up for this escapade, pumped up with good intentions and adrenaline. Now it was over, finis, end of story. I had thought my part was going to be more dramatic, or perhaps climactic, than a simple transfer from one vehicle to another. But Mother Luck seemed to be smiling upon Sean Drummond. The worst case hadn't materialized, I wasn't a hostage, I was still alive, I was free to go on my way
Returning to the phone in the Suburban, I informed the lady, 'I'm done.'
'No you ain't.'
'I'm… what?'
'What are you waitin' for, moron? Go drive the van.'
Well, it did seem too easy. I walked the driver's side, opened the door, and noted that the key was in the ignition. I climbed in, started it up, and pulled forward. I got to the end of the alleyway and she said, 'Go left, then take a left on 14th.'
As the lady ordered, I went left, then left.
After a moment, she said, 'Hey, somethin' I forgot to tell ya. Drive real safe, now. No accidents, and be sure to avoid any big potholes, y'hear.' She giggled. After a moment she added, 'Thing is, remember when we said we had somebody lined up for the next kill?'
'In fact, I was thinking you could do us all a favor and kill yourself. What do you think?'
'Shut up, asshole. Guess what? Ten pounds of C4 and thirty sticks of dynamite are hardwired to the gas tank of that van. Point is… you're the man, Drummond. We push a button and klablewie.'
'You… Listen, lady, that would be really stupid. I've got the money.'
'No, you're stupid. It's federal money. Plenty more where that came from.'
Shit. 'I… I understand.'
'You better. Now call yer friends. If all the helicopters ain't outta the sky, and all the cop cars followin' you ain't gone in three minutes, you're toast.'
She hung up.
I speed-dialed Jennie, who recognized my number and answered, 'How you holding up, Sean?'
'We've… I mean… I've got a, uh… a big problem.'
In a very reassuring tone, she said, 'No you don't, Sean. Remember, trust me. We observed the switch. You're now in a gray 2003 Ford cargo van driving south on 14th. Relax. You're tailed and covered.'
'Well… you should probably inform those tails to back off a bit. See, I'm now driving around with ten pounds of C4 and thirty sticks of dynamite wired to a full gas tank. I really wouldn't want anybody to get… you know, hurt.'
For a moment there was silence. But my attempt at sarcasm apparently struck home, because it took a moment before Jennie said, 'Remain calm.'
'Ten pounds of C4 are under my ass, and that's your best advice? Do better, Jennie. Tell me how I'm going to get out of this.'
When she didn't answer I said, 'Incidentally, you have less than three minutes to get all the helicopters out of the sky and all the trail cars away from me, or I'm hamburger.' I added, 'Now assure me that you and Sanchez have a plan for this.'
But Jennie had apparently handed the phone to Rita, who informed me, 'Jennie's getting rid of the cars and helicopters. Just don't sweat it. We'll disperse our ground coverage.'
'Don't disperse it-get rid of it.'
'I understand.'
'You've had cases like this before, right?'
Apparently Rita had to think about that. She said, 'No two cases are ever identical. There are always new twists and curves.'
'Uh-huh. Tell me about the contingency where the courier becomes a bomb.'
'I'll… Give me a little time to think about that.'
'Wrong answer. Wrong, wrong answer.' I punched off.
My blood pressure had just shot up about a hundred points. Barnes and his merry shitkickers would think nothing of vaporizing me, or even the fifty million disposable bucks in the back of this van. Then out of the blue, a truly disturbing thought popped into my brain. What if this was a dry run? Like an object lesson for Barnes to show the Feds not to try any funny business next time? How do I get myself into these things?
My phone rang. I said, 'You've got my attention. Now what?'
But it was Jennie again, who said, 'Sean, I'm sorry. We didn't expect this. We're thinking furiously back here. Whatever you do, don't try jumping out of the van. Your seat could be hardwired to the C4. In fact, our technicians consider that… well, very likely.'
'I already thought of that. Tell me something useful.'
She said, 'We thought we should warn you.' But in the event I didn't get the moral of her warning, she added, 'There's no way to get you extracted. Do everything they say.' She punched off.
So there I was on a gloriously beautiful spring afternoon, driving down 15th Street in my favorite city in the whole world, in the very lopsided state of having fifty million bucks in the backseat of my car and a big bomb strapped to my ass.
God looks after fools and scoundrels, but I wasn't sure whether that applied to idiots.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next call came about two minutes later, from Rita, who informed me, 'The coverage is off,' and abruptly hung up.
Why didn't I feel relieved? This really sucked. A minute later the phone rang and I said, 'Relax, lady. The coverage's all gone.'
She replied, 'Better be. Pull over at the curb.'
A moment later I said, 'I'm here. What now?'
'Now you strip and throw yer clothes out the window. Shoes, everything.'
'Look, I'm wearing a really expensive suit, and-'
'You ain't naked in one minute, yer very nice suit's gonna be confetti.'
Before she could punch off I said, 'Wait!'
'What?'
'Is there a pressure switch under the driver's seat?'
'Yeah.'
'Then… how-'
'Figure it out, Drummond.' After a moment, she added, ''Course you ain't been all that bright so far. So if I hear a big boom and see a bunch of yer guts flyin' through the air, I'll know you fucked up,' She laughed and punched off.
I ordinarily like a woman with a hearty sense of humor. I definitely didn't like her. I wondered for a moment if she was the one who did June Lacy.
Anyway, the tie and shirt came off almost effortlessly. Then, one at a time, I brought my feet up to the dash and, one shoe and one sock at a time, dispensed with my footwear without a hitch. Obviously, the pants posed the really tricky challenge, and had I not practiced this drill a few times as a teenager in the backseat of Papa Drummond's '71 Buick, Mama Drummond wouldn't have to worry about a Christmas gift for me anymore. But trust me, it's a very different pressure, wriggling out of your trousers to get laid and trying to keep your ass connected to your torso. I was down to my undershorts and I decided, as a matter of pride, practicality, and modesty, that this was it. No mas.
I dialed Jennie, who answered, 'What are you doing? Clothes are flying out of that van.'
'How do you- Hey, are you still covering me?'
'I'm… yes.'
'But Rita said-'
'Rita lied.'
