Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [135]
Flames curled from the tops of the windows of the Mustang. The Ram driver hit it with a blast from the fire extinguisher. As he did, the windshield cracked from the heat, the spiderweb pattern shooting out from the center. A fire started with a cigarette lighter and whatever was lying around should not have gotten so hot so fast. She must have used an accelerant She was going to the airport, McCaskey realized. She had sprayed the contents of an aerosol can, hairspray or deodorant, in carry-on luggage.
McCaskey jumped the rail and grabbed the man about the waist and pushed him down just as the can itself exploded. It blew out the fragmented windshield and sent a small fireball rolling across the hood. Pieces of singed black Tumi luggage floated on the smoke like black snow.
Former junkies might not be slick, but they knew household chemicals.
They also knew how to distract the law.
McCaskey rose from the asphalt. "You all right?" he asked the other man.
"Yeah. Thanks."
McCaskey was bruised but intact. He jumped around the front of the burning automobile. The Ram was coming toward them, along the shoulder. He tried to get in the back of the pickup as it passed, but he missed it.
Maria did not.
His wife had gotten back into the car and jabbed her way through traffic. When she was just a few yards from the oncoming Ram, she drove the car hard into the guardrail. The metal did not break, but it bulged just enough to clip the fender of the Ram, tearing it free on the passenger's side. The chrome dug into the spinning front tire. At the same time, Maria accelerated against the guardrail, bending it more and locking the fender into the tire.
The Ram's 345-horsepower engine screamed as the driver tried to push through the impasse. Before she could succeed, McCaskey was at the driver's side door. He yanked it open and looked up at the face of desperation. He saw a woman who was crying so hard there was as much sweat along her scalp as there were tears on her cheeks. She was a woman so far over her pay grade that she was trembling all over, everywhere but her hands. Her fingers were bone white and locked around the steering wheel. She looked down at McCaskey.
"It wasn't going to be like this," she said, her voice an unsteady whisper. She looked back out the front window.
McCaskey climbed onto the step. He reached past her and turned off the ignition. With fire engines screaming behind him, it was difficult to hear. He leaned close. "What was not going to be like this?" he asked.
"They told me I would get exclusives," Lucy said. "That's all I wanted."
"Who said that?"
She did not appear to hear. "They said I was putting him to sleep.
They said that was what they wanted. They wanted me to mess up his room, make it look as if he had partied hard. They said he would be discredited."
"Wilson, you mean," McCaskey said.
Lucy did not answer. McCaskey turned her face gently toward him. "You gave William Wilson the injection."
"Yes."
"So you would have exclusive access to stories?"
She looked into his eyes. "They told me he wouldn't be hurt. Not like Meyers."
"Who is Meyers?" McCaskey asked.
"Richard Meyers. He was my boyfriend. We were on the beach three years ago in Corpus Christi. I gave him a speedball. He died."
"They knew about this?" McCaskey asked.
"I ran."
"They found out?" McCaskey asked.
"Yes."
"So there was blackmail," McCaskey asked.
Lucy