Marauder (Oregon Files 15)

“Don’t let them get away with harming our island.”

The Jag screamed around a corner and onto a long straightaway. The Range Rover was a half mile ahead. Renee deftly cycled through the gears until they were at well over a hundred miles per hour.

Juan couldn’t risk shooting through the cabin and hitting MacD, so he was going to aim for a tire. It would delay Polk long enough for Eddie and the others to intercept them.

But Polk’s Range Rover was slowed by another vehicle that he had to pass, and the Jag closed the distance. They were only a few car lengths behind when the man guarding MacD started shooting at them.

MacD slammed his body into the man, throwing off his aim, so Renee easily dodged the bullets. Juan leaned over the side and carefully sighted down the right rear tire of the Range Rover. He squeezed off a round, and he saw a puff from the tire. A direct hit.

But nothing happened. The rubber didn’t fly apart, and the tire didn’t deflate.

“You hit it dead-on,” Renee said in astonishment. “Why didn’t that work?”

“It must have run-flats,” Juan said, “so we can’t stop them before they get to the airport. Our only chance is to stop the plane from taking off.”

“I’ll ram their landing gear if I have to.”

Juan still had half a magazine left. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

They reached the end of the straightaway.

“The entrance to the airport is just a kilometer around this curve,” Renee said.

But instead of following the road to the left, the Range Rover made an abrupt right, smashing through a barrier onto a dirt road.

“Why is he going in there?” Renee wondered as she slowed.

“What’s in there?”

“It’s an old phosphate mine. Unused now since the airport was built.”

Juan remembered seeing it from the air as they’d come in for a landing this morning.

“The mine is at the end of the runway. Follow them.”

Renee turned the Jag onto the dirt track, which was now covered with a dust cloud thrown into the air by the Range Rover. She kept on their trail for a few twists and turns until the road became little more than a rocky track for heavy machinery. There was no way the old Jag would be able to navigate through it.

Renee came a stop, and through the dust, they could see a path where the shrubbery had been flattened by the Range Rover. Juan jumped out and ran through it.

He came out the other side to see the private jet idling at the end of the runway a hundred yards ahead. The Range Rover skidded to a halt next to it, and MacD was hauled out and roughly pushed up the stairs by Polk and his henchman. In the distance beside the airport terminal, the tiltrotor’s propellers were turning, but it would be several more seconds before they were fully up to speed for liftoff.

The door to the jet closed, and the twin engines whined as they came to full power. Juan sprinted across the grass, too far away to take a decent shot. Before he could get close, the jet rolled down the runway, leaving the Range Rover behind. It lifted off and turned east. Juan watched it vanish into a cloud bank.

This morning when the tiltrotor had arrived, his team had been in a good mood, expecting to find the essential ingredient to the cure for Murph and the others who had been paralyzed. Now not only had they lost their best chance at an antidote, but they’d also l

ost MacD in the process.

But Juan wasn’t the type to give up easily, and he still had reason for hope. All the Oregon crew were implanted with GPS trackers in their thighs for just this eventuality. When activated, the tiny chip broadcasted a location signal every minute.

They would be able to tell exactly where Polk was taking MacD.

FIFTY-FIVE

By the time the Gulfstream jet reached cruising altitude, MacD’s injured arm had been bandaged by the Chinese man while Polk kept a pistol aimed at him. When first aid was complete, his hands were tied behind his back again, and Polk spoke in Mandarin to the medic. MacD flexed his arm and winced, but he’d been through worse.

“Mighty nice of you to patch up your hostage,” MacD said. “Ah’ll take a mimosa and a Vicodin while you’re at it.”

Polk put the pistol away and leaned back in the opposite chair. “He says the bullet went through the muscle in your shoulder. You’ll need stitches when we arrive at our destination. In the meantime, I didn’t want you bleeding all over the plane.”