Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [11]
Agent Foy sped up, but by the time she reached the alleyway, the Hummer had vanished. The narrow street occupied a space between two tall brick buildings that had once housed factories or warehouses. The industry was long gone, and the crumbling buildings were abandoned.
With a resigned sigh, she steered the Lexus into the cramped alley. The road surface was ancient cobblestone, and her tires rumbled so loudly, she feared for her suspension. Finally, she reached the opposite end of the alley and emerged onto a street lined with crumbling apartment buildings.
She spotted the Hummer at the end of that block, waiting at a stop sign for another garbage truck to rumble by. "Got you," she whispered triumphantly.
Agent Foy stepped on the gas and pulled onto the street, intent on catching up to the Hummer. Her concentration was shattered when she heard a squeal of tires burning pavement. Her head jerked to the right, just in time to see the rusty grille of a GM pickup barreling down on her.
She pushed the gas to the floor, but it was already too late. The truck flew out of the hidden driveway, slammed into the passenger side of her Lexus. Foy threw up her arms just as the air bag deployed, smashing her backward in the seat. Shards of safety glass rained down on her, then the hood popped and she heard the angry hiss of steam.
The truck continued forward, slamming her car against the telephone pole. Wheels spun, pressing the Lexus until the frame bent, then snapped. Finally, the truck's front tire popped and its engine stalled. Smoke began to pour from under the hood. After the deafening crash, the quiet was eerie.
Over the hiss of steam from the truck's ruptured radiator, Agent Foy heard a door open, feet striking the pavement. Next came the sound of another vehicle approaching and skidding to a halt.
She peered through a gap in the wreckage. The black Hummer was back. The driver of the GM pickup that had hit her — a teenager wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the number 13 emblazoned on the back — dived into the Hummer through an open window. Then the Hummer sped away, the teen's legs still dangling out the window.
Agent Foy tried to move. With one arm pinned by the air bag, she unbuckled her seatbelt with her free hand. Most of the pressure on her abdomen vanished, but when she took a deep breath, bruised ribs ground together, and she cried out in a rattling gasp.
Every move a Herculean labor, she reached into her torn blazer for her cell phone. Hands slick with blood, she managed to press the speed dial button.
CTU Director Brice Holman's cell rang three times, before she was connected to his voice mail. From somewhere on the street she heard cries, then a face appeared at the window. The man wore a red 'do-rag over a retro Afro, a pair of gray city sanitation overalls.
"Jesus, lady, you okay?"
"I'm pinned," she replied weakly.
"Don't try to move. An ambulance is on the way."
She tried to reply, but waves of nausea and dizziness suddenly overwhelmed her. Desperate to report to someone, Agent Foy placed a second call, this one to CTU Headquarters in Manhattan.
* * *
8:55:57 A.M. EDT
Bilson Avenue, Central Ward
Newark, New Jersey
Paramedic Darnell Peasley saw the accident scene as soon as he swung his ambulance around the corner. "Damn" he said. "It's a bad one."
A silver Lexus was wrapped around a telephone pole; a faded red pickup truck had smashed into it. Smoke poured from under both hoods.
Darnell noticed a sanitation truck had stopped at the scene. Two workers were waving at him. A third was poking his head through the Lexus's window.
"The cops are here," said Darnell's partner, Luis. He pointed through the windshield as Darnell parked his ambulance next to the sanitation truck.
Darnell was relieved to see the patrol car rolling toward them. Sometimes he and Luis had to wait for the police to arrive at scenes