Poseidon's Arrow

40

THE HIJACKING OF THE SEA ARROW’S MOTOR incited an immediate nationwide dragnet. Roadblocks were quickly set up along every major road and highway leading north or south out of Washington. FBI teams were dispatched to all nearby airports and to every East Coast port facility, from where analysts assumed the motor would be smuggled out of the country. Extra security was even called in to the northeast border crossings into Canada.

Yet the stolen motor wouldn’t be found in any of those places. It had been driven west, away from the major ports and airports, and across rural Appalachia, hidden in the back of a hay truck. Entering Lexington, Kentucky, Pablo slowed the big rig, keeping a wary eye out for passing police cars.

Ann was relegated to the back of the cab, one wrist cuffed to the frame of the bench seat. She could partially stretch out on the narrow seat but had to lean at an awkward angle to glance out the window. They traveled in silence. After Pablo ignored her initial barrage of probing questions, she’d decided to save her energy. It took a bit of conjecture, but she eventually linked Pablo’s theft of the Sea Arrow plans with the large device hidden on the flatbed. It had to be the submarine’s new propulsion motor.

Pablo was pleased with the time he had made, covering four hundred miles in seven hours, before pulling onto a quiet side road and letting Ann stretch her legs. A short time later, they pulled into Lexington, where he found a truck stop and parked at a distant fuel pump. After filling the truck’s tank, he opened the cab door and peered at Ann.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Yes, please,” Ann said. “I’m very hungry.”

“I’ll be right back.” He slammed the door and locked it.

Ann watched him stroll past several fuel islands and enter the truck stop’s building. She scanned the parking lot, searching for potential help. The hour was late, and she spotted only one person nearby, a bearded truck driver, washing the windshield on his idling rig a dozen yards away.

She waved, and screamed at the top of her lungs. But the sealed cab’s tinted windows rendered her nearly invisible, and her muffled cries went unheard over the idling engine. She reached for the truck’s air horn but couldn’t quite stretch her fingers far enough. The bearded man climbed into his rig and pulled away, oblivious to Ann’s plight.

She searched the truck’s interior for something to use as a weapon. But the cab’s interior, even down to its glove box, was stripped clean except for a map and laptop computer on the front seat. Ann lunged for the computer.

She reached with her free hand and grasped the computer, flipping open its monitor and powering it on. As it booted up, she glanced out the window. Pablo stood at the register, purchasing some items. She’d have very little time to send a plea for help—if the truck stop had Wi-Fi.

She held her breath as the computer screen slowly lit up. After an eternity, a bubble icon asked if she wanted to join the Lexington Diesel & Dine network.

“Yes!” She clicked the icon. A few seconds later, an Internet search page opened.

Her joy was short-lived when she glanced out the window to see Pablo exiting the building. Her pulse raced as she considered what to do. There would be no time to sign on to her e-mail account or relay a message through the NCIS website. A desperate idea popped into her head. She quickly typed in four letters and waited for a response. When a new screen popped up, she scrolled to the bottom and found a query link. Clicking on it, she hurriedly typed a message and looked up. Pablo was just ten feet away.

Her fingers flew over the keypad, stopping to click “Send” as the door latch clicked. She slammed the monitor closed and tossed the computer onto the front seat as Pablo opened the door.

Her heart beat wildly, and she felt her face turn flush, as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned and looked at her quizzically as he swung his hands around.

“Ham and cheese or tuna?” He held up a pair of wrapped sandwiches.

“Tuna, please.” She exhaled, and reached for one of the sandwiches.

Pablo pulled back onto the highway, eating as he drove. The break had relaxed him, and he finally turned his head over his shoulder briefly and spoke to Ann. “You are in love with me,” he said, grinning.

“What?”

“Yes, you must be in love with me. Why else do you keep turning up?”

“I didn’t ask to go on this trip,” she said. “Please, let me go.”

Pablo let out a deep laugh. “You are too smart to let go . . . and too pretty to kill.”

Ann felt instant revulsion but kept the conversation going. “Is that the Sea Arrow’s motor we’re hauling?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why did you kill the men who helped you steal it?”

“They served their usefulness, and they knew more than they needed to. I believe that is enough inquiry for now.” He turned on the radio and turned up the volume after finding a local bluegrass station.

They crossed the hills of western Kentucky, listening to the upbeat strains of Flatt and Scruggs. Four hours later, they pulled into Paducah. Pablo parked at a gas station on the outskirts of town and made a phone call. Within minutes, a rusty pickup appeared, driven by a tattoo-covered man, who then escorted the hay truck to the riverfront. A towboat and a barge loaded with shipping containers were moored at the weathered wooden dock. Pablo eased the truck alongside the darkened barge and stopped.

It was well after midnight, and the facility was eerily quiet. Pablo unhitched the flatbed trailer and drove the truck to an adjacent lot. By the time he returned, the tattooed man had strung lifting cables around the trailer and was hoisting it onto the barge with a dockside crane. Pablo jumped aboard the barge and helped secure the trailer to the deck, before returning to the cab for Ann.

She feigned drowsiness as he freed her from the seat frame and recuffed her hands in front of her. She noticed for the first time that the cuffs had a sensor device built into them. Pablo pulled her from the truck and led her to the dock.

The lights of Paducah twinkled to her right along the bank as the Ohio River slid past like a dark current of molasses. Pablo kept a tight grip on her arm as he led her toward the towboat. The weathered boat was secured to the center stern of the barge, ready to guide it down the river. Access to the towboat was by a thin gangplank that stretched over the water. Ann hesitated crossing until Pablo gave her a gentle nudge.

She actually didn’t fear crossing the thin gangplank but what lay ahead. First chained to a truck, next chained to a towboat, then who knows what? Wherever she was taken, it was when the handcuffs were removed that she’d have the most to fear. It was this fear that drove her to act.

She mentally braced herself and took a deep breath as Pablo prodded her a second time. Pretending to stagger, she took two steps onto the gangplank and compressed her knees. Springing forward, she took a leaping step up. The gangplank flexed, giving her extra lift, and she bounded easily over the side handrail.

Pablo reached for her, but could only graze a passing ankle. As she stretched her arms before her, Ann plunged into the river, trailing just a small splash and vanishing into the dark muddy water.