“Good. And those work on a unique radio signal, correct?”
“Definitely.”
“Then get on the phone with everyone you can think of: Air Force, Navy, any friendlies in the area with the capability to find those signals and give them the frequency. We should be able to lock in on the exact location of those warheads. As long as they’re less than six hours away, we still have a shot.”
Emily offered additional help. “I’ll call Washington and let them know what’s going on. They’ll need to bring in the cavalry hot and heavy.”
Sean realized that while they’d been focused on Khalif, he’d completely forgotten about Ahmed. Khalif’s right-hand man had been knocked out, but it was doubtful he’d died. Sean turned around expecting to see him on the floor, but to his surprise, Ahmed was gone.
“Oh no.”
“What?” Emily asked. Then she saw what he was staring at. The empty floor where Ahmed had been lying.
A surge of dread went through each stomach in the room.
“He’s getting away,” Emily stated the obvious.
Sean yanked the pistol out of Tommy’s hand and took off toward the hallway. He didn’t slow down as he yelled back. “Find those signals! I’ll get Ahmed!”
He flew down the stairs two at a time, sliding his hand on a rail to keep his balance. He whipped around the corner of the first landing and pushed himself to go faster and nearly slipped on the edge of a step. He caught his fall and kept going, albeit more cautiously.
When Sean reached the ground floor, he turned down the hall they’d come through before and found the side door still open. A car engine revved outside. Tires squealed.
He burst through the door in time to see the BMW backing out toward the road. Sean looked at the van parked in the driveway.
No way I’ll catch him in that thing.
Then he remembered the six garage doors. There has to be something better in there.
He darted back into the house and took the first hallway that looked like it would go to the garage. Luckily, he was right on the first guess. And there was a set of keys hanging from a well-organized key ring next to the door. No time to debate which one to steal. So he took the one with the Ducati badge on it.
Sean punched the garage door and snagged a helmet off a rung in the garage. He ran over to the 999 sport bike, jumped on, and put the key in the ignition. He revved the engine to life, shifted into gear, and the bike leaped out of the garage. Sean tore down the driveway and nearly slid the thing around the corner onto the street. He hadn’t seen which direction the BMW went, but his gut told him Ahmed would go for the missiles to up the time frame for the attack. Based on where they’d been facing in the upstairs room, that would be northeast.
He twisted the throttle, zipping through the quiet early morning streets of the Garden District. There were hardly any people or cars out yet, which definitely helped in navigating the confusing roads.
Sean zoomed around a curve, leaning hard with his body. He’d not seen a trace of Ahmed’s car and started to think perhaps his quarry had taken a side road. Coming out of the dramatic turn, the street straightened out. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead, Sean saw the tail lights of the BMW.
“Got you.”
He twisted the throttle and felt the bike surge forward. Wind noise filled his ears. The cool, dry morning air coursed over him, raising the hair on his skin. He hadn’t taken the time to secure the helmet, so it shook a little more than normal, but it would do. The only reason he grabbed the headgear in the first place was so he could see. Driving a motorcycle at speeds over 55 miles per hour made visibility difficult without some sort of eye protection.
The gap between the motorcycle and the sedan narrowed.
Sean reeled Ahmed to within forty feet. He didn’t care if the car’s driver could see him. This was going to end one way or another.
Sean raised the pistol he’d taken from Tommy and aimed at the back window.
Suddenly, the tail lights on the sedan brightened, and the car’s nose dipped hard toward the pavement. Sean was preoccupied with getting off a shot, so his reaction to Ahmed’s erratic move was slower.
He tapped the brakes with his hand and foot, then deftly swerved the bike around the car. He missed it by inches. Sean stuffed the gun back in his pocket and looked over his shoulder in time to see the white sedan disappear down a side street.
He shifted down, causing the engine to roar before he hit the brakes and did a sliding U-turn. He twisted the throttle. The rear tire slipped at first on the pavement before it took hold and launched the bike forward.
Sean whipped around the corner and down the street Ahmed had taken. It appeared to be a road leading out of the city. And the car was already out of sight.
He gunned the throttle again.
Shops and cafes blurred by as the bike neared 100 miles per hour. He caught a glimpse of the white sedan in the distance and leaned over the tank to get as aerodynamic as possible.
The mass collection of businesses and eateries ended abruptly, replaced by lower-income houses and rundown apartment buildings. Ahmed was still far ahead, but Sean was reeling him in again, although not as fast as before.
As he recalled, that model BMW had a top speed in the 150-mile per hour range. The Ducati 999 had been touted as capable of 170-ish.
He’d put that claim to the test. Sean hugged the fuel tank as the chase reached the outskirts of the city and roared into the desert.
The bright orange sun rippled over the dunes on the horizon to the east. Sean swerved around a dump truck in the right lane. The speedometer read 160. At that speed, steering the motorcycle wasn’t an option. It was more like guiding a rocket. Movements had to be subtle. Anything sudden would mean a very quick and very messy death.
The BMW drew closer by a yard or two at a time.
Sean had never driven a motorcycle at this speed before. He’d topped out his Honda CBR at 156 once and figured that would be the pinnacle. Now he was doing 165.
The engine whined between his legs, and the wind pushed hard against his fingers. He didn’t dare raise his head at this speed. It would be like getting your head grabbed and pulled back by a bodybuilder. And the sound was like standing in a wind tunnel. With no ear plugs.
A delivery truck was in the right lane ahead. Sean kept an eye on it until the second it whooshed by. Part of the danger of traveling so fast on a bike — or with any vehicle — is that other idiots on the road can do random things at the worst times, like swerve over for no reason.
The BMW was only sixty feet ahead. Sean would cover that gap in less than ten seconds. Wary of Ahmed’s last trick, Sean eased up on the throttle. The bike’s speed fell off, dropping to 140 and then 120. He made the move just in time.
The sedan slowed visibly, though the brake lights didn’t come on. Ahmed was no fool. Hitting the brakes at that speed could have adverse effects, even in a car with top-of-the-line equipment.
Sean continued to let his speed drop in conjunction with the sedan until they were hovering over 100. He veered into the right lane and sped up. Ahmed saw the move and swerved into the same lane, blocking Sean’s approach.
The American let off the gas again and fell back, merged left, and repeated the attack. This time, he saw Ahmed’s window go down and knew what was coming next. A handgun poked out the opening and fired wildly. Sean retreated once more, falling back to within sixty feet. He felt the pistol tucked away in his pants, but using it would be tricky, especially at such high speeds.
He sped up again, approaching in the right lane. Predictably, Ahmed slowed down and cut him off. Sean leaned hard to the left, diving back to the other lane. Ahmed saw his move and corrected. The car’s back end wiggled subtly for a moment. Within two seconds it fishtailed out of control.