Jen nervously grabbed Mitchell’s arm. “What’s going on, Ryan?” she said, fear creeping into her voice. “They’re after me again, aren’t they?”
“I don’t know; just stay calm, and we’ll be ok,” said Mitchell, trying to keep things composed. He watched as one of the thugs spoke into a small Motorola. A moment later, a white Chevrolet van seemed to appear out of nowhere and came to a screeching halt in front of the auction house. No sooner had the van stopped than the passenger-side door was flung open. Mitchell and Jen were motioned towards the idling vehicle. One of the thugs painfully thrust his pistol hard into Mitchell’s back as a warning not to try anything, or they would both die. Before Mitchell could say a word, Teplov reached over and roughly grabbed Jen by the arm, pulling her away from Mitchell. With an evil glint in his eye, he threw her into the back of the darkened van.
Mitchell’s heart skipped a beat as Jen disappeared from sight. Anger ripped through him; he had to do something. In the instant before Mitchell could even move to help, his world exploded in searing white light and pain. The man behind him had jammed a police issue Taser into Mitchell’s back, causing electricity to instantly race throughout his body. His muscles involuntarily contracted, causing him agonizing pain as his legs buckled out from underneath him. He tumbled down onto the cool pavement, jerking from side to side from the searing current still coursing through him. Mitchell tried to focus, but all he could see were brilliant flashes of white light in his mind as he suffered through the painful electrical assault on his body. Mercifully, five seconds after it began, the attack was over.
Mitchell moaned in agony. Painfully, he rolled over only to see his attacker jump into the waiting van. Blinking his eyes to clear the white dots still clouding his vision, Mitchell could have sworn that Teplov smiled and waved at Mitchell before slamming the door shut. With an ear-splitting squeal of its tires, the vehicle raced off into traffic, leaving Mitchell agonizingly gasping for breath on the cold sidewalk.
From inside the building came a tall black man wearing a tuxedo, who quickly helped Mitchell to his feet. “Are you all right? Do you need help?” asked the man as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
Mitchell looked into the traffic and saw that the white van was fading away as it blended in with all the other traffic heading east on Central Avenue. Clumsily, Mitchell pushed away from the man helping him and staggered like a drunk towards the busy road. Taking a deep breath, Mitchell sought to calm his nerves and clear his aching head and body. The cool night air filled his lungs. He knew he had to act fast if he was going to help Jen. Looking around, Mitchell saw an older blond-haired rocker trying to look and act much younger than he was. He was waiting with two young models hanging off him while a sleek black BMW Z4 was driven over by a valet.
The car came smoothly to a halt in front of the auction house, its twin turbo-charged engine purring away as only a finely tuned high-performance automobile could.
Mitchell instantly decided on his course of action. Groggily launching himself forward before the star could even leave the sidewalk, Mitchell whipped out his company ID and lied, “Police, I need your car.”
The rocker hesitated and with that small window of opportunity, Mitchell jumped into the idling car. Slamming the door behind him, Mitchell pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car leapt forward. Mitchell changed gears as fast as he could as the car sped away; he never heard the man cursing him from the sidewalk as he raced into traffic. The three hundred-horse power engine roared to life. Mitchell drove the car like a man possessed, quickly weaving in and out of traffic as he tried to spot the escaping white van lost to him in the busy nighttime traffic. The 1980s hit Rebel Yell blared from the car’s sound system as Mitchell floored the accelerator.
Pain racked his body. He had never been tasered before. It even hurt to breathe, but Mitchell shook his head to clear the cobwebs and dug deep inside and tried to shut out the pain as he changed gears and sped after the van. The traffic was heavy, but Mitchell just ignored it and drove down the middle of the road, disregarding the cars swerving to get out of his way. Red lights did not even slow Mitchell; he simply jammed his hand on the horn, sped up, and charged headlong through the steady stream of cars, hoping not to hit, or get hit by, anyone.
Jen lay scared and miserable on the floor of the van as it made its way east. Her heart was racing wildly. She fought to stifle a scream of fear; she could feel the cold metal from a pistol jammed against the side of her head. It was happening all over again. Why would anyone want to kidnap her? None of this made any sense to her. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer and wondered how Mitchell was doing and if he were even still alive.
With a sharp blast of the horn, Mitchell changed gears and whipped around a car that was foolishly doing the posted speed. The more he drove, the more enraged he became. He cursed himself for being caught off guard without a sidearm; it was a mistake he vowed never to repeat. Even though he was streaking through the traffic, Mitchell still had not seen the white van and was beginning to feel in his gut that somehow he had screwed up, that somewhere they had turned off, and that he had lost Jen to the thugs. A car suddenly stopped in front of him; Mitchell’s heart leapt into his throat. He barely had time to swerve around the car into the blaring horns of the oncoming traffic. Mitchell continued to speed his way down the middle of the road. An oncoming black SUV honked its horn. A second later, the driver’s-side mirror on Mitchell’s car exploded into thousands of tiny fragments as the two cars narrowly missed hitting one another.
Suddenly, a few hundred meters in front of him, Mitchell saw the van. With a loud roar of the engine, Mitchell jammed the car into fifth gear and sped after the van, hoping to close the distance before the vehicle had the opportunity to turn off onto a side street.
The white van’s driver was an ex-member of the Charlotte police force who had worked the streets for years before being expelled for corruption. Now, he did not care where the money came from, only that he was paid well for his services. Carefully threading his way through the traffic, trying not to draw the unwanted attention of any police cruisers, the driver couldn’t wait to get his share of tonight’s profit. Taking a quick look in the driver’s-side mirror, he caught a glimpse of an expensive-looking black car weaving its way through the nighttime traffic towards them. The hair on the back of his neck instantly went up; someone was after them. Gritting his teeth, he swore. He told his boss that they should have killed the man. Instead, they had followed orders and only used a Taser on him. Now, the driver had no doubt that he was the man in the car following them. Shaking his head in frustration, the driver gripped the steering wheel, changed lanes, and sped up.
Mitchell saw the move, changed gears, and rocketed between two cars, missing them by mere inches until he was only a few car lengths behind the van. As he got closer, it dawned on him that he had not yet thought through what he was going to do next. He didn’t have a gun and although his car was fast, it would not last very long if the driver of the van decided to play bumper cars with him. Mitchell needed help. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his iPhone and quickly dialed 911. As soon as the operator came on, Mitchell blurted out where he was and the make of the car he was following, and got off the line. He needed to concentrate on his driving, not on answering the many questions surely to be asked by the operator.