Step On A Crack

Chapter 94

THE LINEUP OF SEDANS was still doing a slow crawl west on 57th Street. Through the gap of sky up and down Seventh Avenue, I spotted at least half a dozen news helicopters shadowing us. There hadn’t been this much attention on slow-moving vehicles since OJ’s white Bronco.

I watched with more intensity as the convoy of cars seemed to slow by the subway entrance on Sixth Avenue. All we would need was for them to bail out into the labyrinth that is the New York City subway system.

But then the cars passed through the intersection, returning to parade speed.

Why wouldn’t they do something, make their move?

It was as if the hijacker convoy was reading my mind as it came parallel to the Hard Rock Cafe a minute later.

There was a scream of engines and a bark of spinning tire rubber, and the five cars suddenly peeled out.

The cops blocking the intersection at Broadway looked like stunned NASCAR spectators as the vehicles rocketed past them.

The sedans seemed to be drag racing as they shot across Eighth. By the time they hit Ninth Avenue, they looked like they were taking a shot at the land speed record. The turbine of our chopper had to kick it up several notches just to stay on them.

I thought this sudden need to be somewhere in a hurry a tad peculiar, since they were speeding toward a dead end. There were maybe two blocks of Manhattan left.

Then what?

I could feel the blood leave my face as I watched the sedans scream down the final slope of street heading directly toward the Hudson River.

Would they try to ram one of the barricades? I didn’t know, but I was certain of one thing: A deadly crash was coming in seconds. And there was nothing I could do except watch from a front-row balcony seat.