This was an area Roddy had known well in the past. Though he hadn't been through Nashville in several years, he had traveled up I-40 toward Knoxville and the Great Smoky Mountains enough times to know the way blindfolded, as he had told Yuri. Karen's father had served several churches in Middle Tennessee before his retirement, and the Rodman family had visited the area on many occasions, usually journeying on to the east for a few days in the mountains.
While he waited for Yuri, Roddy picked up the portable phone and dialed Lori Hill's number in Falls Church, Virginia.
"We're in Nashville, still headed east," he told her when she came on the line.
"Burke called from San Francisco a couple of hours ago. The FBI had questioned him." She explained what had happened at the airport, and she passed along Burke's warning.
Roddy thought of calling Karen, but she would most likely be at the dress shop getting things ready for the opening. He frowned at the thought that he was letting her down again. He should be there to help.
Yuri came back a few minutes later, and they sat eating their sandwiches while they waited for the van to get underway. Roddy told him about his conversation with Lori.
"Does Burke think the FBI will be coming after us?" Yuri asked.
"I don't know, but Lori doesn't think so. If Major Romashchuk is operating under somebody's protection, they would try to hold the FBI off of us to keep him from being compromised. At least that's her theory."
At that moment, the Peruvians and the Major strolled out of the restaurant next door, looking well fed and picking their teeth. Roddy followed as the van turned back toward the interstate and continued eastward. As they cruised along at sixty, he glanced up occasionally at the churning clouds and noted that the afternoon was beginning to resemble early evening. Headlights burning on vehicles coming from the east warned of what lay ahead. Roddy was hardly surprised when, about an hour out of Nashville, raindrops began to splatter on the windshield. Staring into the gloom ahead, he saw rain blowing across the highway, coming down at an angle like sheets billowed out from a country clothesline.
They were headed up the mountain now. The van slowed, apparently to avoid the possibility of a skid. At the top of the long grade, the highway leveled off, then continued its meandering course along the rolling terrain of the Cumberland Plateau. Vast hardwood forests flanked the road. With black clouds hovering above and the dark shapes of the trees on either side, it gave Roddy the sensation of driving through a tunnel.
The downpour slackened a time or two, but brilliant flashes of lightning stabbed at the nearby hills, loud rumbles of thunder following quickly like deep-voiced protests from the forest. Clearly the storm had much of its fury left. Stiff gusts of wind broadsided the car. More often than not Roddy found himself clutching the steering wheel tightly as he struggled to keep on course with the van in view. He was so intent on what was taking place up ahead that he failed to notice the truck that had gradually closed in from the rear, then settled down to match his speed.
They had just passed the Westel Road exit and were heading around a curve near the sign marking the Eastern Time Zone boundary when Yuri spoke up.
"That truck behind us keeps getting closer. I hope he has good brakes."
"An eighteen-wheeler?"
The rain had picked up again and Yuri squinted as he stared out the rear window. The headlights were distracting, but he could still see the outlines of the truck in the gloom. "No, it isn't a trailer-type. Smaller. Part of the back end comes up over the top of the front."
"Over the cab, you mean?"
"Yes. Over the cab."
Roddy glanced in the mirror and saw the headlights swing to the left. "We're probably going too fast, and that idiot's about to pass us. I hope he doesn't pull in front and block my view. There's an exit at the bottom of this mountain."
They had started down what the truckers called "Rockwood Mountain." Over most of the steep grade, the westbound lane, going uphill, had been hewn out of the rocky face somewhat higher. Though it had been a few years, Roddy well remembered the magnificent view of the valley off to the right, where the town of Rockwood nestled hundreds of feet below. In clear weather, you could see the blue waters of TVA's Watts Bar Lake several miles to the south.
Gripping the wheel tightly, Roddy saw the truck pull even with him. Though not as big as a long-distance hauler, it was large enough for a local mover. It was painted a solid gray, with no identification on the side. As the truck slowly crept ahead, it began to wander toward the righthand lane.
Roddy blew his horn and edged near the shoulder of the road. "The idiot's getting into my damned lane," he said.
But the truck kept pressing closer. Then he looked up at the passenger-side window and saw a grinning Oriental face and a hand waving "bye-bye." The sudden realization of what was happening kicked his heart into overdrive.
"They're trying to run us off the road!"
He reacted by shifting his foot to the brake, but caught himself just before jamming it. If he had, he knew, they would be skidding all over the highway. Then the headlights reflected off an exit sign for "Airport Road," and he realized the low mound of stone on the right would soon disappear as the highway reached a point where the view was not unlike that of staring over the precipice of a waterfall.
As soon as he had yelled, he got a fleeting glimpse of Yuri diving into the back seat. But he didn't have time to worry about anything but that damnable gray hulk crowding him onto the shoulder. He put just enough pressure on the brake pedal to gradually slow the car without locking the wheels. He wished to hell they had gotten a model with anti-lock brakes. They were not slowing quickly enough.
His heart nearly stopped as he spotted the curve ahead. He definitely knew where he was now. It was a turn to the left with nothing beyond the narrow shoulder on the right but a low guard rail and a drop of two hundred feet or more down the hillside.
Then he heard Yuri yell from the back seat, "Lower the window!"
It was such an urgent command that he instantly jammed his hand against the armrest and pressed the down window button. He had used it so many times that the movement was almost reflexive.
The rain struck his face with a stinging chill as the window moved lower. He gritted his teeth, intent only on that curve looming ahead and the front of the truck, which had just banged against his fender with a sickening, metallic clunk.
The explosion that followed was about the God-awfulest sound he had ever heard. It occurred just behind his head. He would have risen off the seat but for the restraint of his seatbelt harness. He knew what it was when he saw the hole and the spiderweb pattern of broken glass appear in the window of the truck. Yuri fired two more quick shots and the truck veered suddenly to the left. He was leaning against the front seat now, pushing the pistol through the window beside Roddy. As the front wheel came into view, he blasted the tire.
The driver completely lost control. He attempted to straighten out, but the blown tire caused him to turn too far and go into a skid off to the right.
His heart pounding, Roddy fought to maintain control. He had slowed sufficiently to let the truck move ahead. He turned the wheel just enough to ease to the left as the truck slid in front of him, spinning halfway around. He passed it on the left, barely missing the swinging rear end, then saw the truck broadside the guardrail and topple into the chasm.
Breathing hard, his hands trembling, Roddy looked into the mirror. There were no headlights visible behind them. Apparently there were no witnesses to what had happened.
Realizing he was getting soaked by the rain, Roddy closed the window and heard Yuri's voice calling, "Are you all right?"