“It keeps them thinking surprise is on their side,” Dryden said. “Which means it’s really on ours.”
Ahead loomed yet another semi. There would be just enough time to pass it before the van caught up. And that was going to be critical, because Dryden suddenly understood what he had to do. The road was perfect for it: two lanes, bordered on the left by a concrete median divider, and on the right by a guardrail and then a 45-degree drop to the sea. No shoulder on either side. The freeway might as well have been the Lincoln Tunnel—exactly what he needed.
He glanced at Rachel. “You already know my plan, don’t you,” he said.
“I think so,” she said. She gripped the armrest on the passenger door, bracing for things to get rough.
Dryden risked a slight increase in speed to pass the semi, even using his turn signal when he changed lanes. Behind them, the van changed lanes, too, and began the final push to close the gap.
*
Gaul leaned in toward the nearest monitor. All the night’s stress and anxiety would end within the minute, right there in a pixelated blaze.
At that moment, footsteps came sprinting down the corridor outside, and a technician appeared in the doorway with a cordless phone.
“Sir,” the man said, “it’s Hollings. He says it’s critical.”
Keeping his eyes on the monitor, Gaul took the phone from the tech.
“Can it wait thirty seconds?” Gaul said into the phone.
“I’m not sure it can, sir,” Hollings said. “I tried calling your cell, but I couldn’t get through—”
“You’re wasting seconds now. Just tell me,” Gaul said.
“I have part of Sam Dryden’s restricted file. He is significantly more advanced than Delta. If Curren’s men are still pursuing him, they need to be told.”
“What did Dryden do after Delta?” Gaul asked.
“A federal program called Ferret. It might’ve been under Homeland, I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“What sort of work did he do in Ferret?”
“The only thing Ferret does at all. Extraordinary rendition.”
The two words seeped into Gaul like winter drafts.
His eyes went to the monitors again. The pickup, cruising along at the speed limit. The man at the wheel carrying six years’ experience in abducting people for the United States government. Six years honing a skill set that would include violent conflict in every possible civilian environment.
Gaul’s focus went to the van, closing fast on the truck, and he saw the absurdity that had been right in front of him for minutes: There was essentially zero chance a man like Sam Dryden would fail to spot trouble on his tail.
Gaul dropped the cordless unit and grabbed his cell phone in the same movement.
CHAPTER SIX
Curren watched the F-150 slip past the nose of the semi ahead. He could see Dryden and the girl in silhouette above the pickup’s seatback.
“When he gets back in the right lane,” Curren said, “I’ll stay in the left and come up just shy of passing. Clear to fire when I say go.”
The three shooters on the bench seat took position. A fourth prepared to slide open the door.
Curren’s cell rang—Gaul. He reached to answer it, then simply ignored it. Taking his attention off the action now would be the wrong move.
Ahead, Dryden merged back into the right lane. Curren accelerated along the length of the semi and beyond it. He would overtake the pickup in less than ten seconds. The man at the side door slid it open; wind roared into the vehicle. The shooters brought their MP-5s to the ready.
In the last moments before it would all go down, Curren found himself wondering how a man like Sam Dryden—a former Delta operator, not to mention whatever the hell he’d been for those six black years—could end up this naive.
Then Dryden did something strange.
He put the truck’s turn signal back on and merged once more to the left, though there was nothing ahead of him to pass. The pickup was directly in front of the van again.
“What the fuck is this?” Curren said.
*
Dryden watched the van and the semi in his rearview mirror. The timing was going to come down to tenths of a second, though there was no way to be that exact in the execution. This was going to be messy as hell.
Beside him, Rachel pulled her seat belt tight.
The van was behind the pickup, a single car length from its tailgate. The semi was another two lengths behind the van, in the next lane.
“Close enough for government work,” Dryden said, and slammed his heel on the brake.
The effect was all he could have asked for.
At freeway speed, the van’s driver had nowhere near the time or space he needed to react. There was no place for him to go but the open lane to the right, directly in front of the semi. The van swerved hard for it, missing the pickup’s back end by inches.
In the same instant, Dryden took his foot off the brake; his speed had dropped to forty. When the van passed the pickup’s back end, Dryden veered right as well, ramming the van’s nose from the side and sending it into the guardrail at an angle.