A Bridge to Treachery From Extortion to Terror (22 page)

Red turned away. “We’ll stay put as long as we can. But don’t go running off without us, hear?”

“Red, I’ll never leave anybody like that. We’ll all go together, just as we planned.”

“I’ll trust you for a while, but I’m not going to wind up in the can. I’m clearing out of here in ten minutes, tops.”

Lou spun him around. “All I ask is that you hold on to this end until we can reorganize and get the hell out of here. Give me a couple of minutes to get back out to the center. When the charge is ready to go, I’ll flash the lights. Fire Mack East and come to me in the center as fast as you can. We’ll blow the three-quarter and scoot.”

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” Red sputtered, moving off.

Lou turned on his heel and started hobbling back to the center of the span. The red and blue flashing cruiser lights reflected off the bridge cables like the tiny blood vessels in the back of Lou’s eyelids. He slowed to a painful walk. About halfway to the center, he met one of the men from the west side running toward Red’s group. It was Pegley. Lou intercepted him and grabbed him by the front of his jacket and screamed into his face: “Hey, you! What the hell are you doing? Don’t panic. They had a run in with a squad car back there. We’re still going according to plan. Turn around and get your ass back where you started. Tell the others we’re going to go off that end of the bridge instead of the east. That’s the only change.”

Pegley turned around as ordered and sprinted off. He was in ten times better shape than Lou and soon was only a distant figure melting into the mass of the truck on the west end. As Lou stumbled to a slow jog again, he realized Pegley had no weapon. Probably dropped it in the excitement.
Some troops!

By the time Lou reached the three-quarter ton truck in the center of the bridge, his thighs were burning and he was seized with a coughing fit. After all the noise and confusion, the center of the span seemed deathly silent. He collapsed against the door of the truck and gasped for air. His rasping melted into the wind whistling in the cables and girders.

You weak, wobbling, basket case!

He had to go to the western end to make sure they knew what to do. He didn’t have the strength to jog the rest of the way. He would have to use the three-quarter; napalm be damned. He pulled himself into the cab and cranked the engine. He pulled slowly away, praying that the jostling ’wouldn’t blow one of the blasting caps. They weren’t receiving electric current from the blasting machine, but the caps were extremely volatile and could blow any time.

The schedule was off by a good half hour. By this time, Lou had hoped to have blown the napalm and to have been across 9D. As long as nothing else happened, they still had a half-assed chance of getting away with it. But he knew the cops weren’t just sitting around twiddling their thumbs; they were calling for help.

Up ahead, the semi-trailer truck, Mack West, was jackknifed across the road, effectively blocking it off. Lou couldn’t see anyone around it at first; but as he neared, he saw that Frawley, the toll guard, and the girl were crouching down in the shadows underneath the trailer. Still rasping, he squatted down next to Frawley.

“What are you doing under here?”

“We’re scared, goddamn it. It’s been quiet over here, no shooting, but we think we saw a car turn toward us by the traffic circle. Then he just stopped and backed off. I haven’t heard anything out of the two out there in front.”

Lou shot back, “The guys at the other end ran into some cops. Right now, they’re just staring at each other. In about ten minutes, we’ll be ready to blow the stuff and get out. Just hang on here. I’m going to check on those two out front.”

Lou stuck to the side of the road. He made his way toward the grassy spot ahead, where he expected to find Pegley and Bruce. He detected no movement in the shadows; heard nothing. He checked all along the edge of the road, almost out to the traffic circle.

Finally, he began shouting in the hope they might’ve slipped off further from the edge of the road and just couldn’t hear him. It was no good. He stumbled on something in the darkness. He reached down and came up with a rifle. The two were no longer on guard. The first deserter had taken the other with him this time. He trotted back to the truck and slumped down beside the girl.

“They’re not out there anymore. We’ll have to keep our eyes peeled for any move¬ment to our front. We know the cops have the word now. We’re up against time.”

“Why don’t we just run?” Tasha asked, in a quavering voice. “I gotta get out of here.”

“We got people depending on us out there on the other side. We’re all in this together,” Lou growled.

Chapter Twenty

Lou heard the pulsing of police sirens from the other end of the bridge and could plainly see the squad cars’ whirling red lights. Four of them were coming down off the curving slope out of Peekskill. He crawled out from under the Mack West trailer and saw more red flashing, this time from his end of the bridge. Two dark blue police cars abreast on the road approached them from the traffic circle. They must have come from Fort Montgomery.

He ran to the rear of the trailer with his M-2 and took up a supported firing position with his arm anchored on a ledge of the tailgate. He opened up on full automatic and hosed a burst that emptied the little magazine into the spotlights illuminating the area around the tollbooth. A shower of sparks rained down on the pavement. Mack West and all of them fell into darkness.

Three hundred feet up ahead, the two police cars slammed on their brakes and careened to a screeching stop. Four cops tumbled out of the cars and rolled to the side of the road, out of the reach of the mercury-vapor lamps that still illuminated the approach to the bridge. Now they were cut off from both sides.

Lou moved to the Mack West trailer’s rear double wheel. Sliding down to sit on the pavement, he pressed his back against the tires. He saw Frawley slither under the cab with his weapon pointing toward the cops. The toll guard lay supine behind the rear wheel of the cab. The girl knelt at the front fender with her weapon still pointed at him. Lou could hear her sobbing. He ran crouching to the front of the truck.

“What am I doing here?” she screamed.

He growled into her ear, “As long as we have the guard here, they won’t be doing any shooting. Do you hear me? He’s our hostage. They won’t want to harm him. Calm down. We’re going to get out of this, one way or another.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Her head was down. Her whole body jerked in convulsive sobs. He tried another tack; took her shoulders, pulled her into his chest, and held her there. Gradually, she began to calm.

“It’s important that you keep an eye on the guard so we can keep ours on the cops. I don’t think this guy is going to give you any trouble. He doesn’t seem to be the heroic type. All you have to do is sit behind this wheel. Keep your weapon pointed in his direction. He’s going to stay right where he is.”

“YOU MEN ON THE BRIDGE. THIS IS THE STATE POLICE. THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT, AND NO ONE WILL BE HARMED.”

It was the tinny sound of a bullhorn coming from the direction of the traffic circle. Back in the other direction, the far end of the bridge seemed to be surrounded by red and blue flashing lights. Lou could only hope that Red was still holding out.

“SO FAR, NOBODY’S BEEN INJURED. LET’S KEEP IT THAT WAY. THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT PEACEFULLY.”

In the light of the mercury-vapor lamps, he could see a cop emerge from behind one of the squad cars and walk slowly forward a couple of feet.

“YOU DON’T HAVE A CHANCE. THERE ARE POLICE ALL AROUND YOU.”

“All right you guys out there!” Lou screamed. “We’ve got a hostage over here!” He went to the guard, stood him up, and pushed him to the front of the truck. “This is your toll guard! So back off!”

“OKAY. WE HEAR YOU ON THE HOSTAGE. DON’T GET EXCITED. WE’RE STAYING RIGHT WHERE WE ARE.”

Lou brought the guard back around and sat him down with his back to the double wheel in the back of the cab. The girl slid down to the ground with her face in her hands. Lou crouched down and spoke to Frawley still lying under the cab with his weapon. “You okay under there?” he asked. “If you see anything moving out there, don’t hesitate to let one go. They might try to maneuver some snipers on us.”

“I’m with ya,” Frawley said, without so much as looking back.

“Look, why don’t you guys just pack it in? Nobody wants to get hurt out here. Least of all me.” It was the guard talking to anyone who was willing to listen.

“You just shut the fuck up, Mr. Toll Guard. If you want to stay healthy, just stay put and keep your mouth shut.” Lou spoke with all the conviction he could muster. It was strained. The situation was even worse now than he imagined it could be. There were no options. The plan had collapsed.

Now all the objections he had voiced back at the motel were reality. Gone was the euphoria, the confidence. The downside of the operation, the side that he had so rashly disregarded in the delirium of hope, was crashing in on all sides. His head was filled with an endless string of horrors. There was no way in the world he was going to allow himself to be captured.

That would be the worst thing of all: to be identified. Jail wouldn’t be any worse than a lot of other ways he’d chosen to spend time. But he had gone into this thing thinking and praying that it would be a one-hour deal at the most. A prank on Halloween night. Nobody gets hurt. He gets off scot-free. Nobody’s the wiser, ever. Though it ached in his gut now as the final crowning rationale for this mess, the ridiculous allusion to a top secret, covert operation crept into his consciousness. And the false comfort that if nothing else panned out, there would be the money. Forever, just a simple phone call from Westover.

He crouched down again and looked under the trailer in the direction of the traffic circle. Out on the road, a legion of rubbernecking passers-by were clogging Route 9D, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. Back in the other direction, nothing but the blob of flashing reds and blues.

The cold, blackness turned to white as the mist drifted through the glare of the lamps that ran along the roadway. And as Lou turned his face upward, he felt the first heavy drops of rain.

It could be a gift if they used it. If they could get into the woods, the rain would make a lot of noise in the trees and underbrush and could cover their movements. Even where they were now, the rain was cutting visibility. It just might chase some of the cops into their cars. What they really needed was a downpour.

It had been at least ten minutes since he’d left Red out at the east end. He had to get the drums back out to the center. The longer they kept the situation the way it was, the more entrenched the police became and the less chance there was they’d be able to get away. He slid over to the girl again.

“Look, I’m going out to the center of the bridge again. See if you can just cool it here ’til I get back, okay?”

She looked him straight in the eye and nodded her head. She looked as if she meant it. Lou dropped to the ground and slid under the cab next to Frawley. “Hey man, you’re doing a good job under here. What’s your name?”

“You puttin’ me in for a medal?”

“Funny. I can tell you’ve been around this crap before. You look like a grunt to me.”

“173rd Airborne Brigade.”

“You ever hear of a Crangle? Riley Crangle, light colonel?”

“Never.”

“Just a friend of mine. What’d you say it was?”

“I didn’t...I’m Chester. Frawley.”

“Chester, I’ve got to go back out with the three-quarter. I’m counting on you to take care of things here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, you take charge. Try to make a deal with the cops on the hostage.”

“We’ll be all right. Go ahead,” Frawley said.

Lou turned and crawled free of the Mack West trailer. The girl was right beside him as he started to get to his feet.

“Hey!” she said, grabbing his arm. “Are we going to make it out of here?”

He spoke straight to her eyes. “We’ll be out of here in ten minutes, sure. You can count on that.”

The rain was coming down harder now; and with the temperature in the forties, his wet clothing began to chill him to the bone. He fired the engine and began to crawl with the napalm-filled drums out to the center again. The cops had to have a sniper back there with a telescopic lens; he could feel the crosshairs on the back of his head. Only the hostage kept them from coming with their whole arsenal.