Read Online Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two by Joe Nobody - Free Book Online Page B

was; Weathers had shot his way out of the dragnet.
    Ambulances were already on the scene by the time the FBI caravan arrived. The two dazed officers were being shuttled into the back of the emergency vehicles, paramedics bustling around the injured men.
    Shultz flashed his ID and asked, “Can either of them talk?”
    “They were both out cold when we arrived,” answered the paramedic. “We’ve stabilized them, but neither is very responsive.”
    “I have to talk to them,” Shultz insisted. “Can you do anything at all? A lot of lives are depending on it.”
    Another emergency responder appeared, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, sir. I’m pretty sure both of them suffered severe blows to the head. Probably have concussions. I could barely get them to tell me their names before we loaded them on the backboards.”
    “I have to talk to them,” he repeated. “It’s that important.”
    The two -man ambulance crew exchanged puzzled glances, the senior shrugging his shoulders. “If you insist.” He returned a moment later and broke a small tube under the patient’s nose.
    The patrolman’s eyes fluttered , and he tried to pull away, the restraints and neck brace restricting his movements. “It’s okay…. It’s okay…. You’re alright,” soothed the paramedic.
    “Officer Kendall, my name is Tom Shultz from the FBI. What happened?”
    “Motorcycle,” whispered the patrolman. “He was on a motorcycle… a rifle... and… and… I don’t know after that.”
    Shultz nodded at the EMT, indicating that’s all he needed. Before Officer Kendall was wheeled to the back of the waiting rescue unit, the law enforcement networks were busy spreading the word that the suspect was now riding on a motorcycle.

     
    Trying to keep his speed low and blend in, Dusty was having trouble focusing as he steered the bike through traffic. The helter-skelter pace and relentless stress were taking a toll, his brain slowly sinking into a fog of confusion.
    Through it all, he could see Kemah Channel bridge in the distance, the high-rise structure a beacon of familiarity. Having no other place to go, he kept steering the motorcycle back toward the familiar landmark.
    He finally arrived at the boardwalk, his destination unplanned. There just really wasn’t anywhere else he could think of to go.
    The place was bustling, thousands of people milling about, shopping, dining, and enjoying the now packed amusement park.
    He pulled the motorcycle to the deliver y area of one of the restaurants, identifying a narrow gap between a smelly dumpster and the back wall. He switched off the ignition, just sitting for a minute to gather his wits.
    Movement at the edge of the parking lot drew his attention. He looked up to see th ree police cars rolling into the place and traveling at a high rate of speed.
    “Shit!” he hissed, looking around for somewhere to run. There was water on three sides of his location, the only way out now filled with policemen.
    Dusty started to panic, hopping off the seat, and stuffing the rail gun back in its bag. The sound of a nearby engine caused him to pause.
    The sign on the side of the delivery truck read, “Rio Grande Valley Vegetables, Laredo, Texas.”
    It was a typical- looking farm truck, dual axle in the back with side rails surrounding the bed. Dusty could see what appeared to be crates of lettuce and carrots stacked in the back.
    “He’s delivering to the restaurants,” he grasped. “There’s my ride.”
    But the truck was already rolling, an elderly Latino man behind the wheel.
    Dusty gazed about , trying to think of anything to stop that truck. He realized the motorcycle helmet was still on his head, and then it occurred to him.
    Pulling lo ose the chinstrap, he yanked off his headgear, and then from behind the dumpster, he rolled it like a bowling ball directly at the truck.
    The driver seemed quite surpri sed to see the odd looking, spherically-shaped object bouncing across the parking lot