Binary - Michael Crichton [18]
'Rad cartridges?'
'Two bars of plutonium-238 oxide. That's a radioactive isotope. One thousand grammes each - they're packed in lead cylinders.'
'That's our dangerous cargo?' Peters asked.
'You bet,' the dispatcher said. The driver finished his check and came over to join them. 'What was that all about?'
'Insurance,' the dispatcher said. 'You have to be cleared before exposure to the cargo., in order for our coverage to be effective. We should also do a blood test, but we don't bother.' He turned to Peters. 'Reeves, this is your rider, Peters. Peters, Reeves.'
Reeves shook hands with Peters. As he did so he gave him a slightly surprised look, as if something were mildly wrong.
The dispatcher nodded across the warehouse. 'Truck's over there,' he said. 'Have a good trip.'
Peters blinked in the sun and put on his sunglasses. Beside him, Reeves sighed. 'Bright day,' he said.
'Sure is.'
'You new at this?'
'Yeah.'
'What'd you do before?'
'Aeroplane tail assembly. Lockheed, in Palmdale.'
'Tail assembly, huh?' Reeves said, and laughed loudly.
'They laid me off.'
Reeves stopped laughing and nodded sympathetically. 'Rough,' he said. And then after a moment, 'Laid off the tail assembly.' And he chuckled some more.
Peters smiled. He felt confident about Reeves, who was fat and sloppy and casual - and fifteen years his senior. There wouldn't be any difficulty.
'Well,' Reeves said, 'since you're new at this, you might as well learn the ropes.'. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a plastic bottle of yellow pills. He handed it to Peters.
'What's this?' Peters asked.
'Dex. Go ahead, take one. Feel terrific.'
Peters shook a pill into his hand and paused. Reeves took one, then reached into his leather jacket and produced a flask.
'Wash it down with this,' he said. 'Vodka. No smell.' He handed Peters the flask.
Peters dropped the pill from his hand, letting it roll down between the seats. He pretended to swig from the flask, then returned it to Reeves.
'You'll learn,' the driver said, and smiled.
Peters nodded and leaned forward slightly in his seat. That way he could see out the side-view mirror and keep an eye on the black Ford sedan that had been following them for the past fifteen minutes.
Ten minutes later they were on the San Diego Freeway, moving down the far right lane. They passed a green and silver sign: HACKLEY RD EXIT 1 MILE. Peters shifted in his seat. Reeves was talking about his children.
'They're good kids,' he was saying, 'but they don't show proper respect. All this screaming about the President, all this revolution talk, it makes me want to -'
'We get off at the next exit,' Peters said.
'No,' Reeves said, 'we don't stop for another -' He broke off.
Peters had taken the pistol from the pocket of his leather jacket.
'Hackley Road,' Peters said quietly. 'Turn off the ramp and go half a mile east. You'll see a small dirt road. Turn right onto that.'
'I'll be goddamned,' the driver said.
They came to Hackley Road and turned off on the exit ramp. They drove east. Peters glanced in the side mirror and saw that the Ford sedan was still following.
'I should have known,' Reeves said.
'How's that?'
'I should have known something was wrong when I shook hands. It's your hands.'
'What about them?'
'They're as soft as a baby's ass,' Reeves said. 'You never worked in your life.'
'Turn right, up here,' Peters said.
It went smoothly. Reeves pulled the truck onto the dirt road and stopped in a clump of eucalyptus trees. Peters made Reeves get out and lie on his stomach on the ground, with his hands over his head.
Reeves said nothing for a long time. Finally he said, 'You going to shoot me?'
'Not if you stay quiet,' Peters said.
The Ford sedan drew up behind the truck and three men, all wearing children's Halloween masks, jumped out. A driver remained at the wheel. Nobody