Ten minutes later Tommy’s cell phone buzzed. He answered it, noticing Austin fully dressed, sitting in a chair sipping a cup of coffee. He had no idea how long he had been there.
“Here’s how we’ll do it, Captain,” Cramer said when Tommy answered the call. “Write this account number and web address down. Transfer all the money there. I’ll verify the transaction in ten minutes. If it’s complete I’ll release the girl and walk away. If it’s not I’ll kill the bitch and come for you. Understood?”
“I gave half of the money to the veterans around the world, Cramer,” Tommy said.
“I was wondering where my extra ten grand came from,” he mused. “Well! I suppose I can manage on what’s left,” he laughed.
“What’s the address and account number?”
As Cramer gave it Tommy typed it into the computer. When it was complete he confirmed it, and then sent it on its way. “It’s on its way, Cramer,”
Tommy said. “If you harm the girl in any way, there’s no place on earth you will be safe. So, never stop looking over your shoulder. And never go to sleep. I’ll be there!”
“Ooohhhh, you talk so mean, Captain LeSade. To be honest, I’m really scared! Not! Anyway, you made the right decision. See ya!” Cramer was gone. On the screen appeared the address of where the call had originated. It was a motel on the outskirts of town. Tommy knew exactly where it was. He went through the kitchen and into the garage to his new Dodge Ram. He backed out as the door was going up. His tires squealed and smoked as he raced down the driveway in reverse. They continued to smoke and scream as he hit the street, the front end of the truck slid around to point down the street. He slammed it into drive and the tires began to smoke, boil and scream as he raced to the rescue.
The van parked along the street pulled out and followed the truck closely. The driver assumed LeSade knew where he was going and meant to get there in the next two seconds!
Agents Fred Wright and Jim Stevens hadn’t heard a word about the blue van, Lincoln, or Cramer since putting out the alert half an hour earlier. It was barely noon and was shaping up to be a long, hot day. Luckily they would be relieved at noon to eat lunch, sleep, shower, and return at midnight to relieve their replacements.
They were surprised when the garage door began to open and the brand new Dodge pickup began to smoke tires in reverse down the driveway and into the street like a stunt driver in some movie, then race down the street past them, engine roaring and tires still smoking like a dragster.
“Follow him if you can!” Jim said, climbing into the front seat. Before he could get settled and buckled in Fred had the van racing after the truck.
The chase led through backstreets and down alleys all the way across town. Tommy cautiously ran red lights and rolled through stop signs until he came out on Highway 51. He turned right and raced toward Wagoner, his tires smoking and the back end of the Dodge Ram Turbo fishtailing as it fought for traction.
When the custom van reached the highway the Ram was just a spec on the distant horizon. Fred and Jim looked both ways then turned to follow the only vehicle in sight.
“Damn, that Ram can sure run!” Jim said, watching the spec disappear over the horizon. “I’ll call for back up. Don’t lose him!”
Tommy knew the Feds were on his tail as he left his driveway. He didn’t care. Lisa was his only concern at the moment. If they couldn’t keep up, that was their problem. He eased through red lights and stop signs as he weaved his way across town. He emerged on Highway 51 and raced west. The motel was a couple of miles out on the right hand side of the highway.
Cramer had obviously rented a room at the mom and pop motel. Then used the phone line to connect his laptop to the internet, thus accessed his account in Pakistan.
As Tommy topped the hill, he saw a light blue van leave the driveway of the motel and casually speed west toward Wagoner. Tommy slowed and turned into the motel. He slid to a stop in front of the office and ran inside. The middle aged, attractive lady behind the desk looked up expectantly.
“The blue mini-van that just left. What room was he in?”
“Room five,” the woman answered smiling. “But, he hasn’t checked out, yet,” she continued to smile in a friendly, helpful way until Tommy turned away and raced out the door toward room five, just down the way.
“Hey!” she screamed after him. But it was too late. He was gone out the door.
Tommy didn’t pause at the door, he busted through as if it were made of paper. Lisa lay on the bed, gagged and blindfolded, tied spread-eagle on the bed. She was fully dressed and didn’t seem to have been harmed. He removed the blindfold first and she began to cry when she saw it was him. He then removed the gag and began to untie her wrists.
“Oh, Tommy! I knew you would come!” she cried happily, throwing her arms around his neck when he released her wrists. They kissed passionately and hugged tightly.
When Tommy saw and tasted her tears he began to get mad. Cramer had made this personal once again and now he would pay the piper. Tommy calmly untied Lisa’s ankles and lifted her from the bed. He led her outside as his anger raced through his mind like a wild wave of fire, incinerating everything in its path.
As they stepped out the door the custom van was rolling to a stop. The lady from the front office was crossing the parking lot toward them. She stopped in front of Tommy, fists on hips and demanded angrily, “Who’s gonna pay for my door?”
“Where’s Cramer?” Jim asked, opening the door and stepping out.
“Gone,” Tommy replied, opening the sliding side door of the van and placing Lisa gently inside. “Wait here with these guys. I’ll be back in a little while. Pay for the door.”
“Tommy, where are you going?” Lisa asked suspiciously.
“After him. If I don’t, he’ll be back. He’ll just kill us next time,” he slid the door closed and turned to the truck.
“It’s not good to take the law into your own hands, LeSade!” Stevens warned him.
“The law isn’t very efficient from what I’ve seen,” Tommy replied, then slid into the Dodge and rolled from the parking lot onto the highway.
“Who’s gonna pay for my door?” the woman demanded once again, looking straight at Jim.
“Send a bill to Tommy LeSade,” he shrugged.
“Tommy LeSade?” she asked skeptically. “No need to send a bill. I’ll just call him. He’ll make good, our Tommy will,” she turned and went back inside never once looking back.
Stevens got in the van and closed the door. It started slowly for the highway. At the highway, a Highway Patrol car sped by, overheads flashing importantly.
“Damn, he must be moving around a hundred and twenty!” Fred said, turning onto the highway and speeding in the direction Tommy and the Highway Patrolman had gone. He slowly gained speed in the heavy custom van.
In the distance, Tommy saw a dot on the horizon. He didn’t know if it was Cramer or not. The front end of the truck seemed to float slightly off the pavement. He glanced down at the speedometer and saw he was moving well over 120 miles per hour. The needle had been pegged, then had been broke off and lay at O.
The dot on the horizon had begun to grow. In his side view mirror, he saw another dot behind him. It was growing rapidly, too.
On top of the dot behind him, an array of flashing lights identified his pursuer as a cop of some kind. Probably a State Trooper, Tommy thought, as the dot continued to get larger. He could now make out the lights flashing wildly, as if they were in sync with the speed of the vehicle. Tommy figured the cop must be traveling at around 160, he was sure gaining fast.
The flashing lights behind him began to appear as a vehicle. Once in a while sparks flew out from under the vehicle as it bottomed out on the pavement. Tommy revised his estimation and decided the cop must be nearing two hundred miles per hour; the car seemed to be sitting on the highway.
Within minutes the vehicle, a helmeted Highway Patrol unit was sitting on Tommy’s rear bumper. He could barely he
ar the hysterical warbling of the siren. He ignored it. Cramer was not getting away scot free again!
In the distance, maybe a mile, Tommy could see a blue spot. It emerged into a mini-van. The same one that had left the motel parking lot earlier. It had to be Cramer.
Tommy eased the Ram into the left lane and began to catch up to the van. The Trooper stayed right with him, but stayed in the right lane. When he was even with Tommy, he motioned for him to fall back and pull over.
Tommy ignored him and eased up beside the mini-van. He began to slow down and ease the Ram slowly to the right. The driver’s window lowered. It was Cramer. He struggled with something in the seat beside him with his right hand. He raised it up across his chest, then lowered his hand and picked it up higher. As it slid out the window Tommy realized too late, that it was a rifle with a silencer on it. He realized immediately what was going to happen.
The bullet from the .30-.30 entered through the fender. It struck the engine block just below the exhaust manifold. From there it ricocheted down and away in a u-turn and hit the inside bottom of the tire.
The tire basically exploded off of the rim as the misshapen projectile entered the hot tire and released the hot air inside. As luck would have it, as the projectile entered the tire, the tire dropped into a low spot in the highway, adding the weight of the vehicle to the release of hot air. The tire was forcefully collapsed onto the rim of the wheel. The edges of the wheel rim collapsed, sending a shower of sparks back under the truck and slicing cleanly through the hot rubber, gouging a deep furrow in the asphalt, turning the wheel sharply to the right and dug deeper into the asphalt. It then bounced out of the depression, lifting the right front of the pickup and drifting it to the right.
The truck traveling forward at nearly 110 miles per hour became slightly airborne and began to roll as the rear end began to slide around to the left.
Tommy’s last clear vision, as the truck became completely airborne, was of Cramer smiling over the scope of the rifle. Then, Tommy’s world began to spin, bounce and roll into darkness.
The highway patrolman, seeing what was happening in front of him, floor boarded his cruiser, and hit the blower and nitrous at nearly the same time, then began to swerve to the right, sliding the rear end of his car around in a broad side spin. His last clear vision was of the Dodge Ram sliding, rolling, bouncing and tumbling end over end and side to side down the highway beside the blue mini-van.
The cruiser clipped the right rear corner of the mini-van with its left front fender as it passed. The cruiser began to spin clockwise and the mini-van began to spin counterclockwise. It flipped almost immediately and joined the macabre ballet down the highway.
The cruiser spun wildly out of control down the side of the highway, then the front end caught on something and the rear end spun around until the front end was freed, then began to slide backwards at nearly 90 miles per hour. The front end slowly slid around as the additional weight of the engine overcame the backward inertia. When it was pointed forward the patrolman stomped the accelerator and hit the Nitrous Oxide system once again and thus, regained control of his cruiser. In all it had made ten complete revolutions and never once threatened to turn over. Amazingly, his inside camera caught the whole thing on film for later confirmation of the superiority of the new prototype cruiser.
The mini-van however, didn’t fare so well. When the left rear fender was clipped at one hundred miles per hour, the right rear corner of the mini-van was lifted high and slid forward and to the right by the cruiser moving at nearly 130 miles per hour. The mini-van was spun broadside to the highway and began to roll over and over down the middle of the highway.
On its seventh tumble it topped a hill and was met broadside by an eighteen wheeler traveling east at 65 miles per hour. The small van exploded and was then ripped in two pieces.
As the two vehicles tumbled and rolled down the highway, various pieces of each were thrown into the air as they came apart. The eighteen wheeler fared far better that the other two.
On contact, the eighteen wheeler’s sudden decrease in tractor speed caused the heavily loaded box trailer’s tires to lose their grip on the highway. The trailer, as a result, began to outrun the tractor that pulled it.
The front half of the mini-van was caught in the pincer of the tractor and trailer coming together in a severe jack knife. The pressure of this bent and warped the frames of the trailer and the tractor, totaling them both.
The back half of the mini-van was batted off the highway by the rear end of the sliding trailer. It came to rest, finally, beside Tommy’s smoking, crumpled pickup.
For several seconds following the accident, nothing at all moved. All was calm following the entire five second accident. Then, the left front door of the patrol cruiser opened and the patrolman stepped out. In his hand was the radio microphone. He looked around dizzily, and then began to request assistance as he surveyed the havoc around him. He found it hard to focus on anything, but he knew it was a mess and there was death all along the highway.
“Three-ten to Base?” he said into the microphone.
“Base, three-ten, clear?” came to female response.
“Base, we have a major. One pickup truck, one occupant. Assumed deceased. One mini-van. One occupant confirmed dead. And one eighteen wheeler, one known occupant assumed, uninjured. Request assistance and life flight ambulance, earliest. Approximately one five miles west of Tahlequah on Highway 51, over?”
“Ten-four, three ten. Base clear.”
Patrolman Clifford Fisher knew the occupant of the mini-van was history. No one could have possibly survived that. The driver of the rig was slowly climbing down from the conventional cab of the Peterbilt. He looked awfully pale. He seemed to be alright, just severely shaken. The pickup was iffy. Doubtful, but iffy. He turned back and got in his cruiser and drove up closer to the accident. He stopped and lit flairs as he neared the scene. He stopped beside the rounded pickup and got out.
He approached cautiously, dreading what he was about to see. He stilled himself, sniffing the air for the scent of spilled or leaking gasoline.
It was everywhere, mixed with the smell of heat and hot oil and burned rubber.
Miraculously the truck had landed on its wheels, or what was left of them. The top of the cab was smashed down almost to the doors. The front of the cab was resting on the dashboard. There were no windows left at all. The body of the truck was rounded, crumpled, twisted on the frame and absolutely totaled from what the patrolman could see and gauge.
He reluctantly looked inside. The occupant was a bloody twisted mess. He didn’t move at all. The officer noticed a wrinkle on his shirt was moving in rhythm with his breathing; barely. He was breathing shallowly. He was still alive for the moment.
Looking at the body of the truck the officer knew he wouldn’t be able to open the door on either side. He removed his gun belt and laid it on top of his car, then began to climb into the truck through the driver’s window. He could get nothing through the window except his head, so backed out and waited for the fire department and the jaws-of-life.
“Hang on buddy, help’s on the way,” he said softly through the window frame.
“Hang in there,” a voice said beside him.
When he turned to look, he saw it was the truck driver. “Are you all right?” Officer Fisher asked him.
“Yeah, I think so,” he answered. “He gonna make it?”
“I doubt it. He’s hurt bad.”
The truck driver nodded his head sadly.
“Tammy’s dead,” he said sadly.
“Your wife?” Fisher asked him.
“No, my truck.”
“Oh,” Fisher replied. “Count yourself lucky. Trucks can be replaced.”
“Not for me. I had to make this load to make my payment and renew my insurance,” he said sadly, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Ain’t gonna happen now. I’m through.”
“Well, keep your head up, sir. Miracles happen. He’s proof,?
?? Fisher said as Tommy began to move around inside the cab.
“The guy in the half of the minivan squished in my truck has a .30.30 rifle through his chest,” he said conversationally.
“He’s moving,” Fisher said.
“I’ll be damned! Guess you’re right. Miracles do happen!” the trucker said in amazement, staring at Tommy.
“Help should be arriving any minute, Buddy. Just take it easy,” Fisher said, kneeling beside the driver’s door.
“Cramer?” Tommy whispered softly.
“What’s that Buddy?” Fisher asked, sticking his head inside.
“Blue van. Cramer. Dead?” Tommy whispered again.
“Yeah, he’s dead. You know him?” Fisher asked. There was no response. Tommy had become unconscious, again. Fisher was amazed that he had a smile on his face. Five minutes later, as the two men watched, Tommy was cut out of the truck. He was breathing slowly and steadily. They heard the warbling of the ambulance in the background. Over the warbling came the steady whop! whop! whop! of a helicopter.
On the highway, Lisa sat in the custom van crying. The FBI agents refused to allow her close to the wrecked pick up. When she saw Tommy’s bloody body lifted from the truck, placed on a stretcher and rushed to the waiting helicopter, she whispered his name and reached out her trembling hand for him.
Chapter 11
When Tommy awakened, he was in a hospital room. He was surrounded by flowers and friends. He searched only for Lisa.
“What’s this, my funeral?” he asked softly.
Lisa jumped up and leaned over Tommy’s face. “No, Sweetie. Not your funeral. You’re in the hospital,” she replied, then kissed his lips.
“I’m disappointed. I thought you were an angel.”
“I am an angel. Your private angel.”
“There’s an old saying that goes something like this. After a long sleep, you get to keep the first angel you see upon awakening. Do I get to keep you?”
“Forever!” she promised, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
“Three weeks and two days.”