Sam nodded. He finished coiling the paracord, then turned and headed for the Range Rover.
“Thank you!” the cop called again.
“Don’t mention it,” Sam called over his shoulder. “I mean it. Don’t tell them I helped you. The people who are paying your district commander will kill you.”
CHAPTER 35
MADAGASCAR, INDIAN OCEAN
“DO YOU REALLY THINK THEY WILL?” REMI ASKED WHEN SAM climbed back into the car and recounted the conversation.
“I don’t know, but if he thinks so, he’ll be more likely to keep his mouth shut. I hope.”
Remi leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. “That was a good thing you did, Fargo.”
Sam smiled. “Somebody probably offered him a month’s salary to just follow a pair of tourists. Can’t blame him for that. If we’re going to get intercepted, the car will probably come from one of three blacktop roads he mentioned.”
“Agreed.” Remi unfolded the map and studied it a moment. “Tsiafahy is south of Antananarivo on Route 7. If we can get there . . .”
“How far to the Tsiafahy turnoff?”
“Sixty kilometers—about thirty-seven miles. Another twenty west to Tsiafahy.”
Sam nodded and checked his watch. “We might make it before nightfall.”
ALMOST IMMEDIATELY they realized their optimism was probably unwarranted. Past the bridge, the road continued to wind through the jungle, a mix of gentle bends and switchbacks that slowed their pace dramatically. They passed the first blacktop road intersection without incident and soon found themselves driving along a boulder-strewn river—the same one, they assumed, they’d crossed thirty minutes earlier.
“Next intersection coming up,” Remi announced. “Two miles.”
Five minutes later Sam saw the intersection. Remi pointed through the windshield. “I saw something . . . a flash of sunlight.”
“It’s a bumper,” Sam said between his teeth. “Duck. If we’re not a couple, maybe . . .”
Remi scrunched down in her seat. As they drew even with the blacktop, Sam pressed himself back into the headrest and cast a glance out Remi’s window. The vehicle, a dark blue Nissan SUV, was parked on the shoulder a few feet back from the intersection.
“What’s happening?” Remi asked.
Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. “He’s pulling out . . . He’s behind us.”
Remi sat up, grabbed the binoculars from the floor between her feet, and focused them through the back window. “A driver and a passenger. The silhouettes look male. I see a Europcar rental sticker on the bumper.”
“All bad signs. Are they speeding up?”
“No, just keeping pace. You know what they say, Sam: For every rat you see . . .”
He nodded. If, in fact, this Nissan was pursuing them, the chances were good there would be a second and perhaps a third car up ahead.
“How far to the next blacktop road?”
Remi checked the map. “Four miles.”
IT TOOK NEARLY ten minutes to cover the distance. A few hundred yards behind them, the Nissan was still matching their speed. Remi alternated between checking the map and studying their possible pursuers through the binoculars.
“What are you expecting them to do?” Sam asked with a smile.
“Either go away or raise the skull and crossbones.”
“Intersection’s coming up. Should be around this next bend.”