Point of Contact

67

Lian explained that the shortest route from Dalfan headquarters to Kuala Lumpur was also the northernmost, and most likely to keep them out of trouble. They needed to take the Seletar Expressway (SLE) to the Bukit Timah Expressway (BKE) and cross the Johor causeway into Malaysia. Without GPS, Jack had no idea where to go and Lian’s knowledge of the roadway system was probably better anyway, so she drove. She told Paul she wouldn’t let him come if he didn’t agree to lie down in the back of the van and keep his feet elevated. He complied without protest.

It took them more than two hours to traverse the distance. They kept to the SLE as far as they could, dodging dead vehicles, downed trees, power lines, and finally a sinkhole, where they had to abandon the expressway for narrow side streets. On one occasion Jack had to get out of the van to move an air-conditioning unit that had toppled into the road, and on another he and Lian both needed to get out and push a stalled vehicle out of the way.

They got back on the SLE and finally arrived at the BKE junction, where a battery-powered road sign flashed that the Johor causeway was shut down.

“Now what?” Jack asked. “Swim?”

“In this weather? No. There’s another crossing point west of here.”

“How far?”

“At this rate, forty minutes.”

An hour and forty-three minutes later they arrived at the Tuas Checkpoint, the gateway to the only other crossing point over the Johor River from Singapore to Malaysia. The Second Link causeway was almost a mile and a half long.

The only problem was that the Tuas Checkpoint — a customs facility — was shut down, according to the sign.

Even if it wasn’t closed, they couldn’t pass. The three lanes that fed into the checkpoint were completely jammed with hundreds of abandoned vehicles — some of them half turned around as panicked drivers foolishly tried to reverse direction in the one-way traffic.

Even the bus lane was jammed with abandoned vehicles. Everyone was gone, too — only vehicles remained. It reminded Jack of a giant painting he once saw at a county fair, The Rapture, only without the crashing airplanes and spirits flying into the sky.

“We’re done,” Paul said, sitting up. Rain slashed against the windows and thudded on the steel panels. The noise was deafening, and nearly maddening.

“Can you walk?” Jack asked.

Paul nodded. “Sure. Just don’t ask me to run.”

“What’s the plan?” Lian asked.

Jack checked his watch. They had just under four hours to complete the journey and make contact with somebody who could stop the virus. “If the causeway was closed because of the storm, then all of this traffic got trapped. But there might still be a way over. Follow me.”

Jack and Lian each supported Paul by the arms as they walked the hundred yards as fast as they could in the driving rain between the lanes of abandoned cars and trucks. They reached the sheltered concourse soaking wet but relieved to escape the ceaseless downpour. The open-air building looked like a giant airplane hangar without walls.

“Now what?” Lian asked. There were dozens of vehicles abandoned in here, too: the first ones prevented from crossing the causeway.

“Let’s get to the head of the line.” Jack pushed forward through the terminal, passing a small booth enclosed in one-way black glass. As the three of them scrambled by the door, a uniformed Immigration and Checkpoints Authority official bolted out of the tiny station. His blue shoulder boards bore silver sergeant’s chevrons.

“What are you doing here? There’s a big storm! Can’t you see?”

“Where is everyone else, Sergeant?” Lian asked. Her command voice caught the officer by surprise. Lian had passed through the Tuas Checkpoint many times. Normally, there was a small army of uniformed officers and civilian immigration officials to process the tens of thousands of people passing through here each day.

“Most went home to their families. Others are over in Terminal One. I stayed behind out here to keep an eye on things. Who are you?”

“We need to get to Kuala Lumpur, right now,” Jack said.

“You’re not going anywhere in this weather. The causeway is shut down until noon tomorrow. You can camp out in Terminal One with the other stranded motorists.”

Jack’s hands clenched. He hated the thought of clocking a cop just doing his duty. But too much was at stake, and they needed to get across the causeway.

Lian saw Jack’s fists clenching, too.

She stepped between Jack and the ICA officer, flashing him her SPF reserve badge and explaining who she was.

The man examined her credentials closely, then shrugged. “You still can’t cross the causeway. Too dangerous. The river is very high. Two cars were already thrown over the side earlier today.” The sergeant waved his hands in the air to illustrate his point.

Lian stepped closer. “It’s a national emergency. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“I can’t.”

Lian shoved her pistol in the man’s face. “I’m sorry to have to do this.”

The man’s eyes got wide as eggs. “Don’t shoot!”

“Just get back in your office and you’ll be fine.”

The man nodded furiously and backed into his booth, Jack and the others right behind him. Jack restrained him with ICA zip-cuffs while Lian kept the gun on the frightened officer. She apologized for the inconvenience, assuring him that what they were doing was necessary, and explained that tying him up was only a precaution against him calling ahead to stop them.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Lian said.

“But there’s one more thing we have to do,” Jack said, towering over the man.

The officer looked like he was going to cry.

Jack headed for the far side of the checkpoint, following a line of abandoned cars queued up to cross but not allowed to because of the storm. He pushed the alarm button on the key fob. Lights flashed on a blue Honda Odyssey parked in front, right where the officer told him it would be. He felt bad taking the man’s van, but they needed an accessible vehicle.

“There.” Jack pointed, and killed the alarm.

The three of them made their way to the sergeant’s vehicle and climbed in. Jack knew that modern cars were nearly impossible to hot-wire, despite what TV crime shows suggested.

This time Jack took the wheel. A wooden barrier blocked the Honda’s forward movement. Its headlights pointed directly at the rising causeway and what he assumed in the dark was the Malaysian peninsula on the far end.

Jack cranked the engine over and the headlights lit up. Rain slashed through the high beams.

“Only a mile and half across, right?” Jack asked.

“Go as fast as you can. There won’t be any cars out there. Should be clear,” Lian said.

Jack nodded. “Like driving through a car wash.”

“A really long car wash,” Paul added. “A car wash that can kill you.” He pointed forward. “How do we get around that barrier?”

Jack floored the gas and crashed through it.