The Edge

Chapter 52

Devine could not sleep that night. The rain beating down on the roof, normally a soothing white noise, simply served to pound relentlessly into his head, and also into his thoughts.

A mole in Campbell’s organization had likely helped put a bullseye on his back. There were forces up here who wanted him dead. And he had a murderer that hopefully he was closing in on. And while he had fought battles on two fronts before, it had never been quite like this.

He gave up the attempt at sleep, got dressed, grabbed his gun, and headed out, running to his SUV through the rain and cranking up the heat once he got inside. The trip he was about to take was not all about his insomnia. He needed to follow up on a possible lead that he had failed to do before.

He headed through the darkened streets. He didn’t know if he would again see what he had glimpsed once before, but he had his fingers crossed that he would. It might not be connected to Jenny’s death, but he couldn’t rule it out until he knew a lot more. And it was intriguingly odd; that alone deserved scrutiny.

Devine approached the spot where he’d been when he’d lost sight of the boat he’d seen before. That time he’d become distracted by seeing Françoise Guillaume drive by and following her to the mansion where she lived with her brother.

No distractions tonight, at least I hope not.

He parked off the road, killed his lights, and waited. An hour later he had just about given up hope and was getting ready to head back to the inn when he saw it.

The light was quite a ways out on the water, but as he watched, Devine judged that it was definitely heading toward shore.

He started the SUV and, driving without his lights on, he moved slowly down the road in the direction of where he had roughly calculated the landing spot to be.

It was a long ride at a slow speed while his focus was on the light out at sea. A few minutes later the rising winds cleared the dense cloud coverage and the light, which Devine had lost sight of for about a minute, reappeared farther down the coast. He pointed his ride that way, and soon the light became more and more vivid, like a star fallen into the ocean.

He finally pulled to a stop along an isolated stretch of coastline. He figured he was about six miles north of Putnam at this juncture.

Directly east, across the Gulf of Maine, lay Nova Scotia. Directly north was New Brunswick, which Devine knew was separated from Nova Scotia by the Bay of Fundy.

His gaze fixed steadily on the approaching boat light, Devine got out of the Tahoe, hurried toward the rocky shore, and took up position behind a stand of white pines that had been battered and deformed by the stiff ocean wind. He placed a hand against one of the lean, bristly trunks.

He thought, If this is just a fishing boat and I’ve wasted time and sleep for nothing?

Devine tensed as the boat drew ever closer to shore. He wondered how they were going to manage it, because the coastline here was every bit as rocky as the one back in Putnam, and the breakers were not going to be easy to navigate.

He once more drew out his military-grade optics. They were the latest generation of surveillance technology, cost a fortune, and were worth every dime.

He squared up on the boat. The vessel didn’t appear to be a lobster boat, at least not like the ones he’d seen at the harbor in Putnam. It was larger and sleeker and had sophisticated sat-nav tower modules mounted on the pilothouse roof. He didn’t see anyone on deck and the pilothouse glass was darkened. He scanned the portside of the boat for ID markers but saw none. The boat had been powering along all this time, but as it grew closer it suddenly slowed and then stopped so abruptly a stiff stern wake jostled it.

As he watched, a smaller boat was lowered from the port side, and he saw three figures board it. And then several crates were passed down to the people on the smaller boat. One of them sat in the rear and operated the outboard motor and tiller. The small boat headed directly to shore.

Devine took out his phone and filmed this through his optics so it was as magnified as possible. He looked to the spot on land where the boat was headed and thought he saw movement there. He looked through his optics and confirmed at least one person standing at a spot near the shore. The person was moving a light up and down, clearly signaling to the boat.

Right as the vessel reached the breakers Devine heard something behind him. Coming from the south on the road were twin lights as a vehicle raced through the dark. He used his optics and saw that it was a black Cadillac Escalade, the same type of vehicle in which he’d been kidnapped.

Shit.

Devine hoofed it to his SUV, jumped in, and fired it up. He saw in his rearview that the Escalade was bearing down on him now. He pulled onto the road and punched the gas, making his tires squeal against the pavement as they strained to gain purchase. The Escalade countered this move by speeding up.

His ride was lighter and nimbler than the Escalade, but had nowhere near the horsepower. He knew this to be true because, despite his pressing the accelerator to the floor, the Escalade closed the gap with authority and rammed him from behind.

Devine fought to keep control of the Tahoe, but it was difficult on the rain-slicked road. And then a sudden gust of wind sent dead leaves and other debris barreling across the road, nearly blinding him. That was troubling but manageable. Far more problematic were the shots fired through his back glass, shattering it. The bullets passed uncomfortably close to him on either side before exiting out the windshield, leaving three small holes and one larger one, and an accompanying long crack in the glass as grim evidence of their passage.

Devine slipped out his gun, rolled down his window, pointed his Glock behind him, and fired six shots left-handed and blindly at the Caddy.

It did absolutely no good. A crescendo of shots pinged all over the interior of his SUV, forcing him to duck while still trying to see to drive. His vehicle went off the road before veering back on as Devine tried desperately to get out of the way of the shooter’s sight line.

As he got the Tahoe back under control, the Escalade sped forward and came up next to him. His window was now parallel with the front passenger-side window of the Escalade.

The window on the other vehicle slid down and Devine saw a man sitting there wearing a black ski mask. He didn’t focus long on the man but turned his attention to the biting end of the side-by-side shotgun, which was pointing right at Devine’s head.

Devine slammed on the brakes a split second before the shotgun roared, and the buckshot load passed harmlessly in front of his windshield.

Devine put the Tahoe in reverse, punched the gas, and hurtled backward for about fifty yards. He next performed a J-turn by tapping the gas and brake at precisely the right moments, and spun the steering wheel just as he’d been taught in the military during evasive maneuvers training. He’d done it back then in a three-ton armored Humvee the size of a hippo. By comparison, the Tahoe was not much of a challenge. He drove off going south, back toward Putnam.

However, the Escalade driver performed the exact same maneuver and impressively did it even more tightly than Devine had managed. In his rearview Devine saw the rear driver’s side window come down, and the muzzle of an MP5 poked out as the Escalade soared after him.

Devine wasn’t sure what he was going to do about this development, only that he wasn’t going to sit there and go down quietly. He dropped back and was about to ram the larger vehicle as it came up beside him when a series of shots rang out. Only the shots weren’t coming from the Escalade.

The big SUV immediately swerved and went off the road in a swirl of mud and flying leaves. Devine checked his rearview again; the Escalade appeared to be out of the chase.

He floored it and drove straight back to Putnam. When he got to his room he texted Campbell. He didn’t expect an answer but he got one a minute later.

Glad you’re all right. Hunker down for the night.

Devine texted back a reply and then started to wonder who had fired the shots that had saved his life.

And then a moment later he realized he had forgotten all about the boat coming to shore.

He slumped back on the bed and groaned.

And then his phone rang. The retired general must have thought of something else.

Only it wasn’t Campbell.

And Devine wasn’t going to be hunkering down.