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"Because they deserved it! The weak must not prevail. I was weak. I was one of those who the instructors laughed at, who they took at night and beat up. But I learned from that. I learned it all. They didn't think they were making me strong, they thought that I couldn't make the grade. So did I, for a while. I thought I was a failure, too weak, too cowardly. And I quit the Army because I couldn't take it anymore. But then, when I was out, when I'd thought about things, I realized that I was the stronger one. They didn't make me strong. I found it within myself. And that made me realize how worthless the weak ones are. If anyone can be strong, there's no excuse for them! None at all!"

His voice rose and fell in a crazed way, but although it was difficult, Cora was getting the gist. He believed that weakness was inexcusable, and that if he could become strong then anyone could.

And that, she guessed, was why he'd made it his personal mission to sneak back on base and to 'weed out the weak.'

While he was talking, while he was so caught up in his own words, she was doing her best to escape from the combination of handcuffs and seatbelt, but in a slow, gradual way, so that he wouldn't see. She was pressing gently against the belt, easing it out, giving herself more space to move but without any sudden motions that would lock it. And she was trying to wiggle her cuffed hand just a little closer to that seatbelt unlock button. That was difficult because the button was on his side. She might not be able to get the belt unlocked because he might pick up on that movement.

What else could she do?

With enough mobility in her upper body, she might be able to use her legs. Now there was a thought.

Testing out that possibility, Cora leaned carefully away from him, now teasing out the belt in the opposite direction so that she had a range of motion in her legs. A well-aimed kick might just get that grenade out of his grasp, but the problem was that legs moved slower than arms, and he'd have more time to see what she was doing. So if she was going to use a kick, timing would be critical. If he got the pin out then it was all over. If she got the grenade away from him first with the pin still intact, then as long as it fell somewhere out of his reach, they were going to be safe from that blast.

She went through every scenario in her mind, her thoughts racing. The assessment of her situation was, surprisingly, a calming activity for her. It preceded action, and action was what would need to happen. The SEAL in her had long experience in thinking through options before fast, intensive activity.

Meanwhile, Boris was continuing his diatribe, his voice hoarse and enraged, spittle flying from his mouth along with the torrent of words, the car veering on the road as he emphasized his points with jerks of the wheel.

"They made me into a killer, but then I became their weapon. I understand them now. I understand the importance of strength, and how weaklings are nothing, lower than dust. They were all the same. Feeble and cowardly, and they had to be taught a lesson. I was saving them from their own weakness, by crushing them!"

Cora listened, taking in what he was saying, as well as how he was saying it. She did not think, right now, that this man was acting with a cold minded intent. Rather, he had a manic, crazed look in his eyes. And she knew that was going to make him more dangerous. At least a coldly logical was predictable and was also thinking ahead. A man who was acting on a whim, with a grenade clutched in his hand, was a different scenario entirely.

And she still didn’t have enough slack in the belt to be able to get her leg out. She had to use her leg. She needed to keep talking, using the conversation as a distraction but without feeding into his madness. It was a fine line.

"Did you ever think that some of those recruits might be killers, too?" she asked conversationally. "That you could make some of them into what you are?"

She thought it was as good a question as any. But he seemed offended by it.

"They were weaklings!" he spat out. "I was the exception. There is nobody like me and there never will be. My purpose in life is now to eradicate them. I was lucky to discover my own strength. I am the only one!"

"So you feel you're unique? The only one with this purpose?"

"Yes. Nobody will ever be able to do what I did!" he boasted. His voice was now thrumming with confidence, filled with a sense of his own importance. "I am strong! I am the only one! I am unique!"

As he spoke, Cora realized with a clench of her stomach that there was a whole new danger waiting behind her.

A car was following. She glimpsed the car behind her, in her wing mirror. It wasn’t Gabe, but it was a big muscle car, a silver Ford pickup, solid and heavy and imposing.

Tension filled her, flooding her muscles. This wasn’t just the worst case scenario, it was a potential catastrophe.

The driver followed, a quarter-mile behind and slowly closing in, and they might see how erratically Boris was driving. And if they tried to take any action, then the situation was going to end in a fireball.

Already, the car was flashing its lights as the driver saw Boris weaving all over the road.

With a sick feeling inside her, she knew there was no time left at all. Not anymore.

She was going to need to act, as soon as she could, to save all of them.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

This worst case scenario was threatening to explode - literally - at the most critical time. In any other circumstances, Cora knew, having a concerned driver behind her in a big solid car would be a good thing, and something she’d be pleased about.

Now, anxiety twisted inside her as she thought of that driver being blown apart by this grenade. Never mind herself. It was now this stranger that she was worried about. And somehow, she had to prevent this before what she feared played out.

If the driver behind had any sense, he'd turn around and go the other way. Surely he could see that there was something very bad playing out in this car? Maybe he was having second thoughts, though. Maybe he wouldn’t just rush in and try to manage the erratic driving up ahead.

Another glance into the side mirror showed her that he was staying back; he was unwilling to pass. He could obviously see that there was something seriously bad going on with the car ahead. But he was not doing a U-turn and going the other way, as she'd hoped he would.

She leaned further sideways and this time, she had what she needed. There was now enough room for her to use her foot if she needed to.

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