The Romanov Cross: A Novel

“Yes.” For once, inefficiency was his friend; he was still nominally in charge, it appeared.

 

“Then what the hell are you doing out here, and driving this piece of junk?” He surveyed the broken headlight and windshield. “You hit a moose?”

 

“No, but we ran into some other trouble.” He was not about to elaborate. The back doors were slammed shut again.

 

“What have you heard about the Vane boys?” Slater asked, taking back his ID. “Has anyone spotted them?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Keep an eye out for a blue Ford van. We have reason to believe they’re out in it.”

 

“Nothing like that’s come through here. We’ve stopped one logging truck and one old lady driving a pickup.”

 

“Are you sure that’s all?” Nika said, leaning toward the officer. “They must have hit this roadblock by now.”

 

“No, ma’am, they didn’t. We’ve been up and running since 1800 hours.”

 

“Then they must have gotten around it,” she muttered to Slater. “Maybe on one of the old logging trails.”

 

Slater didn’t doubt her.

 

“But even if they got around this, they can’t get around the Heron River Gorge,” she added. “It’s long and it’s wide, and there’s only one bridge across it.”

 

“How far ahead?” he asked her.

 

“Forty miles, maybe fifty.”

 

“Listen carefully, Lieutenant,” Slater said. Between the helmet and the face mask, all he could really see of the young man’s face was a pair of bright brown eyes. “I need you to call whoever’s in charge, and tell them to set up another roadblock at the Heron River Bridge. Tell them to do it right away, and to keep an eye out for that van.”

 

He put the ambulance into gear, and the lieutenant said, “Hey, wait—where do you think you’re going?”

 

“The bridge. Now clear the road.”

 

The lieutenant looked torn. “My orders are still in effect, and I’m supposed to stop all traffic in both directions.”

 

“And you’re doing a fine job,” Slater said. “But I’m the one in charge of this operation—you said it yourself—and I’m telling you to move your vehicle.”

 

Just to shut off any further debate, Slater rolled up his window and flicked the switch that activated the siren and flash bar atop the ambulance. The lieutenant hesitated, but when Slater glared at him and pointed his finger at the truck, he waved to his soldiers to move the vehicle out of the way. A couple of others peeled up a spike strip that Slater only now saw had been placed in the roadway just beyond. He was glad that he hadn’t run out of patience and simply decided to barrel through the barricade.

 

The moment the path was clear, he steered the ambulance through the opening and pulled the mitten out of the hole. He needed the windshield wipers more than he needed the windbreak. And once the roadblock was no longer visible even in his rearview mirror, he killed the siren and flashing lights.

 

“I don’t want to give the Vanes any more warning than I have to,” he said, speeding up as much as the slippery pavement and damaged car would allow.

 

“By now, I’m sure they’ve figured a few things out,” Nika said. “They know that somebody must be coming after them, or they wouldn’t be off-roading.”

 

True enough, he thought, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel and plowing on through the rising snowstorm. But did they know that the gravest danger of all was riding right along with them in their van?

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 53

 

 

Charlie’s mind was churning. He hadn’t seen a single other vehicle moving on the highway in either direction, but on a night like this, who in his right mind would be out? Only long-haul truckers would brave it, and that was only because they had to. The snow was coming down so fast, the windshield wipers were having trouble handling it, even at their top speed.

 

Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw Harley huddled in the backseat, and if he thought he looked sickly before, it was worse now. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes had a weird glaze, and his fingers kept picking at that damn wound on his leg; all Charlie knew was that he must have gotten into some mean shit on that island. Mean shit, which was probably infecting the whole car by now. He’d have to tell Rebekah and Bathsheba to scrub down and sanitize the whole van once he got back to Port Orlov.

 

Robert Masello's books