The cellphone rang. It was Drew.
“I’m on Oregon,” Cole said immediately.
“Pass Western and then jog right on Wyndee, then left again. You’re back on Beach but it isn’t one-way. Turn left on the East-West Highway.”
“I’m not in the PT Cruiser anymore,” said Cole. “I’m now in a Corvette C6, black. I’ve got an M-240 and a pistol.”
“Good,” said Drew. “I was afraid you didn’t know how to Rambo this.”
“The point is I’ve got some speed now.”
“Then when East-West splits, stay right and then turn right on Connecticut. It’s the first big street. One more light and it cloverleafs onto the Beltway heading west, toward Virginia. If you see the Mormon temple you went the wrong damn way.”
“I don’t think I should try to get to that Borders.”
“No, no. You can’t stay on the Beltway long. It’s going to be clogging up pretty bad and now that you’ve got speed, you want lonely side roads. But do you still want to meet up with us, or get up to Gettysburg?”
“I don’t think I’ll make it to Gettysburg without help,” said Cole. “They’ve called in the Army against me now.”
“Some of the roads are one-way the wrong way in the morning,” said Drew. “Best route—take the MacArthur Road exit. Heading west. It curves around past the Great Falls Park and then it joins River Road, which is Maryland 190.”
“You know these roads that well?”
“I’m looking at Google Maps on my laptop, what do you think? But I’ve driven all these roads. Stay on 190 a long way. Till you have to turn right onto Edwards Ferry Road, and stay on that up to 107. By then we should have Babe with you, he lives out that way. He’ll guide you the rest of the way to a rendezvous on the Maryland side of the Leesburg bridge.”
“If you think I memorized this—”
“Call me as often as you want. But I’m hanging up now to go get in my car. No more laptop. Sorry.”
By now Cole was doing the ramp up to 495. Whereupon he found himself stopped cold behind traffic waiting to merge, as the humvees came up behind him. There were a couple of cars between them and him, but these guys weren’t going to stay in their lane or even in their vehicles.
Cole debated between getting out and commandeering somebody else’s car, or betting on the gods of traffic to help him. He could imagine himself stuck with an M-240 on the side of the road, unable to shoot without hitting civilians, choosing between surrendering or running into the nice little jogging park where snipers could take him out at leisure.
The traffic gods came through. The car ahead of him moved. A couple of aggressive Maryland drivers fudged their way into traffic and things broke free. He checked the rearview mirror and saw that the first humvee left two of its guys behind and the second one didn’t stop for them. They looked pissed off. That’s what you get for leaving your transportation without first ascertaining the enemy’s intentions and capabilities.
Except he was the enemy, and they were the U.S. Army.
Now he was moving with traffic, driving the Corvette into gaps so small that other drivers not only honked at him, it looked like they wanted to ram him. But he didn’t show the pistol again. No reason to cause extra panic. He’d just look like an asshole in a sports car, which was exactly what people expected anyway. A normal day of driving in Maryland.
Now he had time to make another call. The one he hated worst. But he had to make it, not just because Cecily had a right to know, but because he needed her to get Nielson to help him from the other end. Call off this chase if he could.
He knew her cell number—he had memorized it, of course—and she answered on the first ring.
“Cecily,” said Cole. “This is the worst call you’ll ever receive in your life, but I need help desperately. So get near someone so they can take over this call if you can’t continue it.”
“He’s dead,” said Cecily.
“DeeNee shot him and he’s dead. There is no hope that he survived.”
“DeeNee . . .”
“She was working for them. She turned over the plans to the terrorists. Cecily, are you still with me? I’m being pursued by regular Army troops. I need the President to call them off. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she said. “Call off pursuit.”
“I’m in a stolen black Corvette C6. The two humvees following me are to let me go and not follow me. No other pursuit is to be permitted. Do you have that?”
“I do.”