Blow Out
Page 89
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Savich said to his wife, “You didn’t tell me you’d put a tag in the system.”
“Yep, I didn’t really think it would result in anything, but who knew?”
Savich shook his head, amazed as always with her ingenuity, signaled, and passed a Beemer at one hundred miles per hour. “So he’s been using the name Martin Thornton since he ran away from Boston.”
“Yes. The Hostage Rescue Team was probably calling his name over and over, you know how they do—Martin, do you hear us, Martin?—and he must have cracked and shouted out his real name.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Thank God for a police chief who remembered the alert and acted quickly on it.”
Inside the Crown Vic, Callie watched the traffic whiz by them, cars pulling over quickly as they neared, looking almost as if they were standing still. When they reached a clear stretch, all she could see of the Porsche was a flash of red.
“More pedal to the metal,” Ben said, and soon the Porsche came back into sight.
“This is the strangest day of my life.”
“You really think this is a strange day?”
“Don’t arch that supercilious eyebrow at me, Ben Raven. First I’m allowed in a meeting on the sacred fifth floor of the FBI building, and the next thing I know, we’re chasing Savich’s Porsche to Maryland to find this guy who’s the son of a woman who was murdered thirty years ago.”
“That’s why I went into law enforcement,” Ben said, “the excitement. It’s nonstop.”
“Yeah, right, so you say. The cops I’ve talked to usually whine about how boring it is—on the phone and the computer all day.”
They rounded a bend and the Porsche accelerated forward out of a curve. “My oh my,” Ben said. “Be still my heart. That car can go, just look at it.”
Callie laughed at him. “So get yourself one—to go with your truck.”
“Would you prefer I picked you up in a Porsche or a truck?”
“Now we’re going on a date? You’re asking me my car preference?”
He shrugged. “It might be fun in the truck. You and my dog could hang out the window, tongues lolling in the wind. Well, at least it could be fun in the summer. Now, about a Porsche—I’d probably get so many speeding tickets I’d get drummed off the force.”
She laughed again, shook her head, and laughed some more. It felt great.
“Now, seriously, the thing about Porsches is that the minute your foot connects to the accelerator, it gains weight and pushes down harder and harder. Just look at Savich. You think he’s got a clue how fast he’s going?”
“Yes, I think he knows exactly how fast he’s going.”
“Well, maybe you’re right, in this situation. What do you think, one hundred and ten miles an hour?”
She shook her head, tapped her fingers to her chin. “No, more like one twenty.” She paused, then turned to him. “Okay, I understand now. You’ve been distracting me. And you’ve done it very well. You’ve made me laugh. Thank you. Now, for our first date, I want to ride in the truck. I want to drive out in the wilds of Virginia to some country barbecue place where they don’t have any tablecloths, just long wooden tables, and tubs filled with ice and beer. Hey, you’re losing sight of him.”
The Crown Vic leapt forward. One hundred miles an hour. Ben heard sirens behind him. Good, their escort was with them. He had to get closer to Savich, or the cops would go nuts at the sight of that speeding Porsche. He got on his radio, called dispatch. “This is Detective Ben Raven, on Highway 270. We’re just past Rockville, Maryland. We’re heading up to Alston, then ten miles west to Petersboro. FBI Agent Dillon Savich is in front of me, driving a red Porsche 911. My siren’s on and I’ve got two cop cars behind me. Alert the highway patrol about our position and the Porsche. This is an emergency.” He listened, said yes a couple of times, and punched off.
“Okay, if we’re lucky everything should be all right. Let’s hear it for a show of competence.”
“An amazing thing, competence. I’m always pleasantly surprised when I trip over it.”
Ben caught sight of the Porsche. “He just passed a patrol car coming off an exit onto the freeway. I’m going to call dispatch again, just to be sure.” Ben memorized the patrol car number and radioed dispatch again.
They watched the patrol car pull back a bit. “Good.”
Callie said suddenly, “Why would he go after Fleurette?”
“Yep, I didn’t really think it would result in anything, but who knew?”
Savich shook his head, amazed as always with her ingenuity, signaled, and passed a Beemer at one hundred miles per hour. “So he’s been using the name Martin Thornton since he ran away from Boston.”
“Yes. The Hostage Rescue Team was probably calling his name over and over, you know how they do—Martin, do you hear us, Martin?—and he must have cracked and shouted out his real name.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Thank God for a police chief who remembered the alert and acted quickly on it.”
Inside the Crown Vic, Callie watched the traffic whiz by them, cars pulling over quickly as they neared, looking almost as if they were standing still. When they reached a clear stretch, all she could see of the Porsche was a flash of red.
“More pedal to the metal,” Ben said, and soon the Porsche came back into sight.
“This is the strangest day of my life.”
“You really think this is a strange day?”
“Don’t arch that supercilious eyebrow at me, Ben Raven. First I’m allowed in a meeting on the sacred fifth floor of the FBI building, and the next thing I know, we’re chasing Savich’s Porsche to Maryland to find this guy who’s the son of a woman who was murdered thirty years ago.”
“That’s why I went into law enforcement,” Ben said, “the excitement. It’s nonstop.”
“Yeah, right, so you say. The cops I’ve talked to usually whine about how boring it is—on the phone and the computer all day.”
They rounded a bend and the Porsche accelerated forward out of a curve. “My oh my,” Ben said. “Be still my heart. That car can go, just look at it.”
Callie laughed at him. “So get yourself one—to go with your truck.”
“Would you prefer I picked you up in a Porsche or a truck?”
“Now we’re going on a date? You’re asking me my car preference?”
He shrugged. “It might be fun in the truck. You and my dog could hang out the window, tongues lolling in the wind. Well, at least it could be fun in the summer. Now, about a Porsche—I’d probably get so many speeding tickets I’d get drummed off the force.”
She laughed again, shook her head, and laughed some more. It felt great.
“Now, seriously, the thing about Porsches is that the minute your foot connects to the accelerator, it gains weight and pushes down harder and harder. Just look at Savich. You think he’s got a clue how fast he’s going?”
“Yes, I think he knows exactly how fast he’s going.”
“Well, maybe you’re right, in this situation. What do you think, one hundred and ten miles an hour?”
She shook her head, tapped her fingers to her chin. “No, more like one twenty.” She paused, then turned to him. “Okay, I understand now. You’ve been distracting me. And you’ve done it very well. You’ve made me laugh. Thank you. Now, for our first date, I want to ride in the truck. I want to drive out in the wilds of Virginia to some country barbecue place where they don’t have any tablecloths, just long wooden tables, and tubs filled with ice and beer. Hey, you’re losing sight of him.”
The Crown Vic leapt forward. One hundred miles an hour. Ben heard sirens behind him. Good, their escort was with them. He had to get closer to Savich, or the cops would go nuts at the sight of that speeding Porsche. He got on his radio, called dispatch. “This is Detective Ben Raven, on Highway 270. We’re just past Rockville, Maryland. We’re heading up to Alston, then ten miles west to Petersboro. FBI Agent Dillon Savich is in front of me, driving a red Porsche 911. My siren’s on and I’ve got two cop cars behind me. Alert the highway patrol about our position and the Porsche. This is an emergency.” He listened, said yes a couple of times, and punched off.
“Okay, if we’re lucky everything should be all right. Let’s hear it for a show of competence.”
“An amazing thing, competence. I’m always pleasantly surprised when I trip over it.”
Ben caught sight of the Porsche. “He just passed a patrol car coming off an exit onto the freeway. I’m going to call dispatch again, just to be sure.” Ben memorized the patrol car number and radioed dispatch again.
They watched the patrol car pull back a bit. “Good.”
Callie said suddenly, “Why would he go after Fleurette?”
