double back — he was an expert at that — so Hansen sent them to flush Fisher while he served as a blocking force. It was a classic pincer movement, and Fisher would no doubt recognize it, but it was better than a foot chase.
Hansen swung his head around and stole a look at the field, where he spotted Fisher running, but he wouldn’t stop and would maintain observation for the flushing team. Trees abruptly cut off his view.
“I’ve lost him,” said Ames.
“Me, too,” answered Hansen, pulling up the map on his OPSAT. “All right, we’ll search the ditches. You guys check out that wedge of trees. You see it on the map?”
“I see it,” said Valentina.
They spent the next thirty minutes combing through the woods and the field and ditches, and the only conclusion they reached was that Fisher had reached the larger forest to the east, where there’d be thousands of acres to search.
Gillespie met up with Hansen back at their car. “Check the map. Anything in those woods?”
“Just a campground. And this little town, Scheuerof, over here,” he said, tapping his OPSAT’s screen.
“What if he left his car at the campground?” she asked. “To get out, he’d follow this road here through Scheuerof.”
“But what if he heads south?”
“I think he’ll keep heading east toward the German border. More rural, more cover. But you never know.”
Hansen nodded. “Let’s take a shot. I say we get up there and see if we can cut him off.”
Hansen told Ames the plan, and they met on the road heading east toward Scheuerof. As they passed through the little down, they spotted a police car, lights flashing, heading in the opposite direction, and then, a few minutes later, another one.
Gillespie patched herself directly into the local police channel and reported, “There was some kind of incident up at the campground.”
Hansen grinned to himself. “Fisher. We’re close now.”
“Why don’t we just call Moreau? If Fisher’s in his car, Moreau can see him right now.”
“And he can lie to us about that,” Hansen shot back. “No way. We’re doing this on our own.”
30
Hansen’s determination to work alone and stay the course paid off. They spotted the Range Rover heading east about a mile ahead of them. Gillespie zoomed in with her night-vision binoculars and confirmed that Fisher was behind the wheel. She even saw him consulting an OPSAT, either Ames’s or one he’d procured from the weapons cache in Bavigne.
They were racing down a winding road with a series of dips and bends that challenged Hansen’s driving skills. Each time Fisher reached the crest of a hill, Hansen was better able to gauge his lead. Audi versus Range Rover? There was no competition, unless Fisher was actually driving Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and planned to fly over the treetops.
“I’m right behind you, Boss,” said Ames through the subdermal.
Hansen had not asked the man for an update. “Uh, yeah, I can see you,” he said sarcastically, stealing a look in his rearview mirror.
“Don’t slow down.”
“Ames, we’ll catch up to him. Relax.”
Fisher disappeared once again. The road grew dark. Hansen accelerated a bit more, rose up and over the next crest, and started down.
Lights appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road.
Hansen’s mouth fell open. Fisher had stopped dead, waited for them, and thrown the Rover into reverse. He was now barreling backward, directly toward them.
With the better part of three seconds to react, Hansen jammed on the brakes, and while the Audi’s sophisticated antilock braking and traction- control systems immediately kicked in, he still found himself skidding across the road, past the Range Rover, and sliding up onto the right-side shoulder. And then, with a jerk, the car dropped, as though on the rails of a roller coaster, and began to plunge down the embankment.
Hansen corrected course, rolling the wheel and taking the car back up toward the pavement as Gillespie clutched a handle near the passenger’s-side window and said, “The son of a bitch was never a good driver!”
As they neared the top of the embankment, Hansen hit the brakes hard, burning rubber to a stop, front tires now up on the pavement, back still on the dirt.
“Now what?” Hansen asked.
“Oh, no,” said Gillespie. “This is bad.”
Ames had to blink hard as his headlight picked out the two cars seemingly parked in the middle of the road. Without thinking, he just reacted, cutting the wheel hard, sending the Audi into a flat spin across the slick pavement and careening down into the ditch along the left side.
The car wasn’t stopped for three seconds when suddenly Ames found his door being wrenched open. He looked up at Noboru, who reached across Ames, unfastened Ames’s seat belt, then ripped him out of the driver’s seat. “You idiot!” cried the Japanese man, and this was the first time Ames had ever heard the usually reserved operator raise his voice. “I drive!”
Noboru dumped Ames onto the ground and jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Ames, get back in the car!” screamed Valentina.
Hansen gaped at the oncoming vehicle, transfixed, as though watching it all in an IMAX theater.
Fisher had thrown his Range Rover into drive and was now racing toward them. Reflexively, Hansen leaned toward the passenger’s side as Fisher’s car struck Hansen’s door, the safety glass shattering. The Range Rover then turned, now broadsiding them, tires screeching, engine roaring. They were slammed back down into the ditch. Hansen didn’t dare hit the accelerator until he could turn the Audi around. The Range Rover glanced off them, climbed back out of the ditch, and continued up the road.
They were on a thirty-degree slope, and when Hansen finally hit the gas, the back tires spun freely in the mud and began to dig deeper.
“We’re stuck down here, Ames! Stay on Fisher.”
“This is Nathan! I’m driving now!”
“All right, Nathan, stay with him!” Hansen turned to Kim. “You drive.”
Before exiting the car, Hansen hit the trunk button. He climbed up, raced back, and removed the large, carpeted trunk mat from the back and slid it in front of one of the back tires. Then he got the two rear seat mats and did likewise with the other tire. Gillespie eased on the gas, and the little trick worked, getting them up past the mud and onto the harder ground. Hansen hopped into the passenger side, crying, “Go!”
Noboru followed Fisher onto a side road that was mostly dirt and gravel. The road grew so narrow that only one vehicle could barely pass through. Freshly torn branches lay in the path, and Valentina reported that the Range Rover was definitely ahead, with Fisher hacking his way forward. It was raining a bit harder now, and Noboru switched on the wipers to clear the drops and still-falling leaves and twigs.
The road began turning radically, zigging hard to the right at forty-five-degree angles, and Noboru hit the brakes and rolled the wheel again. And again.
“If you don’t slow down, you’ll hit a tree,” hollered Ames.
“Like you’re an excellent driver?” spat Valentina. “Shut up!”
“Yes, shut up!” added Noboru, feeling his cheeks warm as, far in front of them, Fisher’s taillights flickered into view.
