Long Road to Mercy

Chapter 25

“You’re sure they can’t trace the car?” asked Blum as they got on Interstate 40 heading east.

“I brought it here in the middle of the night when I moved to Shattered Rock. I put it in the office garage and I only drive it at night, and even then it’s been a handful of times since I’ve been here. That’s why I kept the trickle charger on it, otherwise the battery would be dead.”

“But they could trace the tags.”

“If they do, it won’t come back showing me as the owner, because I never had it retitled in my name.”

“Why?”

“Because the man who owned it should still own it, except he happened to die. As far as the law is concerned, he still owns it.”

“How long will it take us?”

“It’s about twenty-two hundred miles. Thirty-three hours if we don’t stop.”

“I’m no spring chicken. We have to stop or else you’ll need to reupholster.”

“My bladder’s not that big, either. But it’s Interstate 40 pretty much the whole way, and west of the Mississippi we can really fly. I figure two days. That is, if you drive, too.”

“That’s ambitious. But I’m game. Talking about flying, I suppose a plane was out of the question?”

“Credit cards, IDs. In the system. Yep, out of the question. That’s why we shouldn’t use anything other than cash. I have a debit card for emergencies, but it’s tied to a friend’s account, not mine. I’ll just pay my friend back if I have to use it. And to the extent we can, we don’t use our real names. Anything like that can trip us up. And we never unpack our stuff in case we have to leave some place in a hurry.”

“Understood. Where is your friend taking my Prius?”

“Far enough so that anyone trailing you will believe you’re going to LA. Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of it.”

“And your truck?”

“I picked Mount Nebo for a reason. My friend who drove out in it is actually going to hike and camp there for the next two weeks. I doubt whoever’s following her will stick for the whole trip once they see where she’s going.”

“And your phone?”

“In the truck. In case they’re tracking it, I’m in Utah for the foreseeable future. I put yours in the Prius. I have a bunch of burner phones for us to use. They’re in my bag behind your seat. And I loaded my contact list on each one, along with the digital sketch of the fake Ben Priest.”

“Can’t they trace the purchase of burner phones and then track the SIM card?”

“They could if I had bought them. I didn’t. Someone did it for me, as a favor. And this was about six months ago.”

“Before you even knew we would be doing this?”

“I like to prepare for pretty much anything, and being able to go off grid at any time but still communicate is a necessity.” Pine glanced over at her companion. “We need to be on our A game, okay? We’re playing in the big leagues.”

“I knew that as soon as I joined the FBI.” Blum checked her watch. “It’s nearly one in the morning. Are you good to drive?”

“I slept on the floor in my office for eight hours. I’m good until at least Oklahoma City.”

“Isn’t that far away?”

“About thirteen hours pedal to the metal. We can stop for a late lunch.”

“I’m impressed with your stamina.”

“I drove from the East Coast in this car to Utah in two and a half days. I only stopped to use the bathroom, catnap in parking lots, and I ate on the road.” Pine patted the car’s dash. “There’s just something about this ride. You want to keep driving.”

As they drove along Pine said, “You don’t believe that this Jordan and Kinkaid found a secret cave in the Canyon full of Egyptian artifacts?”

“No.”

“Did your father?”

Blum took her time answering. “I think my father wanted to believe it. He went down there enough times looking for it. Never found it, of course.”

“Even with a helpful j and k carved over the front door?”

Blum smiled. “My father spent his whole life working a job he hated. What he really wanted to be was an adventurer, you know, sort of like Indiana Jones.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, neither of my parents are. How about you?”

“My mother’s still around.”

“Where does she live?”

“You better get some sleep so you’re ready to take over when I’m burned out.”

Pine drove on.

They ate barbeque for lunch in Oklahoma City. Then Blum, who had slept most of the way and was perfectly fresh, took over the wheel, while Pine put the passenger seat back as far as it would go, stretched out her long legs, and immediately fell asleep.

Blum drove with only brief stops to use the restroom and to stretch her legs, and once to doze in a parking lot for an hour. As they neared Nashville, she pulled off at another rest stop and nudged Pine awake.

“Bathroom break,” said Blum. “And tag you’re it on the driving. I’m beat.”

Pine nodded. It was pitch-black now, though the crack of dawn was only a few hours away. The rest area only had one operating light, and it was a feeble one at that. At this hour, there were no other vehicles here.

Pine yawned, stretched, and popped her neck as she followed Blum into the ladies’ room.

As soon as the door closed behind them it was pushed open again.

Three men came in.

They were all tall and lean and good-looking and appeared to be in their very early twenties. They were all fashionably dressed in clothes that were expensive but made to look like they weren’t. Two wore khaki shorts, revealing tanned, muscular legs, and colorful Robert Graham short-sleeved shirts and docksiders. The third wore soft, baggy, faded jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt untucked, and Gucci loafers.

One of them crumpled up a beer and threw it into an empty stall. Then they stood there staring at the two women.

Blum turned around and eyed them. “You have the wrong restroom. Men’s is the other door.”

The man in the jeans stepped forward. He glanced at his friends and grinned, flashing perfect white teeth. “No, this is definitely the place we want because you’re here.”

“You have got to be shitting me,” said an incredulous Pine. “Did you guys just come from a frat party, or what?”

The man smiled at her and produced a bottle of Maker’s Mark from his back pocket. “Operative word being party, ladies.”

Blum eyed Pine, who was gazing at the half-empty bottle. “That is not happening,” Blum said to him.

“Come on, we’ve been looking for someone just like you two,” said the man. “Mature women, what could be better? And trust me, you’ll like what you’re going to get.”

He unscrewed the cap on the Maker’s and took a swig before passing it to his friends, who each took a drink.

Pine studied each of them. “Is this really the only way you can get laid?”

“Hell, we can have anyone we want. I can lay on the charm like nobody’s business. And my family’s rich.” He hooked a finger at his two companions. “These guys too.”

“So why lie in wait outside a ladies’ bathroom waiting for a target?”

The man grinned. “Because we can and we want to.”

“Not with us, you can’t,” retorted Blum.

The man’s grin slowly faded. “I don’t think you have much choice.”

Pine said, “Then I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

The man pulled a small knife from his pocket and opened it.

“I don’t like to do it this way, but whatever works. Now, you just do what we say and nobody gets hurt.”

“Oh, somebody’s definitely going to get hurt,” replied Pine.

She marched forward and disarmed the man by breaking his wrist. When he howled in pain and doubled over, she grabbed the back of his neck, jerked him downward, and knocked out his two perfect front teeth with a vicious uppercut delivered with her knee. Then, using his bulk against him, Pine flipped him into the mirrored wall over the sinks, shattering it. He fell onto the porcelain, caught his face on a faucet, rolled off, and hit the floor. He lay there bloody and stunned, groaning in pain.

“Hey, hey!” yelled one of the other men. He launched himself at Pine before reeling backward after Pine planted the bottom of her boot into his throat. He slammed against the wall and fell to his butt, gagging for breath.

She walked over and finished him off by bouncing his head off the tiled wall with a forearm strike. He slumped to the floor unconscious.

The last man snarled, “You’re dead, bitch. I’ve got a black belt.”

He stopped snarling and leapt back when Pine pulled out her gun and pointed it at him.

With her other hand, she took out her FBI shield. “And I’ve got this, Mister Moron.”

“Aw, shit!” exclaimed the man. “Son of a bitch!”

“Get on the floor facedown,” ordered Pine. “Do it!”

The man did as he was told and then blurted out, “Hey, if you had a damn gun why didn’t you just pull it? Why’d you have to kick their asses?”

Blum said, “Because she can and she wanted to.”

Pine took out zip ties from her jacket pocket and bound all three men together, legs and hands, back to back, so they were totally immobile. After Pine and Blum used the restroom and finished washing up at the sinks, Pine dialed 911, told the dispatcher what had happened, gave her location and added, “I can’t stay to press charges, but just hold them for a few years on account of being stupid.”

When Pine slid behind the wheel of the Mustang, Blum said, “You were quite impressive back there.”

“I was incentivized.”

“Well, I get that. We were being threatened.”

“No, I mean I had to use the bathroom really bad.”

Later on, Pine turned onto Interstate 81 North and punched the gas.

This stretch of asphalt was known as the Trucker’s Highway as it wove through the mountains, and they passed many a big rig along the way. They stopped for takeout at a twenty-four-hour diner near Roanoke, Virginia. As they drove on, Pine cradled greasy fries in her lap and munched on a double cheeseburger, while Blum nibbled on hers and only occasionally ventured to pick up a fry.

“You don’t like burgers and fries?” asked Pine.

“Oh, I do. But at my age, they don’t like me like they used to. In that regard, they’re sort of like men.” A few minutes later she lay back against the seat and fell asleep.

Hours later Pine reached Interstate 66 and took it due east toward Washington.

It was right about then that Blum woke up. Stretching, she said, “Where are we?”

“About two hours outside of DC.”

“I’ve never been to DC.”

“With all your rah-rah talk about Mr. Hoover, that surprises me.”

“Well, he was already dead when I joined up, so...”

“But there is the Hoover Building, which is falling apart, by the way.”

“You never worked there. You were at the WFO,” she added, referring to the Washington Field Office.

Pine shot her a glance. “You checked up on me?”

“Well, of course I did. Did you want an idiot for a secretary?”

“I visited Hoover quite frequently. They were looking for another home, but apparently Congress won’t give them the money.”

“Well, it’s about time someone stopped wasting taxpayer dollars.”

“Right, so the Pentagon can spend it on more ten-thousand-dollar toilets.”

“Where are we staying once we get there?”

“I’ve got a buddy. He’s on overseas assignment. We’re staying at his place in northern Virginia.”

“For a loner, you certainly have a lot of buddies.”

“So long as they keep their distance, I’m good.”

They drove on, the ride nearing its end.