Read Online 24 Declassified: Head Shot (2009) by David Jacobs - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Jacobs
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to slope upward, beginning a long gentle incline that curved slightly to the west, rounding the southernmost limb of Mount Zebulon, the next peak north of the gap beyond Mount Nagaii.
Jack was so close to the sedan that he could make out the outline of the driver’s head and shoulders. How to take him? He’d like to take him alive if he could, but at these speeds that would be a tall order. He didn’t intend on getting killed himself trying it. The pickup was bigger than the sedan, had more muscle. He could run him off the road, if it came to that. If he came alongside the sedan, he could shoot him. The fugitive had a gun, too, though, and Jack didn’t fancy the idea of trading shots with him at ninety miles an hour. No, best to bull him off the road. If the other should survive the crash, so much the better.
The sedan was nearly at the crest of the long incline. A peek in the rear-view mirror told Jack that the police car was still a long way behind.
The sedan topped the summit, disappearing down the other side. The hilltop zoomed ahead, and for a split second Jack was looking down at the far side of the slope.
There was a village at the bottom of the hill. There wasn’t much to it but it was a metropolis in comparison to the whistle-stop at the railroad crossing. A bridge spanned the river here, too, but this one was for cars and trucks.
A strip of stores lined both sides of Nagaii Drive at the village’s center. Jack guessed that was what passed for Main Street, the business district. A dozen or so two- and three-story brick buildings were grouped around both sides of the main drag. A couple of blocks of one-family houses stood on the west side of town.
The intersection of Nagaii Drive and the road to the bridge formed a square, complete with traffic lights. The lights fl ashed amber.
A police car came into view in the western arm of the crossroad, rolling eastbound toward the square, its emergency lights flashing.
The sedan got there first, flying through the intersection and continuing north on Nagaii Drive. The police car halted, partially blocking the square.
A second police car appeared, coming from the east branch of the crossroad, rolling west. Its flashers were on, too. It halted in the middle of the square, nose to nose with its twin, the two of them forming a roadblock that walled off Nagaii Drive.
Jack was in a tight spot. He thought about driving up on the sidewalk and swerving around the roadblock, but the sidewalk looked too narrow to accommodate the pickup. It didn’t look doable even if the sidewalk had been wide enough, not at the speed he was going. At that speed it looked suicidal. He wasn’t sure that even without trying any fancy tricks he could stop in time to avoid crashing into the roadblock.
The cops must have thought so, too, because they jumped out of their cars and hustled to the sides. There were two of them, one per car. One was c arrying what looked like a rifl e. Jack’s calculations were carried out in split seconds. They weren’t so much calculations as reactions. He knew that if he stomped on the brake pedal the brakes were likely to seize up and cause him to lose control of the car. He pumped the brakes instead, manhandling the steering wheel to minimize the inevitable slide.
The tires howled, leaving twin snaky lines of burnt rubber on both sides of the street’s painted yellow centerline as the pickup shimmied, fishtailed, and skidded.
The machine slid sideways a good part of the way down the hill, leading with the driver’s side. Multiple collisions would have been inevitable if any cars had been parked on either side of the street. Jack needed all the space on both sides of the street to wrestle some kind of control into the pickup.
It was close, very close. The pickup skidded sideways toward the twinned police cars, lurching to a halt less than six feet away from them. The engine stalled out.
The radio still worked, though. Every now and then it squawked
Jack was so close to the sedan that he could make out the outline of the driver’s head and shoulders. How to take him? He’d like to take him alive if he could, but at these speeds that would be a tall order. He didn’t intend on getting killed himself trying it. The pickup was bigger than the sedan, had more muscle. He could run him off the road, if it came to that. If he came alongside the sedan, he could shoot him. The fugitive had a gun, too, though, and Jack didn’t fancy the idea of trading shots with him at ninety miles an hour. No, best to bull him off the road. If the other should survive the crash, so much the better.
The sedan was nearly at the crest of the long incline. A peek in the rear-view mirror told Jack that the police car was still a long way behind.
The sedan topped the summit, disappearing down the other side. The hilltop zoomed ahead, and for a split second Jack was looking down at the far side of the slope.
There was a village at the bottom of the hill. There wasn’t much to it but it was a metropolis in comparison to the whistle-stop at the railroad crossing. A bridge spanned the river here, too, but this one was for cars and trucks.
A strip of stores lined both sides of Nagaii Drive at the village’s center. Jack guessed that was what passed for Main Street, the business district. A dozen or so two- and three-story brick buildings were grouped around both sides of the main drag. A couple of blocks of one-family houses stood on the west side of town.
The intersection of Nagaii Drive and the road to the bridge formed a square, complete with traffic lights. The lights fl ashed amber.
A police car came into view in the western arm of the crossroad, rolling eastbound toward the square, its emergency lights flashing.
The sedan got there first, flying through the intersection and continuing north on Nagaii Drive. The police car halted, partially blocking the square.
A second police car appeared, coming from the east branch of the crossroad, rolling west. Its flashers were on, too. It halted in the middle of the square, nose to nose with its twin, the two of them forming a roadblock that walled off Nagaii Drive.
Jack was in a tight spot. He thought about driving up on the sidewalk and swerving around the roadblock, but the sidewalk looked too narrow to accommodate the pickup. It didn’t look doable even if the sidewalk had been wide enough, not at the speed he was going. At that speed it looked suicidal. He wasn’t sure that even without trying any fancy tricks he could stop in time to avoid crashing into the roadblock.
The cops must have thought so, too, because they jumped out of their cars and hustled to the sides. There were two of them, one per car. One was c arrying what looked like a rifl e. Jack’s calculations were carried out in split seconds. They weren’t so much calculations as reactions. He knew that if he stomped on the brake pedal the brakes were likely to seize up and cause him to lose control of the car. He pumped the brakes instead, manhandling the steering wheel to minimize the inevitable slide.
The tires howled, leaving twin snaky lines of burnt rubber on both sides of the street’s painted yellow centerline as the pickup shimmied, fishtailed, and skidded.
The machine slid sideways a good part of the way down the hill, leading with the driver’s side. Multiple collisions would have been inevitable if any cars had been parked on either side of the street. Jack needed all the space on both sides of the street to wrestle some kind of control into the pickup.
It was close, very close. The pickup skidded sideways toward the twinned police cars, lurching to a halt less than six feet away from them. The engine stalled out.
The radio still worked, though. Every now and then it squawked
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