“Yes.”
“You know where we’re going to meet.”
“I do.”
“You’ll do exactly what I told you to do.”
Jill nodded. “I will.”
Tom raised his head like a bloodhound catching a fresh scent. “Okay, then. Ride.”
“What if nothing happens? What if they don’t come?” she asked.
“Then we’ll go get ourselves a bite to eat,” Tom said.
Jill nodded. She got on her bike and coasted down to the end of the driveway. Tom inched himself to the edge of the house. He needed to have a clear view of the street. Jill turned left and began to pedal away from the house. The street was quiet. No cars. No noise.
It didn’t stay quiet for long. Tom heard the police car sirens well before he saw the flashing strobe lights. Five police cars turned onto Oak Street. Three state police cruisers were in the mix as well. All the police cars had their lights flashing and sirens blaring.
And they were headed straight for Jill.
“Hurry, baby. Pedal faster.”
Tom noticed Jill pick up her pace and pedal faster. Her legs were pumping. He had wanted her to be a good hundred yards away from the house before he made the call. The police cars didn’t slow as they passed Jill. They kept right on driving.
“Keep going. That’s it, Jilly-bean,” Tom whispered to himself.
Next, Tom checked in both directions on Oak Street for any pedestrians or coming motorists. All was clear. Jill was at a safe distance. The line of approaching police cars was some fifty yards from the house.
Tom knew he was about to commit a crime. Several of them, in fact. But the situation had left him no alternative. If the police arrested him, he’d be charged and convicted for Lindsey’s murder. He’d spend the rest of his life in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. Jill would be vulnerable. Perhaps the next victim of Lindsey’s killer.
Tom’s other option was to evade capture. Take Jill to a safe house. His military contacts and network could keep close watch over her. And while she was secure, he’d be free to track down Lindsey’s real killer and bring him to justice. Tom had no intention of running forever. Once Jill was safe and Lindsey’s killer behind bars, he’d gladly pay for the crimes he committed. All of them. Including his role in the drugs he’d smuggled out of Germany.
Using the portable house phone, Tom dialed his cell phone number. His cell phone was buried at the bottom of the trash barrel, but the call went through with no problem. Electricity passed through the wires of his cell phone’s ringer mechanism, which Tom had rigged earlier to the flash trigger of a disposable camera. The electric circuit of the camera’s flash detonated the bomb.
A jet of fire erupted two hundred feet into the air, streaking skyward in a thick column of flames approximately the diameter of the trash barrel. The explosion rattled windows in some houses. Shattered them in others. Car alarms made an orchestral shriek that rose above the siren noise. A powerful shock wave lifted the wheels of the approaching police cars off the ground, before gravity resettled them with an unforgiving crunch.
The police cars swerved off the road. Their wheels skidded against the pavement as they gripped for traction. They came to a stop in odd angles on sidewalks and lawns. The street was completely clear of traffic. But Tom wasn’t headed for the street. He was headed for the woods.
Distract and evade.
It was time for him to leave.
Chapter 76
Tom shouldered the mountain bike down the steep ravine behind the house, then up the other side. He rode across Pine Street and vanished into the dense, root-covered forest that lay just beyond. He knew without instruments that he was riding his target cadence of eighty-five rpm’s. His right hand effortlessly worked the lever controlling the rear gears, while his left operated the front mechanism, shifting the chain from one chainwheel to another depending on the terrain or obstacle in his path.
The SEALs could evade with whatever was at their disposal. Tom could fly a plane, steal a car, ride a motorcycle, or sail a boat if it meant avoiding capture. A long-standing joke in the navy was that the SEALs were the only outfit capable of escape by unicycle. Tom did with the mountain bike precisely what the navy had prepared him to do. He grabbed the best available option and pedaled as though he’d been preparing for this race all his life.
The conservation land behind Pine Street was especially hilly, so Tom kept the chain mostly to the inner chainwheels. He remembered to ease off the pedal pressure some just before shifting gears. He sped up, didn’t brake, while going over obstacles. On the downhill, he leaned back to apply more grip to the rear tire. Uphill he leaned forward to accomplish the same on the front. The biggest problem was the clipless pedals, for which he didn’t have the proper cleats. His feet slipped, but not often.
Tom kept clear of the paths, which meant more obstacles to overcome. The unbalanced weight of Jill’s nylon backpack somewhat hampered his ability to maneuver the bike. Still, he managed to bunny hop a fallen moss-covered maple tree without having to dead stop. On a couple of steep run-ups, Tom had to dismount and shoulder the bike to the top. He used the densest parts of the woods to his advantage, turning the tall, leafy trees into a natural canopy that concealed his location from air surveillance.
Tom was glad he kept up a disciplined exercise schedule. Even with the injuries he had sustained in the car accident, his breathing was unlabored as he pedaled through a river swollen from a recent rain. Trained athletes would have been sucking air at his pace. Weekend warriors would have been hyperventilating, probably injured by now. He saw obstacles—roots and rocks—that normal riders would have missed. His heartbeat stayed steady.
As he rode, he visualized the response to his escape. The Shilo police weren’t a significant concern, even though they would call in reinforcements from the state police. They’d organize a containment strategy of sorts. Patrol cars and motorcycles at the major access roads bordering the section of woodland directly behind his house. They’d figure on covering about a ten-mile radius. But Tom was riding fast enough that they’d need to double that acreage to have any hope of spotting him.
But SWAT was a legitimate concern.
Some of those guys had his level of training. They could mobilize fast, too. It was what they were organized to do. The state police would call for SWAT. They’d come at him from the air. But they’d also come by land.
Tom had a map of Shilo in his backpack, but he didn’t need to refer to it. He knew exactly where he was riding. If he could slip by SWAT, he was gone. Nobody would find him then. Not unless he wanted them to.
Of all the concerns clouding his thoughts, his biggest worry was Jill. Would she be all right? Would she do exactly as he had instructed? He recalled how she had screamed into the dark woods, daring the vandals who desecrated her house to show their cowardly faces. He saw a fight in his daughter she’d shown only on the soccer field. It was reassuring. It gave him confidence that she’d be fine. Soon, they’d be together.
The terrain flattened out for several hundred yards but then began a steady incline. Tom rode in a zigzag pattern, with his body over the rear wheel to establish a greater center of gravity. His outside foot leaned forward into each turn, granting him added mobility so that he could swivel at a much greater angle. He moved toward each turn, looking nine feet ahead in anticipation of the next.
The forest here was composed mostly of hemlock, white pine, beech, and oak trees. The composition of the terrain seemed to vary every few feet. In parts the soil was rocky, but it soon became a coarse washed till and just as quickly turned sandy and fine. The riding was challenging, but not impossible. He knew where he could lose any pursuer, and didn’t have that far to go.