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The headlight beams from the Sentra lit up the first few rows of trees, but after that it was pitch black in the woods. Tangled undergrowth and treacherous tree roots. I was about ten yards in when I realized I could have brought the Maglite and made my life a whole lot easier.
Too late to go back now.
I paused to listen. The canopy was soaking up a good deal of the ceaseless sleet. Even so, I could hear dripping water all over the place. The muffled sounds of tinder soaking up moisture. Distant waves of traffic up on the roadway.
I dropped the magazine out of the Glock and refilled it with bullets from my pocket. Counted thirteen – unlucky for some. One missing. I felt around in the jacket. Number fourteen had slipped into the lining and was out of reach. Oh well. Thirteen was thirteen more than I hoped I’d need. I slapped the magazine back and strained eyes to penetrate the gloom. Nothing but the dark hulk of trees disappearing into the murk.
I had no clue which way Jefferson had gone. Maybe if I heard him thrashing across the forest floor . . .
Movement a ways off to my left, deeper in the woods.
Jefferson.
I was sure of it.
I went after it.
Slipping and tripping.
Scrabbling under low branches.
Grabbing onto mossy trunks to stop me going face first into the mushy undergrowth.
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A hundred strenuous yards later I emerged onto a foot trail. I was saturated, scratched and breathing hard. Steaming in the cold night air. I scanned both ways with the Glock. Everything shadows and blackness. The rain had turned the track into a muddy stream. It ran at an angle across a slope, then curved downhill through more trees.
My crashing through the undergrowth in the dark had sapped precious energy. It was a fair bet Jefferson was feeling the pain too, and had opted for the easier downslope escape route. I wiped sleet out of my eyes and splashed along the path. Sneakers heavy with rainwater, squelching. I reached the curve where the trail sloped downhill and paused to listen.
And that’s when a tree toppled on top of me.
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It was Jefferson.
He’d lain in wait, in the dense scrub. Probably exhausted. Done. Thought it better to knock me out and effect his escape without me hounding his heels.
He impacted me from the side and we hit the forest floor like two sacks of wet sand. Cold rainwater gushed around us. Mud spattered my face. His big hands went straight for my throat. I kicked and hit out. Managed to get a fist into his ribs. He was puffing hard. So was I. Entwined, we rolled as one. Suddenly he was on top of me, straddling me at the waist. A big bear, squeezing the air from my lungs. Sleet pelting my face.
His big paws clasped themselves around my throat.
Jefferson wasn’t going for the knockout, he was going for the kill!
I sputtered out dirty rainwater.
No way I was going to die in a muddy rut.
Sometimes I learn my lesson.
I swung my hand with the Glock in it and struck the butt hard against his temple. I could have shot him. I could have unloaded the full clip into his side. But I wanted Jefferson alive; I wanted answers.
Jefferson’s spine straightened as he sucked in air. The strike had sent an electric landslide cascading through his brain. He blinked and threw his head back. I didn’t give him the chance to shake himself out of it. I pushed him in the chest and heaved him off. He crumpled to the ground, breaking twigs, and started mewling like a baby.
I rolled to my knees on the waterlogged trail. Got out my handcuffs and locked one loop over his right wrist. I went to do the same to his left, then had a change of mind. I locked it over mine instead. It was a difficult trek back to the road. Dark. Plenty of opportunity for Jefferson to give me the slip, even cuffed.
He moaned and shook his head.
I staggered to my feet and kept the Glock pointed his way. “Get up, Jefferson. You’re under arrest for the murder of Gentry O’Dell and the abduction of a federal agent.” I nudged him with the toe of a soggy sneaker. “I said get up!”
“You broke my damn eye socket,” he groaned. He pushed himself to his knees. He was soaked to the bone. Blood leaking from his eye. Shakily, he got to his feet and touched fingers against his temple.
We faced each other in the woods. Blinking away sleet. Jefferson’s back was to the trail as it sloped downhill into the woods and out of sight. I was aware he was bigger and heavier than me. Take a second to turn the tables.
All at once Jefferson made a gurgling noise.
I saw his eyes roll back and the whites come up.
He must have gotten up too fast. Blood rushing into his size twelves and saying adios to his head.
I dug in my heels; knowing what was coming.
Still gurgling, he toppled backward.
The handcuff chain snapped me forward and I went after him.
We flopped into the muddy water steaming downhill. The Glock sprang from my grasp. Then we were sliding down the shallow gulley. Rolling and bumping. Jefferson’s dead weight dragging us down.
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You’ve seen it in the movies: the hero coming unstuck and whooshing down a mudslide. It looks like fun. It isn’t.
Every rock and tree root whacked me on the way down. The Kevlar vest cushioned a little, but only a little. I bumped and bounced, towed by my connection to Jefferson. The slippery slope had to end somewhere. The surrounding forest was a blur as we tumbled faster and faster. Then, without warning, we were sliding out of the trees, out onto an open expanse of mud and rock. Jefferson feet first. Me on my belly, head first, riding a wave of liquefied mud.
I saw what looked like a drop coming up. Someone had excavated a large area of the woods, I saw, leaving behind what looked like a large meteor crater. A couple of hundred yards in diameter, easy. A torrent of muddy water was flowing over the edge and into space. No idea how far it went down.
And we were heading straight for it.
I tried locking a desperate hand on a rocky outcrop as I passed it by, but my fingers scraped it without getting a fix.
Too much momentum.
Jefferson skewed on his side. Still out of it. I tried digging my free elbow into the landslide, using it like a rudder to turn us away from the onrushing drop. Submerged stones cracked my bones. But it was no good; Jefferson’s mass was calling the shots. No way I could slow our descent or change the inevitable.
I flapped my loose hand, frantic to grab a handhold and stop him from pulling me over.
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It follows that if you believe in God then you must believe in miracles.
I didn’t – at least none of the manmade variety.
Fate proved me wrong.
Miraculously, my flailing arm hooked into an exposed tree root jutting over the rim of the crater. Instinctively, I clamped fingers around the spongy wood and clung on for dear life. The anchor point brought me to a juddering stop, side-on to the drop-away, one leg dangling over, the other taking up the tension. But it didn’t stop Jefferson’s full weight from snapping down hard against my arm and shoulder.
Crack!
Muscles straining. Sinews stretched to snapping point. I clenched teeth and let loose a throaty growl as pain rocketed up my arm.
Jefferson swung on our handcuff link like a bear-sized pendulum.
I screwed my eyes shut and howled. Gasped for air. Then howled some more. Continuous pain lanced through my wrist. Bones grinding. A steady stream of icy water was washing over me, trying to sweep me over the edge.
But we’d stopped, and right now that’s all that mattered.
I clung on. Flat on my stomach. Looking down at Jefferson as water tumbled over him and continued to fall through thirty feet. A sheer drop. Survivable if the floor of the crater was soil and grass. No such luck. I could make out mounds of rubble. Slabs of whitish rock almost luminescent in the dark and the drizzle. Big puddles with rocky islands. This wasn’t a meteor crater, I realized. It was a quarry. And the leftover rocks directly beneath Jefferson made it a deadly drop.
I tried squirming in the mud, trying to downgrade my predicament from perilous to precarious. Jefferson’s bulk kept me where I was – two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight, pinning me down.
Only so long I could keep hold. My grip on the tree root was doubtful, worsened by the wetness and my withering strength. Even if I managed to keep hold, Jefferson’s weight on the handcuff was threatening to rip off my left hand.
I’d been here before, more than once: prone, suspending someone else’s life from my fingertips. Most with grim outcomes. No reason to think this dire situation was going to end any way but in a bad way. Me, included.
Gravity is a killer.
Jefferson moaned.
I blinked mud from my eyes.
He was coming round; rudely awakened by the torrent of muddy water gushing over him. He shook himself like a wet dog and pain coursed up my arm.
“Quit wriggling!” I yelped.
It felt like Jefferson was going to rip my arm from its socket. Tendons burning fire. Muscles screaming. The bracelet was biting into the skin of my wrist, adding blood to the watery mix..
I saw him look around, dazed, then down at the drop hanging beneath his feet. Realization made him squirm.
“Keep still, dammit!”
His neck twisted and his gaze met mine. I saw his big brown eyes take in the situation, and the severity of it.
“We got ourselves in a real state,” he said, spluttering and blinking away the water flowing over his face.
“Just quit moving around and I’ll haul you up.”
A flash of teeth. “You and I both know that is never going to happen.”
I tried pulling. Pain seared. No good.
“How’d you find out, Quinn? How’d you know about me and O’Dell?”
“He left a clue behind,” I said through gritted teeth. “A nickel with Thomas Jefferson on it. That’s your full name, isn’t it? Thomas Jefferson.”
“And you made the connection.”
“That’s what I do; it’s my job.”
“I guess O’Dell was one smart cookie. He didn’t deserve to die. Least, not like that.”
“So why did you do it, Jefferson? Why kill O’Dell?”
He didn’t answer. I saw him reach into the small of his back. His hand came away with a lump of black metal: Woods’ gun. He’d had it tucked in his waistband. He turned the muzzle in my direction.
“Forget it, Jefferson. Shoot me and there’s no way back. We can do this. I can get you out of here. Just hold on. Help is on its way.”
He coughed out water, blinked. “None of this was my choosing, Quinn. We both know there’s no way back from this for me. Sometimes other forces act against us and give us no choice. He made me do it. I have a son. He lives with his mom. He’s in college. He’s a good kid. Makes his father real proud.” He raised the gun. “He said he’d kill my son if I didn’t go along with it. Best thing for all concerned if it ends here.”
He put the muzzle against the chain holding us together.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Who made you do it?”