Chapter 8 - The Federal Option
The high-pitched whine of the truck's engine filled the cab as we roared down the pitch-black two-lane highway. The speedometer needle hovered precariously near eighty miles per hour, the old suspension shaking violently with every bump in the road.
In the rearview mirror, the two bright xenon headlights of Vance's SUV were steadily closing the distance, cutting through the thick night fog like twin silver blades.
"He's gaining on us, Mark!" Caroline cried out, turning around in her seat to stare through the shattered rear window. "That truck can't outrun a modern SUV!"
"I know!" I shouted, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. "Is there anywhere safe nearby? A police station? A fire house?"
"No!" Caroline yelled back. "I told you, Vance owns half the local precinct! If you drive into a local station, they'll hand us right over to him!"
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded blueprint Julian had given me. I threw it onto Caroline's lap.
"Look at the top corner!" I ordered. "Julian wrote names and numbers on the margin! Is there an federal contact listed?"
Caroline frantically unfolded the damp paper under the faint glow of the dashboard lights. Her eyes scanned the fine script, her fingers trembling violently.
"Here!" she gasped. "Special Agent Marcus Vance—no relation to Victor! It says 'FBI Field Office, Regional District 4. Direct line.' There's a private cipher code written next to it!"
"Use my phone!" I snapped, gesturing toward the center console. "Call him!"
Caroline grabbed my phone, punched in the eleven-digit number, and hit speakerphone. The line rang once... twice... three times.
Click.
"This is Agent Vance," a sharp, weary voice answered over the speaker. "This line is restricted. Who is this?"
"Agent Vance! My name is Caroline Davis!" Caroline screamed over the roaring engine. "I’m Julian's sister! I have the archive! Julian is dead, and Victor Vance is hunting us on Route 9 right now!"
There was a sudden, sharp silence on the other end of the line.
"Repeat that name," the agent commanded, his tone instantly shifting from weary to razor-sharp.
"Julian! My brother Julian gave us the ledger before he died!" Caroline cried. "We have the original blueprint with all the federal contacts and bank accounts! Victor Vance’s men are trailing our vehicle right now, shooting at us!"
"Listen to me very carefully, Caroline," Agent Vance said, the sound of papers rustling rapidly over the line. "Where are you right now?"
"Route 9 South, heading toward the county line! We just passed the old timber mill!" I shouted toward the phone.
"You’re four miles from the Old Stone Quarry exit," Agent Vance instructed rapidly. "Take that exit! There is an abandoned weigh station a half-mile down the gravel access road. My tactical response team is currently staged two miles away on an unrelated wiretap operation. I am diverting three HRT units to your position right now!"
BAM!
A heavy impact slammed into the rear bumper of our truck. The steering wheel violently jerked in my hands, nearly sending us spinning off the road into the dark ditch.
Vance's SUV had caught up to us. It was riding our rear bumper, attempting to pit-maneuver us into the trees.
"They're ramming us!" I roared, wrestling the wheel back to center.
"Hold on!" Agent Vance ordered over the phone. "Reach that weigh station! Do not stop for anything until you see my black federal vans! We are three minutes out!"
The line cut out.
BAM!
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The SUV rammed us a second time, the terrifying sound of twisting metal echoing through the cab. Up ahead, through the fogged-up windshield, I saw the faded green road sign for the Old Stone Quarry exit.
"Hang on!" I screamed, pulling the handbrake and swinging the heavy truck hard to the right.
