She put the car in gear and drove toward the exit, rolling over the pressure sensors that activated the gate. With a shudder, it began to roll on its track. Faster, she thought.
“Let’s see if we were right.”
Mary gave him the key. He pressed his thumb against the translucent dome in the key’s center. Nothing happened.
“Try it again.”
He thumbed the dome, harder this time. Still nothing. “You got any other ideas?”
“Give it to me.” Mary grabbed the key and rammed her thumb against the dome. She felt something give. The flash drive shot out of the bottom of the key. “Woman’s touch.”
“Jesus. You were right.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
“Honestly? No.” Tank twisted in his seat, an eye on the office door. “Ah, shit.”
“What?”
“You weren’t kidding about that gun.”
A siren wailed. The gate stopped dead in its tracks. In the rearview mirror, Mary saw Yolanda Garza burst out of the office door, gun drawn. The woman was shouting something to the truck drivers, who launched themselves off the fenders and ran to their cabs. Both emerged holding handguns. There was a ping of metal and simultaneously a gunshot. Then more.
The side window shattered. A tire exploded. The car listed to port. Mary ducked. “We’re at the fucking O.K. Corral.”
“Get out of the car,” shouted Garza. “Open your doors.”
Mary complied.
Tank reached across and yanked it shut. “I am not going to be captured by Evelyn Ness over there.”
“What are you going to do, shoot her? Get out of the car, Tank. It’s over. We’re done.”
Tank stripped the gun from her holster. “The hell you say. It’s not even close to over.”
“Tank!”
“Listen to me. Do as she says. Get out of the car. Look nice and peaceful. Remember you’re a mom, not an FBI agent. And on the count of three hit the ground.”
“You aren’t going to shoot anyone. I won’t allow it.”
“Eagle Scout’s word of honor.”
“But we can’t go anywhere. The front tire is flat. The car is ruined.”
“This car is ruined.” Tank snatched the Ferrari key from her hand. “This one isn’t.”
“But-”
“You feel like spending the next five to ten in jail? You used up your hall pass earlier today, and that was before we killed McNair. I may have pulled the trigger, but you’re my accomplice.”
“But he was going to kill me.”
“That’s a lot of buts hanging out there in the wind.”
“Dammit,” said Mary.
“At least let me try to get us out of here.”
Mary looked at Garza standing thirty feet away, gun aimed at her, and at the tow-truck drivers, positioned more prudently next to their vehicles. Her disdain for Mason returned, and with it her anger. If she stopped now, if she stopped before exhausting her every opportunity, she would have let them win. Ian Prince and Edward Mason and Fergus Keefe. Joe would be remembered as inept, or even a failure. Worse, his death would go unavenged.
“No shooting anyone,” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am. Now open the door. And remember-”
“On three, hit the ground.”
Tank nodded. “Trust me.”
Mary threw her legs from the car and stepped out. Without prompting, she raised her hands. It came to her that this was the third time in twenty-four hours that she’d had a gun pointed at her.
“Stay there,” said Garza. Then she called to the drivers. “Ray, there’s a pair of cuffs in my desk. Go get ’em and bring ’em to me.”
“One…,” said Tank.
“Open your jacket so I can see your weapon,” said Garza. “Nice and slow. And tell your partner to get out, too.”
“Two.”
Garza stepped closer, eyes narrowed, wary. Mary unbuttoned her blazer and opened it wide. “Tank, get out, please,” she said.
“Three.”
Mary threw herself to the ground. From the corners of her eyes she caught Tank jumping from the car, pistol in hand. He wasn’t aiming at Garza or at the drivers. He was pointing the gun at a cylindrical iron tank near the front gate. She spotted a diamond-shaped sticker on it and the word flammable, but only for a second. Then there was a gunshot and the tank exploded.
Mary dug her face into the dirt as the blast wave passed over her, the heat intense but fleeting. She peeked from beneath her arm and saw Tank running to the Ferrari. In front of her, Garza lay prone on the ground, unmoving. The tow-truck drivers had disappeared altogether. A fireball rose from the tank into the night sky like a giant roman candle.
She heard the Ferrari start. It was a sound like no other, a low-pitched, powerful rumble that resonated in her belly; the car was as much animal as machine. She pushed herself to her feet as Tank pulled up next to her.
He opened her door. “Get in.”
“Is she…” Mary pointed at Garza.
“Unconscious.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dammit, Mary, get in the car.”
The car was so low to the ground that she fell into the seat. The interior was like nothing she’d ever seen. Dials and gauges and lights glowed electric shades of green and yellow.
The ringing of the explosion faded and she heard a siren.
“Police,” said Tank, easing the car toward the exit. “Hold on.”
The gate lay in the center of the street, a mangled, twisted sheet of metal. To their right, far away, a police car was speeding toward them, strobes flashing. To her horror, a second patrol car followed on its tail. “Go the other way,” she said.
Tank looked to his left, where another squad car was approaching. “Must be a doughnut shop around here.”
“Which way, then?”
“I’m thinking north.”
“And then?”
“One step at a time.” He pulled into the street and steered gingerly around the gate. The police cars were closing fast, yet he made no further move. They sat stationary in the middle of the street, lights extinguished, nose pointed directly at the sidewalk and the scrub beyond.
“Hold on to the armrest.”
Mary wrapped her fingers around the leather grip. The lights from the police cars shone into the cabin, forcing her to look away.
Tank punched the gas, turning the car to the left and driving north. There was a squeal of rubber, an ungodly roar. Mary’s head hit the seatback. Her fingers tightened on the grip. The road disappeared beneath the car, the lines a blur. She’d never accelerated so rapidly in her life. It wasn’t a car; it was a rocket ship.
They passed the oncoming police car six seconds later, the speedometer reading 130 miles per hour. The headlights of the trailing cars dimmed. Tank ran a red and continued another few blocks, then braked and turned right before giving another burst of acceleration.
Two minutes later they were driving slowly through a quiet, sleeping neighborhood. Tank had one hand on the wheel and was slumped against the door.
“Are you all right?” Mary asked.
Tank touched his side and grimaced. “No, ma’am.”
“What is it?” said Mary. “What’s wrong?”
He held up a bloody hand. “I think I’ve been shot.”
79
Southwest Airlines Flight 79 touched down at Las Vegas McCarran International Airport at 2:15 a.m. local time. Jessie and Garrett were first off the plane. They ran through the terminal and down the escalator, Jessie braking by an ATM at the exit and withdrawing her maximum daily limit of $800.
“Where did you get so much money?” asked Garrett.
Jessie stuffed the bills into her jeans. “Men are kind of sick. That’s all I’m going to say.”