Runner

'It's a precaution. When you're running you take every precaution before you think it might be necessary. We prepare for every threat we can imagine, remember? By the time there's a reason to prepare, it's too late. If they come up behind us, they'll try to run us off the road. Or they'll try to shoot me, because I'm the driver.'

'What do I do about that?'

'If they pull up behind us, we'll do the same thing they're doing. I drive, you fire at them. You aim for the driver. But what you want to do is keep firing at the windshield. Any hit will make them lose their enthusiasm.'

Christine sat in the passenger seat resting the gun on her thigh and looking down at it.

Jane looked at her for a second. 'If you have any doubt that you can do it, let me know now.'

Christine shook her head. 'No. No doubt.'

Jane drove on. As they swung north again toward the Otay Mesa crossing, Jane saw the signs she remembered from the afternoon that said GARITA DE OTAY, and then the English one she had been looking for. It said the crossing was open twenty-four hours.

As Jane slowed to be sure the arrow was pointing in the direction she was going, she heard a sudden roar of an engine. She began to turn her head to see, but the movement was cut short. There was a ferocious jolt, a deafening noise, a giant hammerblow of steel on steel. The air bag exploded into her face, punching her backward into the headrest. An instant later there was the sound of glass and bits of metal bouncing on the pavement.

The car spun sideways, and as it rocked to a stop, Jane pulled her knife out of her pocket and punctured the air bag to get it out of her way. She stabbed Christine's air bag, too, and as it deflated she looked around her. Her SUV had been hit broadside by a white pickup truck, but Christine was still upright. 'Are you hurt?'

'I don't think so.'

Jane put her foot on the brake, shifted into neutral and then reverse, then stepped on the gas pedal and began to pull back. She could see that in the pickup truck that had hit her were two men wearing the same kind of security guard uniforms as the one at the hospital.

The man in the driver's seat interpreted Jane's maneuver and pulled forward to ram the side door of her vehicle, trying to stay with it and push it over. Jane reached for the pistol in her jacket pocket, but Christine's gun hand came up more quickly and fired four rounds into the truck's windshield. They could still hear the truck's engine as Jane's SUV roared backward to escape it, the front of the pickup scraping along the side of her vehicle as she cleared it. Then the unguided truck kept going, drifting ahead across the road and into an empty lot.

'Oh, my God,' Christine whispered.

Jane threw the transmission into drive and headed south, away from the border. When she reached a junction with Route 10 she took it. The road looked, at least late at night, like a California freeway.

After a minute or two Christine said, 'Could you see if that guy was dead?'

'The driver? Not sure,' said Jane. 'I hope so. He's not behind us, and that's all I care about right now.'

'I just feel ... weird. I didn't think about it. I just did it.' She looked at Jane in the light of the dashboard. 'You would have shot at them, right?'

'That's what I was going to do, but you were faster. Once I saw you still had the gun, I knew that what I ought to be doing was driving.' Jane let the silence go for a time, then said, 'You sure you didn't get hurt in the crash?'

'The air bag shook me up, but the seat belt went across my good shoulder, not the broken clavicle. I guess I was lucky the gun didn't fly into my face.'

'You've been to Mexico a lot?'

'I grew up thirty-five miles from here.'

'Have any ideas about how we can get across the border?'

'We could drive east, out of Baja, and try to get across the border somewhere else.'

'East where?'

'I don't know. Calexico. Maybe Nogales, and cross into Arizona. Or even keep going and cross into Texas.'

'We can't drive this car that distance. It's got too much damage. I haven't seen the outside of it yet, but I think it would attract attention at a border crossing.' She looked at Christine. Beyond Christine was the black, endless Pacific. The moon hung above it, casting a silvery reflection on its surface.

'What are you looking at?'

'I'm thinking.' Jane moved her eyes back to the road.

'Good, because we're going to hit Ensenada in a little while, and that's as far as we're supposed to go without stopping for a tourist card.'

'I know,' Jane said. 'Let me ask you something else. There are a lot of cruise ships that stop in Ensenada, right?'

'Sure,' said Christine. 'All the time.'

'The ships are huge, right?'

'Yeah. Thousands of rooms.'

'They can't all be full, can they?'

Christine's eyes widened as she shook her head.

An hour later Jane pulled the SUV to a stop in the parking lot of a large supermercado near the harbor. She took her small suitcase with her clothes and the packet containing the false identification that Stewart had sent her and the cash she had brought. She took a rag from the back of the SUV and wiped the steering wheel, door handles, windows, trunk, and hood for fingerprints. Then she unscrewed the license plates and took them with her.

Jane and Christine walked to the beach. Jane kept watch while Christine slept on the sand for a couple of hours, until the air around them seemed to be lightening. Then the two women changed into clean jeans and blouses from Jane's suitcase and threw Christine's stolen scrubs into a trash can. Jane disassembled both of her pistols, removing the magazine, the slide, barrel, recoil spring, guide rod, slide catch, frame.

They walked to the harbor before dawn. As Jane went, she found places to put the pieces of the two weapons—the springs in a trash can, one slide in a storm sewer. The guide rods, slide catches, sears, and triggers went into a row of Dumpsters. She saved the most identifiable parts, the frames and magazines, until they reached the docks, then dropped them in deep water.

When it was fully light they made their way to the zone of resort hotels and went into what looked like the best one to order breakfast. When they had spent the early morning in a leisurely meal, Jane went to the concierge desk. She found a man there who seemed to be in charge and said, 'Good morning. Do you speak English?'

'Yes, ma'am,' the man said.

'I need to find a travel agent. Can you help me?'

'Certainly,' he said. He reached under his counter and produced a glossy brochure, opened it to reveal a map of Ensenada. He used his pen to circle a rectangle that represented the hotel, then circled a spot one block south and four blocks east. He said, 'We recommend Tours Riviera to our guests.' He scribbled the name Tours Riviera. 'Some of us have used their services ourselves.'

Jane said, 'I should mention that I don't speak Spanish.'

'That isn't a problem, Senorita. Most of their customers are American.'

'Thank you very much,' Jane said. She handed him a twenty-dollar bill, mainly because of her relief that he had not demanded to know if she was a guest of the hotel.

He pocketed the money. 'Thank you, Senorita.'

Jane and Christine left for the travel agency at ten, and found the office open. The young woman who took charge of them at the door said her name was Estrella.

Jane said, 'The reason we've come is that we'd like to change our travel plans. This is a last-minute idea, so tell me if it's not possible.'

'Certainly.'

'There are cruise ships stopping in Ensenada all the time, aren't there?'

'Oh, yes, especially at this time of year. There are Baja cruises, three-day, four-day, and five-day cruises that start in San Diego, Los Angeles, or Long Beach that stop at Catalina Island, Ensenada, Cabo San Lucas, and go back. There are fifteen-day cruises to Hawaii that stop here. Let me see what's in port now.' She typed something into her computer and read off the screen. 'The Carnival Paradise, Royal Caribbean Monarch of the Seas, Diamond Princess, Holland America