As he lowered the phone, Nina saw two sets of headlights sweep down the slip road leading towards the forecourt.
*
‘Time’s running out.’
The phone had rung again. Nina had watched the two new cars pull up outside the entrance and a woman emerge from one of them. One of the men had advanced toward her and from his gestures was clearly telling her to back off.
Nina strained her hearing, starting to become accustomed to the sound coming from the receiver. She made out a few words from the other end. Not with us… get rid of them… more time.
Two men had joined the woman from the cars. An urgent argument was developing.
Pope had lowered the phone again. In the glass his face was in shadows and Nina couldn’t read it.
She said, her voice stronger than she’d believed possible: ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Pope. ‘These new people seem to be different.’
‘Police?’
‘Perhaps.’ He sounded unconvinced.
The two remaining original men — my father’s men, Nina reminded herself — stayed out of the argument, keeping close to their car on the other side, watching Pope and Nina in the window. Nina wondered if Pope was considering making a move now that two of the men were otherwise occupied. But he kept still, his hand with the phone resting on her shoulder, and the gun barrel always gently touching her ear.
Pope’s two-minute ultimatum had long passed. The scene at the entrance was becoming more fraught. Both sides were squaring up, pushing against the space between them. Nina could hear voices raise din anger but couldn’t make out the words.
The woman held something up. Light glinted off it. A detective’s shield. So they were cops.
The two men took a step back, and then things happened fast.
The two men with the woman crouched and lifted their arms, guns levelled. The two original men aimed their weapons back.
The two remaining men began advancing across the forecourt toward the building.
Pope dropped the phone and put his forearm across Nina’s throat, lightly, behind the neck of the violin case. He drew her across him. The movement made her stagger slightly and her violin case sweep the rows of candy bars and chips in front of her below the windows, scattering them noisily to the floor.
The men, her father’s men, were halfway across the forecourt. Over at the cars the standoff continued.
Nina twisted her neck in discomfort. As she did so she glanced up at the CCTV monitor above the counter over to the left.
One of the split-screen images showed the back of the shop. A man was sidling down one of the aisles, gun arm extended.
Nina yelled, ‘Behind us.’
Thirty-Five
Interstate 95, between Washington D.C and New York
Tuesday 21 May, 2.05 am
Berg’s phone trilled on the dashboard. She put it on speaker.
They’d been driving for over an hour, the interstate appearing as vast and as empty as any road Purkiss had seen, despite the steady flow of cars. The signs said they were nearing Philadelphia.
Nakamura’s voice came across. ‘Just picked up a police report from Philly. Car smash here on 95 heading north, with one guy dead. The other driver left the scene. Get this. The cops say the dead guy didn’t die in the crash. Witnesses saw him get out the car and start arguing with the other driver. Next thing he’s on the ground. And the cops found a gun in the abandoned car, a Glock.’
Berg said, ‘Huh. But it still doesn’t mean — ’
‘Same witnesses say the driver left the scene with someone else. A skinny teenage boy, or possibly a young woman.’
‘That’s them.’ Purkiss sat up, feeling the adrenaline spike. ‘Ramirez, and probably Pope.’
Berg said, ‘Danny, do you have a licence plate on the abandoned car?’
‘Waiting on it from the local cops.’
‘It’ll be up ahead,’ said Berg to Purkiss. ‘Keep your eyes open.’
In a minute Nakamura’s voice returned. ‘Cops ran the plate through DMV. It’s from a car rental place in Charlottesville.’
‘Our girl all right, plus whoever’s with her,’ said Berg. ‘Danny, get a — ’
‘Description of the person who rented it. Yeah, I’m already on it, Berg. Eat my dust.’
Berg grinned. She glanced across at Purkiss.
‘Good feeling, huh? When you’re closing in. You’re kind of like a cop. You know how it is.’
She put her foot down a little. Nakamura’s Taurus was a couple of cars behind, keeping up easily in the relative lightness of the traffic.
Nakamura came back on the line. ‘Rental place is an all-nighter, but the guy there wasn’t on shift when the car was rented. However, he checked the records and it was booked out to a Douglas Torrance. British licence holder. The photo from his licence is being scanned and sent to me. I’ll forward it so Purkiss can see.’
He rang off. When the phone sounded again Berg said, ‘That’s a text,’ and Purkiss took it and looked at the screen.
The photo was blurred and distorted from being first photocopied and then scanned, but there was no doubt who it was. Pope.
‘Our guy?’
‘Yes.’
*
Berg and Purkiss spotted the flashing lights at the same time.
Purkiss had been lost in thought. So Pope had taken the girl, but hadn’t killed her despite having had ample opportunity to do so. Did she know something he needed to find out? But if so, where was he taking her? Why hadn’t he simply interrogated her where he’d snatched her? Or was she in some way his accomplice, travelling with him voluntarily? That made even less sense.
‘There,’ said Berg.
Across the highway a petrol station cut a familiar sight, a single large haulage truck in the forecourt. Less familiar were the two cars with active flashers parked, it appeared, across both points of entry and exit.
‘Worth a look,’ said Purkiss. Berg turned off and as she did so, rang Nakamura. His voice came across the speakerphone.
‘Nothing about it on the police frequencies.’
The slip road, or whatever they called it over here, led to a traffic circle beneath the highway. Berg navigated it, the Taurus close behind, and came off on the road running past the service station. As they approached Purkiss saw two men crouched near the closer car. Plain clothes, with no external markings on them or their vehicle to suggest they were law enforcement.
Both men were armed with handguns. One was talking into a mobile phone. They turned to look at the two cars as they drew up.
One of the men, the one without the phone, strode over as Berg killed the engine. She opened the door and the man said, ‘Police business. Get back in the car and drive away.’
Purkiss was about to climb out himself when he saw movement in the window of the building beyond the pumps. He peered through the windscreen. Two figures, there: a man holding a smaller person, a woman, in front of him.
He eased open the door and slipped out, staying low to the ground. Behind him he heard Berg snap, ‘FBI. Let’s see some ID.’
Purkiss moved behind the car, through the headlights of the Taurus which had pulled up behind, and began to make for the grass verge that ran along one edge of the forecourt’s perimeter, towards the side of the building.
*
The verge was deep in shadow and he made it without challenge. Only once did he glance at the window on his way. A fair-haired man, holding a woman with his arm across her neck, a gun pressed to her head. The features weren’t distinguishable but he knew it was Pope and Ramirez.
A fire door was set in the back wall of the low, long building. He reached for it, then thought better. It would be alarmed, especially at this hour. Purkiss moved along the wall until he saw a small window. He ran a few paces and jumped, catching the ledge and hauling himself so that he perched on it. The glass was opaque but he could make out a restroom beyond.