The Genesis Plague - Michael Byrnes [54]
‘Son of a bitch. Can’t shake him,’ Flaherty grumbled.
He focused again on the tunnel, which now began arcing downward like the curl of a question mark. He braked lightly along the sharp bend that gradually semicircled until yielding to a long and empty straightaway. He hit the gas hard again and the surreal sensation of rocketing through the tunnel’s tight confines made him feel like a bullet being shot through the barrel of a gun - the lights whipping by.
Knowing the worst was yet to come, he clamped his hands tighter around the wheel.
The straightaway angled slightly and Flaherty spotted construction barriers topped with flashing amber lights shaped like lollipops. Immediately beyond the cordon, the ramp tunnel yawned open where it joined the wide interstate tunnel at an extremely tight Y. However, with Flaherty coming the wrong way down the ramp the turn would be treacherous. He could see the headlights of vehicles zipping through the tunnel at highway speed, as well as the formidable cement barricades that lined the tunnel median.
He drew breath, held it, stomped on the brake pedal. The car bowled through the barriers, flinging them up and out. He pulled the wheel all the way to the right and the car commenced a runaway spin into the oncoming traffic.
The next second was a blur of screeching tyres and blaring horns.
The Concorde dragged heavily across the roadway, managed to avoid hitting a sedan cruising along the slow lane, but careened sideways into a yellow moving truck that was speeding in the fast lane. Flaherty felt the Concorde’s front end crumple and snap. The collision was bone crunching, but prevented the Concorde from striking the cement median, even managed to pull the car straight with forward momentum. Disbelieving that he was still alive and that the truck’s driver had enough wherewithal to not lose control, Flaherty immediately hit the accelerator and cranked at the wheel to tug free from the truck. The manoeuvre blew out the truck’s front tyre, forcing it to roll to a stop.
‘Sorry, buddy,’ Flaherty muttered.
Flaherty’s heart nearly gave out when he heard a bellowing air horn that could only belong to a very large truck. All his muscles went tight as his eyes snapped to his side mirror. He saw the Explorer cut blindly into the roadway - a grave miscalculation that put the assassin directly into the path of a hulking semi. The big-rig locked its brakes … the cab jostling madly from side to side … the tractor swinging wide with its locked tyres churning grey smoke.
But still the Explorer couldn’t accelerate fast enough to skirt the semi, which struck with brute force. The Explorer seemed to explode into a thousand pieces - glass and metal shooting out in all directions.
Flaherty barely glimpsed the assassin’s body as it was catapulted out through the Explorer’s windshield, over the median, and into the windshield of another big eighteen-wheeler barrelling through the Pike’s westbound tube.
In the side mirror, he stole a final glimpse of the jackknifed tractor trailer and the mangled Explorer. Then he sped off through the tunnel.
30
IRAQ
The Blackhawk bounced to a rest in a grassy field just beyond the perimeter of the encampment. Hazo gazed out the fuselage window to the jagged cliff face. Surprisingly, during the three hours he’d been away, the debris that blocked the cave had been thoroughly cleared and muted light glowed within the passage. Mammoth boulders strewn at the base of the cliff had raked deep lines into the hillside.
There was a lot of activity at the site - marines moving up and down the slope, snipers posted along a tight perimeter. He spotted Jason to the side of the opening, consulting a trio of techs huddled around a small tactical robot. They were preparing to infiltrate the cave, he surmised. Not just any cave, though, Hazo reminded himself.