on the wood-handled gun butt of the big.44. “Weld wants you alive but he didn’t say nothing about putting a bullet through your kneecap and that’s what I surely will do if you try any of your fancy tricks. Do you read me, mister?”
Jack said, “Yes.”
“On your feet then.”
Jack swung his legs, sitting up and putting his feet on the garage floor. Colored dots of light showered over him, dimming his vision. He clutched the rim of the open door with both hands to keep from falling. The dizziness passed, the scene brightening as the stream of colored dots thinned and receded.
Jack pulled himself out of the car and stood up. He lurched and staggered, putting out a hand on the rear fender to steady himself.
Taggart said, “You look a mite unsteady, Jack. Let me give you a hand.” He gripped Jack’s arm above the left elbow.
A closed door stood on the left side of the garage’s rear wall. Hardin backed up to it, hand resting on his gun butt, steadily eyeing Jack. He reached around behind him with his free hand, grabbing the doorknob and turning it, opening the door. The door opened outward and he had to step forward out of its way to open it fully. He backed through the doorway into the station, watching Jack all the while.
Taggart said, “Here we go,” the pressure of his hand on Jack’s arm urging him forward. Jack advanced with slow shuffling steps, making out that he was weaker than he was in hopes of misleading the others about his condition. He made a point of staring straight ahead, not even glancing at Taggart’s sidearm holstered on the right hip or his own gun stuck into the top of Taggart’s waistband on the left side.
Taggart said with great good humor, “Bet you’d like to get your hands on one of these heaters, eh, Jack?”
Hardin said, “Try it. Just try.”
Jack didn’t try for it. He went through the doorway into the main room of the substation. Sharon Stallings sat behind the dispatcher’s front desk drinking coffee. Miller Fisk was on the other side of the space, sitting with his feet up on the squad room desk and reading a hunting magazine.
The two bikers, Griff and Rowdy, were both penned in the same single detention cell. Three steel-barred cage walls met a building wall of solid concrete blocks painted pale green like the rest of the building’s interior. A metal plank bunk covered by a thin fabric pallet jutted out from the stone wall. The big biker, Rowdy, sat on the bunk with his head tilted back. The smaller one, Griff, stood leaning against the front wall of the cell. Their faces were bruised, cut, and swollen from a recent beating.
Fisk looked over the top of the magazine, eyes widening as saw Jack in the custody of Hardin and Taggart. His lips puckered in a soundless whistle. “Well, looky here! So you got him!”
Taggart said, “Yeah, we picked him up for reckless driving.”
Hardin said, “Get your feet off that desk, Fisk. You’re not back home in the barn now.”
Fisk put his feet on the floor fast and stood up. “Sorry, Uncle Bryce—”
“That’s Lieutenant Hardin to you and don’t you forget it!”
“Yessir!” Fisk fastened his eyes on Jack, staring at him with abject fascination. His eyes got a glazed look in them. He licked his lips. “Yes, sir!”
Taggart guided Jack across the room to the squad room desk. He said, “You don’t look so good, amigo. You better sit down.” He indicated the chair that Fisk had just quit, an office chair with four roller-mounted legs. Jack sat down in it. Hardin circled around to the other side of the desk so he’d have a clear line of fire if Jack tried something. His hand was still on his gun.
Taggart took out a pair of cuffs from a leather case clipped to his belt. “Gun hand first.” He circled Jack’s right wrist with one of the cuffs and clamped the other one to the chair arm on that side. “Now the other. Let me have your cuffs, Fisk.”
Fisk was quick to comply, his eyes glimmering and his face shining. Taggart repeated the process, this time cuffing Jack’s left hand to the chair’s left arm. He said, “Jack’s trouble with either hand. Ain’t that right, Fisk?”
Fisk colored. “Never you mind about that!”
Hardin took his hand off his gun. Taggart grinned, stepped back. “There you go, Jack. Now you don’t have to worry about falling out of your chair.”
Jack said sourly, “That’s right neighborly of you, pardner.”
Taggart laughed out loud. “That’s the spirit. Keep your chin up. You know, believe it or not, I kind of like you,
