Empire (Empire 1)

“I’m sorry, Cecily. You know I’d have taken the bullet for him if I could have.”

“Do you have the PDA?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then get back here alive.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m at the President’s door. Stay on the line if you can.” He heard talking.

Then Nielson was

on the line. “This is Cole?”

“Yes, sir. Major Malich is dead. The secretary set up a trap and she pulled the trigger on him herself. After I left the Pentagon I killed the first wave of pursuers—they were definitely rebels. But the guys chasing me now are regular Army. They’ve undoubtedly been told lies about who I am and what happened in the Pentagon.”

“I’ll take care of it, son,” said Nielson. “That’s what Presidents are for.”

The connection broke. Cole ended his side of the call.

He had to give the humvee drivers credit. They did a good job of keeping in hot pursuit through traffic. Once he got on the open road, he could open up the Corvette and leave them in the dust.

Cole had no idea how long it would take Nielson to call off the chase. It would be so stupid to get killed—or to kill somebody else—during these minutes waiting for the word to filter down. Battle of New Orleans all over again.

MacArthur Road was packed coming toward him, but there was nobody going his direction. The trouble was, if he did overtake somebody, there was no way to pass on the left with all those cars. And, sure enough, he came up behind a farmer’s stake truck and watched the humvees come up behind him.

But these guys didn’t do any ramming. They stayed behind him, but didn’t move in. Maybe they were on the radio right now.

Drew called. “Where are you?”

“MacArthur. Just past where Clara Barton splits off, but I’m stuck behind a farm truck. I think President Nielson might be getting the order down the line for them to leave me alone.”

“Stay on the line and tell me if they back off. We can change your route, then. No reason to go to Leesburg if you aren’t being pursued.”

The humvees weren’t tailgating him now, but they hadn’t given up, either. “He was supposed to tell them not to follow me, but—”

The second humvee blew up.

“Somebody’s shooting at the humvees,” Cole shouted into the phone.

The humvee right behind him was swerving, taking evasive action. What was following it?

Cole saw a break in the oncoming traffic. Not enough of one for any sane person to pass, but whatever was shooting at the humvees probably just wanted them out of the way so they could get to Cole. He swung out and started around the farm truck as the remaining humvee also burst into flames and blew up.

The driver of the farm truck could see what was happening and even if he didn’t understand the explosions, he did understand being passed by a madman. He pulled hard to the right. Meanwhile the oncoming cars slammed on their brakes and swung right. Cole barely made it through. Then he floored it.

At first the other drivers were cursing him. Then they saw what was following Cole now. About a dozen one-man hovercrafts, looking like rocket-powered motorcycles, and at least two of them had anti-tank weapons mounted on the housing. They didn’t actually have to overtake him. Even a Corvette C6 can’t outspeed a rocket.

Fortunately, the road started curving, and there were cars trying to join the inbound traffic. Cole had to drive for his life, trying not to hit anybody while staying on a road that wasn’t exactly designed for ninety miles per hour. At least there weren’t any joggers. Oh, wait. Yes there were.

Apparently the greenery to the left was part of the Great Falls Park.

“Drew,” said Cole into the phone. “The humvees are gone. Killed. They’ve got hovercycles with what looks like anti-tank weapons. MacArthur is curvy enough they can’t get off a shot yet, but I’ve got to know what—”

“Look,” said Drew, “this is real bad. If you stay on MacArthur it dead-ends in the park. You have to turn right on Falls Road to stay on track. And it runs straight as an arrow away from the park.”

“These guys may be bastards, but they’re still Americans and I don’t think they want to hit civilians. Maybe they’ll—”