glanced at her. “You want to call the cops?”
Syd chewed her lower lip. She hated the thought of it. But if that truck made it downtown…she dug in her purse for her cell phone. “Stay as close as you can without riding up his ass,” she muttered as she dialed.
Jake picked up on the third ring. “Hi, partner,” she said.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s Phoenix?”
“How did you know?”
“Call it a lucky guess. So, did you find the guy?”
“We did, actually.” Syd watched as the truck nearly took out a Honda Civic. It swerved up the on-ramp to Route 10, headed north toward Phoenix proper. “One slight problem, though. He’s got the bomb on the road.”
“Jesus, Syd.”
“I was thinking you have a better shot at getting the police to respond. Coming from me, it might get dismissed as a crank call.”
“Go figure.” Syd heard Jake talking to someone in a low voice, then an exclamation in the background. “All right, George is handling it. I’ll stay on with you while he patches us through to dispatch. What exit are you closest to?”
“He just passed Exit 155.” Syd watched smaller cars struggle to get out of the way, several of them nearly colliding with each other. Maltz swerved around them, managing to stay fifteen feet back from the truck’s tail. It was surreal watching the float whip around, the Statue of Liberty canted sideways by the rapid turns, streamers tearing away and wafting back on the breeze. Syd wondered where the bomb was-inside the main statue? It would make sense, especially if someone had a funny sense of irony. “You’re pissed, aren’t you?”
“Pissed isn’t the right word. I’m just wondering what it is about me that sends women running toward a bomb,” Jake said cryptically.
Syd decided that didn’t bear a response. She called out the next few exits as they blew past them. The truck was gaining momentum. She watched nervously as their speedometer crept past ninety, then a hundred. Horns blared in their wake, but the truck cleared a straight swath.
“Uh-oh,” Maltz said suddenly.
Syd saw it at the same time: the highway swept up a bridge in a long arc, and there were brake lights ahead. Rush-hour traffic. “Shit,” she said.
“Yup,” Maltz agreed.
“Jake, he’s driving about a hundred miles an hour, and he’s about to hit traffic,” Syd said.
There was silence on the other end of the phone. “The nearest unit is still a few minutes away,” Jake finally said. “They’re setting up roadblocks at the exits, but it doesn’t sound like he’s going to make it that far.”
“Definitely not. This is going to get ugly.” Syd turned to Maltz. “Flip around and get us the hell out of here.”
Maltz nodded, slowing down. The truck plowed forward as if the driver was oblivious to the danger ahead. “C’mon,” she breathed. “Slow the fuck down. Don’t do this.”
They had almost decelerated enough for Maltz to turn the SUV around when the truck started climbing the bridge. Two cars skidded into each other as the drivers took too long to react. The screech of brakes, crunch of metal. A horn blared, then was cut off as the truck slammed into the wall of slower vehicles at the top of the ramp, scattering them like metal jacks.
“Crap,” Maltz said. They watched in silence as the truck moved inexorably forward, slowing incrementally like a knife carving through butter. It hit the Jersey barrier on the shoulder of the bridge. For a second it appeared as if the concrete might hold, but the weight of the truck plowed through it. The cab suddenly vanished from view as the float pitched high in the air.
“Stay low!” Syd said, diving into the backseat.
Maltz spun the wheel in a tight turn, flipping them around. Their tires got caught in the loose gravel on the side of the road and spun helplessly.
“Maltz, get back here! It’s too late!” Syd grabbed at his arm, trying to drag him into the backseat where they’d have more cushioning.
He didn’t respond, just ground down on the accelerator until the SUV jerked free and fishtailed, spitting pebbles. He gritted his teeth as he floored it. Syd instinctively braced herself against the back of the seat. In her heart she knew it was already too late.
Everything seemed to slow down. Maltz shouted something and her cell phone emitted tinny sounds from the front seat, but Syd couldn’t make them out. Her hands covered her ears, her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for what seemed like forever.
Then a flash so bright it penetrated her closed lids, followed by a roar of sound and a wave of heat, and the world vanished in a roiling cloud of darkness.
Thirty-Five
“Syd? Syd!” Jake shouted into the phone. He spun around. “The call got dropped. I’m redialing, tell dispatch to hang on…”
George and Rodriguez were staring at him, dumbfounded. Jake had been relaying Syd’s information to George, who conveyed it to the police dispatcher in Phoenix. There was a burst of chatter from the receiver. George looked at it; his arm had dropped to his waist when Jake started yelling. He raised it back to his ear. An expression of horror spread across his face. After listening for a minute, he squeezed his eyes shut and said, “All right. Good luck.”
He hung up. Jake stared at him. “Jesus Christ, George. Why’d you hang up? Syd will-”
George shook his head. “The bomb went off, Jake. Dispatcher had to go, they’re mobilizing special teams to the area.”
It was hard to speak, but Jake forced the words out. “How bad?”
George sat down hard. “They don’t know yet. They’re sending in a crew to check for radioactivity, but…”
His voice trailed off. Jake shook his head. “Damn it, Syd. What did you do?”
Leonard glared down at the ground. “Why the hell are we still circling?” He motioned one of the other agents to the cockpit. The agent walked up the aisle hunched over, his head brushing the ceiling.
Kelly watched Leonard tap his heel restlessly against the floor. They were in a private jet, commandeered from an oil tycoon who apparently owed the government a favor. Shame that given the circumstances she couldn’t enjoy the trip. Contrary to the depiction of countless TV shows, there wasn’t a private fleet of planes available for FBI agents. They nearly always flew commercial, in coach.
The agent returned from the cockpit.
“Well?” Leonard asked.
The agent leaned over and said something in a low voice. Kelly strained to hear. He had gone completely pale, which she took as a bad sign.
“Jesus Christ,” Leonard hissed.
“What?”
“It went off,” he said bluntly, digging out his cell phone. “They’re not letting any planes in or out. Whole city has gone into complete lockdown. Governor called in the National Guard, and the Phoenix field office is scrambling.”
“Oh my God,” Kelly peered out the window. The smog appeared denser to the south, but there was a nearly impenetrable layer everywhere. She pictured gamma rays coursing out in all directions, invisible but deadly, sliding over the sleek face of office buildings and skimming across benches in playgrounds and parks. “How many dead? Are they evacuating the city?”
“I’m about to find out.” Leonard finished dialing and settled back in his seat, looking blankly out the window. Kelly could see other airplanes circling at various altitudes, waiting to be redirected. She caught herself chewing her lower lip, an old habit from when she was a kid, and forced herself to stop.
After a clipped conversation, Leonard hung up. “Explosion was caused by a crash on the I-10. Thankfully they
