Authors: David Baldacci

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #Fiction / Thrillers / General

The Sixth Man (57 page)

The next instant she was sprinting across the field.
In a few seconds she was soaked to the skin in the driving rain.

Sean slapped his palm against the steering wheel in disbelief. “I can’t frigging believe this.” He yelled at the window. “Do you have a death wish?” But Michelle was long since out of earshot.

He calmed, studied the lay of the land for a few moments, put the vehicle into gear, and sped off, hanging a right at the next intersection and punching the gas so hard the rear of the truck spun out. He righted it and drove off, cursing his partner loudly with every turn of the wheel.

CHAPTER

M
ICHELLE HAD CHASED
many people down in her life. As part of a coxswain-plus-four team she had helped make up five lengths during a late charge to claim a medal at the Olympics. As a cop in Tennessee she had run down her share of felons fleeing the scenes of their crimes. As a Secret Service agent she had been fleet of foot next to limos carrying important leaders.

Tonight, though, she was competing against a long-legged teenager with the boundless energy and fresh knees of youth who had a substantial head start and was running like the devil was on his heels. And her feet kept slipping with every stride. It was like running in three feet of water, only on land.

“Wait,” she called out as she caught a glimpse of him before he changed direction and disappeared down a path through some trees.

He didn’t wait. He simply sped up.

Michelle, despite her protestations to Sean, was not one hundred percent. Her back hurt. Her leg hurt. Her lungs were burning.

And it didn’t help that the wind and rain were blinding her.

She raced down the path and—just in case—drew her gun. She always felt better with her Sig in hand.

She redoubled her efforts, fought through the pain and fatigue that was coursing through her, and markedly closed the gap between them. A lightning strike followed by a crack of thunder so loud it was like a bomb detonating momentarily distracted her. A tree on the side of the path, punished by stiff winds, started to topple. She found an extra burst of speed and flashed past it. The shallow-rooted pine slammed into the dirt about five feet behind her, but its thick branches missed her by only a few inches. Any one of them could have crushed her skull.

That had been close. Michelle understood exactly how close.

The teen had fallen when the tree had crashed, yet now he was up and running once more. But the gap was now closing.

Calling on reserves she wasn’t sure she possessed anymore, she propelled forward like she had been shot out of a mortar. She leapt and hit him in the back of the legs. He sprawled forward into the dirt while Michelle pitched sideways and then rose, her lungs searing, her breath coming in gulps. She bent over, but kept her gaze on him, her gun ready, because she could see he still had his, although she wasn’t worried about him firing it.

He turned over, his butt in the dirt, his knees bent to his chest.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you chasing me?”

“Why are you running around with a gun in the middle of a storm?” she countered.

He looked very young, maybe fifteen. The way his auburn hair was plastered to his freckled face it looked blood red.

“Just leave me alone,” he cried out.

He rose and Michelle straightened. They were barely three feet apart. At five-foot-ten Michelle was at least three inches taller than he was, although his long legs and size twelve feet promised that he would probably zip right through the six-foot mark before he was done growing.

She glanced at his gun and confirmed what she had seen earlier in the headlights.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Are you going to shoot me?” he responded fearfully.

“No. Are you going to shoot me?” She already knew the answer to that. He couldn’t shoot her even if he’d wanted to.

He started to back up. “Just please leave me alone.”

“I’m trying to help you. My partner and I almost hit you back there.”

“Your partner?”

Michelle decided a lie was better than the truth right now. “I’m a cop.”

“A cop?” He looked at her suspiciously. “Let me see some ID.”

She put her hand inside her jacket and withdrew her PI license. In the dark she hoped it would look legit enough. She flashed it.

“Now will you tell me what this is about? Maybe I can help you.”

He looked down, his thin chest rising and falling quickly with each of his uneven breaths.

“Nobody can help me.”

“That’s a big statement to make. Things can’t be that bad.”

His lips started trembling. “Look, I… I need to get back home.”

“Is that where you ran away from?”

He nodded.

“And where you got the gun?”

“It belonged to my dad.”

Michelle pulled her wet hair out of her eyes. “We can give you a ride there. Just tell us where it is.”

“No, I’ll walk. It’s not far.”

“That’s not a good idea. Not in a storm like this. You might get hit by a car or have a tree fall on you, both of which have already almost happened. What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“My name is Michelle. Michelle Maxwell.”

“Are you really a cop?”

“Used to work for the Secret Service. Guarded the vice president for a while.”

“For real?” Now he sounded like a teenager. An awed teenager.

“Yep.”

“And you’re a cop now?”

“Well, I used to be. I’m actually a private investigator now. But I still act like a cop sometimes. Now what’s your name? I told you mine.”

“Tyler, Tyler Wingo,” he said.

“Okay, Tyler Wingo, that’s a good start. Now let’s go to my car, get in and—” She glanced behind him but had no time to say anything.

Sean grabbed Tyler from behind, knocked the pistol from his grip, kicked it away, and twirled him around.

Staggering, Tyler started to run off again, but Sean clamped a hand around his wrist. At six-two and more than two hundred pounds, he had the size to keep the kid from going anywhere.

“Let me go!” yelled Tyler.

“Sean, it’s okay,” said Michelle. “Let him go.”

Sean reluctantly released his grip, bent down, and picked up the gun. He looked at it. “What the hell is this?”

“A German Mauser,” said Tyler, scowling up at him.

“Without a trigger,” pointed out Michelle. “Saw that in the headlights. Makes it a little hard to use as a weapon unless you throw it at somebody.”

Sean checked the gun’s magazine. “Empty,” he said.

“Tyler was just going to tell me where he lives so we can drive him there,” said Michelle.

“Tyler?” said Sean.

“Tyler Wingo,” said Tyler sulkily. “And you better not have damaged my dad’s gun. It’s a collectible.”

Sean slipped the gun into his waistband. “Which made it pretty dumb to run around in the rain with it,” he pointed out.

Tyler didn’t answer him. He looked at Michelle. “Can you just give me a lift home?”

“Yes we can,” she said. “And maybe on the way you can tell us what happened.”

“I already told you, there’s nothing you can do.”

“You’re right, there is absolutely nothing we can do if you don’t tell us anything,” replied Michelle.

“Can we go get in the truck?” said Sean. “Or the
only place we’ll be going is a hospital where they can treat us for pneumonia. Unless the lightning kills us first since we are in the middle of a forest,” he added, as another thrust of lightning precipitated a deafening crack of thunder.

They got back to the Cruiser where Sean had parked it off the road, after getting ahead of them on the other side of the woods.

There were some blankets in the back cargo area. Michelle grabbed three of these and handed one to Tyler, who draped it around his shoulder. She handed another one to Sean and wrapped the last one around herself.

“Thanks,” Tyler mumbled.

He climbed into the back while Michelle sat next to him. Sean drove.

“Where to?” he asked.

Tyler told him.

“Directions from here?” said Sean. “I’m not familiar with this area.”

Tyler gave him turn-by-turn directions until he hung a left down a street where there were a few older homes located at the end of a cul-de-sac.

“You ran a long way,” said Michelle.

Tyler didn’t answer.

“Which house?” asked Sean.

Tyler pointed to the one on the right at the very end next to a stand of thick woods. It was ablaze in light.

Michelle and Sean exchanged a glance. Parked in the driveway of the house was a dull green Ford with U.S. Army plates. As they turned into the drive a woman
and two uniformed Army officers came outside on the covered porch.

Michelle turned to Tyler.

“Why are they here?” she asked.

“To tell me my dad was killed in Afghanistan,” said Tyler.

David Baldacci is one of the world’s favorite storytellers. His books are published in over 45 languages and in more than 80 countries, with over 110 million copies in print. David Baldacci is also the cofounder, along with his wife, of the Wish You Well Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting literacy efforts across America. Still a resident of his native Virginia, he invites you to visit him at
www.DavidBaldacci.com
and his foundation at
www.WishYouWellFoundation.org
, and to look into its program to spread books across America at
www.FeedingBodyandMind.com
.

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Split Second

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