Page 83 of The Devil Wears Orange
“Professor, where are you?” calls Capitaine Favreau, who stands among the Swiss police.
Unsteadily, Jack lifts himself on his feet, the boat rocks beneath his clumsy attempt to stand. “What the hell was that?” Jack shouts. “I could have been killed.”
Favreau moves toward the water’s edge and shrugs. “I’m afraid I’m not in charge and only came along for the ride. It does seem, however, that your friends have left you, Professor.”
“Yes, well... to get away from all these bullets. And...” Jack stutters, “...and you French have no sense of time. I told you it was going down at midnight. You’re late,Capitaine.”
Chapter 49
Trees blur past. Themoon plays Hide and Seek between treetops. The Bentley swerves down the mountain, back tires skidding close to the edge, fishtailing. Hands tight on the steering wheel, I flatten my foot on the gas pedal and push the car away from the drop and back onto the road. I throw it into the next gear, gun the engine, and accelerate. Beside me, Rashid struggles to put on his seatbelt.
In the distance, a siren sounds. I look through the rearview.
“Keep your eyes on the road ahead,” Rashid tells me, his tone on edge.
“Is that a police siren?” I don’t get an answer, so I repeat the question, shouting.
“Perhaps. Yes, it sounds like one, but they’re far behind us.”
I glance his way and lift my foot off the accelerator.
“We should stop.”
“No, they may be on Banning’s payroll. We can’t trust anyone. Pick up the speed.”
The car swerves around a bend, narrowly misses a sign that warns of steep cliffs ahead. In the dark, I’m not worried about the hairpin bends of the road, the same ones that terrified me earlier when we traveled up. If I can’t see the plunging chasm, I figure it’s not there. It provides for a bit of comfort, better than visualizing a plummet to my death.
A niggling sensation grows, and I glance into the rearview again. “Where’s Jack?” I tore down the driveway so quickly that, amid the chaos, it has taken me this long to notice Jack’s absence. I’m mortified. “We left him?! How could we leave him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did he go? He was about to get in the Bentley, and then the shooting started. Someone said ‘go’. I thought it was him! Oh, God. Oh, God. What if he was shot?”
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Charlotte, we can’t go back. We’ll head into Ober.”
“And then what? Tell me what we’re doing!”
“The only thing we can do. Keep going.”
“What if I had been left behind? Would you keep going then?”
“Of course not. You’re not expendable.”
“Neither is Jack.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You implied it.”
“Charlotte, please, you’re not thinking with any clarity. We have to keep going.”
The Bentley zigzags, its back wheels losing control until I steer into a straight run and pick up speed. Ahead, we escape into a darkened tunnel, and though I can’t see the police, judging by the sounds of the siren, they are moving closer.
The moment we come out of the tunnel, a police helicopter ascends from the side of the mountain.
