Lockdown

Twenty-seven

‘I bet you follow round comedians shouting out the punchlines before they can get to them,’ Ty said, tossing Lock his keys.

‘Hey, it worked. They’re gonna help us out.’

Ty stared at Don, who was busy getting his sister back into Lock’s Toyota. ‘They’d better,’ he said, clambering up into the cab of the Yukon.

‘You know what to do, right?’ Lock asked him.

‘Roger that.’

As Ty pulled out of the bar’s parking lot, Lock walked back to see if Don needed any help.

He had to admit, they made for one hell of a strange-looking search party: a girl in a wheelchair with a left leg prone to random spasms, a young man pushing her with one hand while massaging his wrist with the other, a guy with a patchy buzz cut intersected by a nearly new six-inch scar, and a six foot four African American with no hair and a lot of tattoos.

As Lock pulled his car out of the lot, the black SUV holding the JTTF surveillance team was waiting for them. To ensure that Janice and Don Stokes’ choice of option two didn’t bleed into option one, his first task was to lose the tail. Seeing as the Royal Military Police had been the branch that taught the rest of the British military defensive and, when the need arose, offensive driving techniques, the prospect didn’t overly worry him.

His phone chirped. He flipped it open, driving with one hand.

‘Hey, cowboy.’

‘Carrie?’

‘How many other hot blondes who just scored a thirty-five share of the audience do you have calling you?’

‘Thirty-five’s good?’

‘Ten years ago it was good. These days it’s spectacular.’

‘Should Katie Couric be worried?’

‘Peeing in her pants.’

‘Listen, can you do some digging for me? But I need an embargo on it.’

The request for an embargo was met by silence.

‘Carrie?’

‘Yeah, OK. What is it?’

‘The lowdown on a gentleman by the name of Cody Parker.’

‘You got it.’

‘Thanks,’ Lock said, ending the call.

Turning to Don, he asked a question he already knew the answer to: ‘So, where first?’

Don gave him an address. It wasn’t the one he had given him a few moments earlier.

Don glanced over his shoulder at the JTTF SUV. ‘Won’t they be able to hear us?’

‘Nah, they’re too far back,’ Lock lied, punching on the radio and turning up the volume as an apparent afterthought.

In the back of the black SUV, the comms member of the three-man surveillance team smiled broadly. ‘We got an address.’

The driver glanced back at him. ‘For what?’ he asked.

‘Find out when we get there, I guess. You might as well ease back. This is gonna be easy.’

Don glanced nervously over his shoulder as they stopped at a light.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Lock said. ‘While we may be in a twelve-thousand-dollar Toyota compact and they’re in fifty thousand dollars’ worth of specially modified government-issue steel, we have a few things in our favour.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Well, for starters, I’m driving a stick,’ Lock explained, banging it into gear and accelerating away as the lights turned green.

Don glanced over his shoulder again to see the SUV also lurching forward. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be enough somehow.’

‘You didn’t let me finish,’ Lock said, continuing to accelerate as they reached the next intersection. ‘More importantly, the problem with what they’re driving is that not only is it an SUV, it’s also uparmoured. Which means. .’ He concentrated hard on his next manoeuvre, changing down as he came into the corner, braking at the apex and accelerating out again. ‘That it corners like a rubber brick.’

Behind them, the black SUV had dropped back. Too far back. As Lock had predicted, the driver sped up when he should have slowed in an attempt to reel in his target. He took the corner too fast and the wheels of the heavy high-sided vehicle lost traction. As the SUV lurched from one side to the other the driver eased down on the brakes to bring the vehicle back under control.

Behind them, Ty, driving the Yukon, took his opportunity, braking a second too late and rear-ending the FBI vehicle. It lurched forward suddenly, both front airbags deploying. Both vehicles came to a halt.

Ty made his way over to the FBI vehicle, pulling open the driver-side door as the driver pushed the airbag out of the way.

‘Sorry, man,’ Ty said, ‘you kinda slowed down too fast for me. Braking distance on these things is a bitch, ain’t it? Listen, you want to take down my insurance details?’

Ty peered yokel-mouthed into the back where the comms guy was pulling off a set of headphones while simultaneously trying to extract the front seat from his mouth.

‘Ah, shoot, you fellas ain’t cops, are you?’