Page 104 of No Vow Broken

We didn’t dare slow down. The SUV bobbed and swayed on its heavy suspension as we moved as quickly as we dared down the rutted road. After climbing two switchbacks, we came out of the trees near the top of the hill and could look down the valley. I could see St. Michael’s in the distance and noted Marine One was just taking off. At least the president and the pope would be safe no matter what happened.

The road ended in a small open area barely big enough for two, maybe three cars to park. This was probably a hiking trailhead. Parked at one side was the white truck. The rear door of the truck was rolled up and the hazmat suit and both bottles were missing.

“You were right,” Slash said grimly as we got out and moved cautiously toward the truck. There was a narrow metal ramp slanting down from the truck bed to the ground. The back of the truck was empty except for scattered moving blankets, a few tie-down straps, and a cardboard box. Two narrow tracks led off from the base of the ramp.

“It looks like he used a wheeled dolly to move the tanks,” I said.

“It does. If we follow the tracks, we’ll find our quarry.”

“I hope we aren’t too late. Let’s go.”

He held up a hand stopping me. “That’s not the best plan. You aren’t dressed for a chase through the brush. Plus, we need someone to tell the police and the Secret Service behind us what they’re facing. In addition to that, we’ll need them to block all civilians from this area or there could be significant fatalities.”

“But you can’t go by yourself. You don’t even have a weapon.”

“I’ll figure it out. Just send one of the police or Secret Service agents after me. But theymustkeep the crowd back. That’s imperative.”

With that, he plunged into the brush before I could argue further. The analytical part of my brain confirmed Slash’s assessment as being the best strategy. But the emotional side realized he was also trying to keep me as safe as possible from sarin exposure.

While I was struggling with these realizations, a police car, followed by a black Secret Service SUV, pulled into sight.

That finalized my decision. I’d do as Slash asked—at least for now.

FIFTY-FOUR

Slash

The dolly tracks led around the front of the truck and down a narrow path. I could see two sets of wheel tracks, and the depression they made in the damp earth implied several things. First, our adversary had made multiple trips. Second, the bottles were unusually heavy, confirming Lexi’s suspicion they were filled with a liquid instead of a gas. Finally, that the man we were chasing was strong and fit if he’d been able to maneuver the heavy canisters, twice, over the uneven ground. I occasionally saw unusual footprints in the dirt, meaning he was probably hauling the canisters while wearing the bulky hazmat suit.

Hopefully that had slowed him down enough to give me time to stop him.

I proceeded at a trot, choosing speed over stealth, as I figured his hearing would be impaired by the suit. Ahead I could see a low spot where the brushy area ended and trees clumped in a way that suggested a nearby water source.

I was confident I’d find our enemy there.

The plan was nearly perfect—release the liquid in the stream, return to the truck, get out of the hazmat suit, and be on the road before anyone even knew what had happened.

I finally spotted him through the high brush under the trees. He was unloading the second canister off the wheeled dolly near the stream. The first bottle was already lying top down over the water. I prayed it was still closed and that he was waiting to open it until he had the second tank in position.

I wished I had a weapon, because it would have made this much easier. But at least my opponent didn’t appear to be armed, and even if he was, it would have been nearly impossible to fire a gun with the gloves of the suit.

As he carefully laid the second bottle down, speed and surprise were my best weapons now. His back was mostly facing me, and the suit obstructed his peripheral vision. No time to waste.

I broke into a run, intent on knocking him into the stream and away from the bottles. If any sarin had been released, I wasn’t going to be fighting long.

He must have sensed me coming because at the last moment, he stood up and turned in my direction. But it was too late. He had little time to brace or defend himself when I tackled him above the waist and we both fell into the water. He absorbed most of the impact as we hit the rocky bottom of the shallow stream, but the extra padding of the suit blunted the impact. I rolled off him and started looking for a weapon. I found a heavy stick that would make a good club, but it was rotted and crumbled when I picked it up. I grabbed a softball-size rock instead, though I wasn’t sure if it would hurt him through the helmet he was wearing.

When I faced him, he confirmed my suspicions. He was several inches taller than I was, though it was difficult to tell in the suit. He was probably thirty or forty pounds heavier as well. He stood there in the stream, fumbling at his waist. I was confused for a moment, then I realized his problem. He was armed, but the handgun was at his waist inside the suit, and he couldn’t get access to it without taking off the suit. I didn’t intend to give him time to attempt that maneuver.

I approached him with the rock, and he slowly backed up the stream. I wasn’t sure I could really hurt him, as protected as he was. However, I didn’t have to stop him, only delay him until help arrived. He must have arrived at that same conclusion because he abruptly pivoted and splashed the few steps toward the bottles. He was going to release the liquid.

He was reaching for the knobs on the nozzles at top of the bottles when I tackled him again. He was more prepared this time and rolled so I bore more of the brunt of our landing. Luckily, the material of his suit was soft enough that I was able to grab onto it and throw him off me. I was also able to regain my feet more quickly since I wasn’t wearing a bulky suit.

I watched as he rose slowly, holding a large thick stick, wielding it like a club. I crouched, readying myself both physically and mentally.

Things were about to get real.

FIFTY-FIVE

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