The Ark: A Novel (23 page)

There were three stairways: one each on the left and right sides of the engine bay, and a third stairway that crossed the radiator diagonally from the right side at the top to the left just above the ground. The left-side and radiator stairways met at the bottom left corner of the engine block at a small platform.

The Tesla pulled even with the platform. If he were Catholic, this is when Locke would cross himself. Instead, he just muttered, "What am I doing?"

He leaped across the four-foot gap onto the platform and clanged onto the steel, grasping the railing so that he wouldn't slip off. Not only would a fall at 40 mph result in a spectacular case of road rash, but he'd most likely be flattened by one of the truck's tires.

He steadied himself and gave the thumbs up to Grant. He pulled out the Glock again and crept up the radiator stairway, air whistling past him into the howling engine. As planned, Grant wheeled the Tesla away to draw attention away from Locke.

It worked. The gunman sprayed another round of shots in Grant's direction. When Locke reached the top, he saw the man leaning over the railing, looking toward the rear of the truck. He took aim to shoot the guy in the back.
Not very sporting,
Locke thought,
but screw him. He made his choice when he killed those two deputies.

Before Locke could pull the trigger, the glass of the cab shattered, and bullets ricocheted off the metal around Locke, sending him ducking down the stairway. The driver was using his weapon to defend the cab.

The second gunman appeared at the top of the staircase. Locke got off a shot with his Glock, but the gunman knocked it out of his hand and over the side using the rifle's muzzle. Locke grabbed hold of the man's shirt, and they both tumbled down the stairs. In an effort to catch himself, the man let go of the AR-15, which fell over the railing.

As they rolled down the stairs, Locke desperately tried to slow himself, the image of those massive tires in his mind. He came to rest at the ground level landing and found himself on top of the gunman, who thrashed underneath him. Locke held him down, trying to get leverage either to knock the man unconscious or toss him off the truck. He didn't care which.

Locke heard the beep of a car horn tooting. He looked up and saw Grant in the Tesla next to him yelling and pointing straight in front of him.

With his knees on the gunman's chest, Locke twisted his head around and felt every muscle in his body tighten like guitar strings when he saw what Grant was pointing at. Locke was about to slam into a brick wall.

As soon as Locke's head had appeared over the front of the cab platform, Cutter realized what had happened. Driving the Liebherr had been as easy as he thought it might be, and he had tasked Simkins with patrolling the perimeter of the platform to make sure no one got close enough to take pot shots at him in the cab.

The suitcase sat on the floor next to Cutter. He couldn't destroy it back at the Gordian compound, which meant he'd had to steal it. The Liebherr had presented a unique possibility, and the plan had worked perfectly. He just needed to make sure he could get to his impromptu escape point before they could figure out a way to stop the truck. Once there, he could flee along with the crowds. If he was stopped before that, there would be no way off the truck without being spotted. He would be surrounded easily. He couldn't let that happen.

With the mirrors, he had kept his pursuers at bay, using Simkins as his sniper. Locke had figured out how to thwart that tactic. Cutter had guessed it was only a matter of time before Locke tried something else.

Then he'd seen Locke's face pop up. Simkins had rushed over without checking over the side and got surprised by Locke, who pulled Simkins down. Cutter had lost sight of them both. But he knew the stairs in front of the radiator went almost to the ground. If they were still on it, Cutter had an excellent way to take care of the problem.

Ahead was some kind of outdoor storage facility for a building supplier. Piles of bricks were stacked for shipping, each pile taller than the last and at least six feet thick.

All Cutter had to do was run into them. The truck would absorb the impact without even slowing down. Even if the stairs weren't completely crushed, being hit by a ton of bricks would take care of Locke.

Too bad about Simkins, though. He was a good soldier, and he would die like one.

* * *

Grant, who kept the Tesla parallel to the dump truck, watched in horror as the Liebherr purposely approached the piles of bricks, spaced out at 50 foot intervals to allow forklifts to carry the brick pallets out. The first was 10 feet high, the one behind that 15 feet, and the third one twenty feet. He was certain the driver knew Locke was on the stairs.

He saw Locke get his warning. Locke kneed the man who had fallen down the stairs with him and scrambled up the radiator stairway. The gunman, still holding his midsection, was at the bottom of the stairs when the truck hit the first pile.

The hijacker was pulverized by the bricks, which also ripped apart the stairs just below Locke's feet. He lost his footing for a moment, and Grant held his breath. Locke recovered and pulled himself up five more feet, out of the way of a second pile of bricks that exploded against the front of the truck, its hardened-steel radiator grill merely dented by the mass of bricks. Grant had seen him cheat death too many times to think Locke would fail now, but he still couldn't believe his friend's luck.

Locke leaped up to the top of the stairs just as the third pile wrenched the stairs loose from the top, and Grant was sure Locke was going to fall.

He blinked and saw that one bolt still held. Locke dangled from a piece of railing that jutted out in front of the engine. He was too far from the right side staircase to swing himself over. If he fell, it was twenty feet to the ground at 40 mph. Grant didn't care how lucky Locke was, there would be no surviving that.

Grant had to help him somehow.

The Tesla started pinging. Grant looked at the instrument panel and saw the issue. The batteries of the all-electric car were almost out of juice. He could already feel it starting to slow down, which meant he had one chance to help Locke.

The Liebherr driver, probably thinking he'd killed Locke, had swung back onto the main road, trailed by a gaggle of police cars, headed toward some unknown destination. He obviously felt impervious high up in that cab.

Grant forced the Tesla over in front of the truck, his foot jammed to the floor to keep the sports car from slowing down. He lined himself up under Locke, who was straining to keep hold.

The back of the Tesla was mere feet in front of the enormous truck. Locke's feet swung high above Grant's left shoulder. Grant couldn't get close enough for Locke to land in the car's passenger cabin. If Locke hit the trunk, he'd most likely bounce off and under the truck's undercarriage. Grant would have to try something else, something even he thought was crazy.

He swung the Tesla so that it was alongside with the right-side stairway that went straight down to the bottom front of the truck. It had survived the battering by the brick piles. He hit the cruise control and took one final look ahead to make sure he had enough straight road. The adrenaline was flooding through him just like he was about to jump out of an airplane, except this was about 100 times more dangerous. He shouted at the top of his lungs to pump himself up.

He stood on the seat, stabilizing the steering wheel. Then in one fluid motion, Grant jumped up and leaped onto the Liebherr's right-side stairway. He gave another shout for making it.

With the steering wheel uncontrolled, the Tesla swung left and disappeared under the truck's massive wheels. Grant heard the crunch of smashed metal. The Tesla was gone.

He turned and saw Locke still hanging by two hands, but his grip seemed to be fading. Grant braced himself against the railing of the steeper right-side staircase and leaned out as far as he could stretch. Locke let go with one hand. They could just barely grab each other's hands.

"On three!" Grant yelled. "One! Two! Three!"

He yanked Locke's hand as Locke released his grip on the railing. He plunged down, and Grant reeled him in like a prize tuna. For a second, Locke's feet bounced against the asphalt. Grant heaved and pulled him up.

When they were both secure on the staircase, they fell to the stairs, panting for air.

Locke wiped his brow with his sleeve, then pushed himself up slowly. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"And you think I'm nuts?" he said, his voice shakier than Grant had ever heard it before.

"Bat-shit cuckoo," Grant replied.

Locke held out his hand, and Grant shook it.

"Thanks," Locke said. "I owe you several for that maneuver."

"And we owe Tesla a new car."

"We've got bigger problems." Locke pointed at an approaching sign. It said Splash World parking lot next right. "That's how he's planning to get away."

Made sense
, Grant thought,
in a sick sort of way.
Splash World was the biggest and most popular water park in the city. Hot day like this, there'd be thousands of people there. The truck driver would just crash through the park and get out in the confusion.

"Let's get him then," Grant said climbing toward the top of the staircase. He felt Locke grab his ankle.

"Guy's got the AR-15 trained on us. He'll take us out before we get halfway to the cab." Locke took out his Leatherman tool. "Here. You're the electrical engineer. Since you're on board now, you can do it."

The truck swerved around and into the Splash World parking lot. It began mowing through cars like Bigfoot's gigantic brother.

"And hurry," Locke added.

The engine bay was open on the side for easy access and maintenance. Like most modern engines, the Liebherr's was computer controlled. If Grant could disable the computer, the truck's safeguards would kick in, cut off the fuel supply, and the brakes would automatically engage.

"If I had known you'd go to all this trouble to get me on the truck," Grant yelled as he climbed into the roaring engine bay, "I would have made you drive."

He could see a checkered view of the park fence through the front grill. It was swiftly approaching. He unfolded the Leatherman and opened the wire cutters carefully. If he dropped it, they'd be royally screwed.

Grant could make out screams in the distance, but he didn't see anyone getting run over by the truck. At least that was something. Up ahead, he saw what the driver was aiming for. A collection of waterslides. If the driver could demolish them, the panic in the park would be complete.

Grant found the wires leading to the on-board computer. He began snipping them one by one.

The truck burst through the outer fence.

Two wires to go.

Grant could see the huge wave pool pass to their left.

One wire left. With the last snip, the engine abruptly cut off. The sudden silence was deafening. The truck started to slow, but they were still rolling toward the water slides. The screams of those who were stuck on the staircase waiting area got louder as the truck closed the distance.

Then the emergency brakes kicked in. The truck lurched as if a giant had grabbed its rear. The truck crashed through two slides and ground to a halt just as it reached the teeming staircase, gently tapping it but nothing more. Grant whistled. Close call.

Now dripping with sweat from the heat, Grant climbed out of the engine bay.

Locke was above him standing at the top of the staircase, looking at the cab. Since he wasn't being shot at, that meant only one thing.

"Don't tell me," Grant said. "He's gone."

Locke nodded, his frustration apparent. "And he took whatever he had with him. Must have jumped into the wave pool when we passed it. Probably lost in the crowd by now."

"Lucky bastard," Grant said, mopping his brow. "At least he got to go for a swim."

The Tuesday evening news had been wall-to-wall coverage of the truck chase, and on Wednesday morning, the finger pointing had begun. The damage done to the Deer Valley portion of Phoenix had been extensive, but not as catastrophic as it could have been. Except for the construction warehouse, most of the destruction was contained at Splash World. At least 65 cars in the parking lot were totally destroyed, and another 50 damaged. The total bill for the damage would undoubtedly run into the millions. It was a miracle that the only deaths had been the one hijacker and the two deputies. Several people at Splash World were injured, but none seriously. Still, Gordian would now have to brace for the inevitable lawsuits.

Miles Benson had made the flight down Wednesday morning to survey the destruction first hand. Gordian was going to be blamed for not securing the Liebherr and allowing it to be used as a battering ram, and he had the ultimate responsibility. Using cranes, Gordian workers under Grant's supervision were already stabilizing the water slide it had come to rest against and disassembling the truck for shipment back to the TEC.

"And you didn't even get the guy?" Miles said, watching the bed being lifted from the Liebherr. "How the hell did this happen?"

Locke had returned to the TEC after the crash to assess the damage and investigate how someone had infiltrated the facility. Now he had an even tougher job: answering his boss's questions. The work was stirring up dust. Locke coughed as if he was hacking up some of the dirt, but he was actually embarrassed by the slip-up.

"Here's what we know so far," Locke said. "We accounted for all of the people who entered the TEC yesterday except for two NTSB investigators. Maricopa County sheriff's department raided their hotel room. The real investigators were both dead. Shot and put on ice in the bathtub. Do not disturb sign on the door. A quick job that would have passed for a day or two at most."

"What did they get?"

"We matched the hangar's remaining contents to the G-Tag inventory. They got away with a hard-side suitcase, green, the size of a carry-on. It hadn't been opened yet by our team, so there's no way to know what was inside."