“Only one way out!” said Morgan. And, sure enough, Natasha veered right, climbing onto the sidewalk at the access ramp and onto the lawn of the National Mall, barely avoiding the scrambling pedestrians.
“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Conley as Morgan turned hard, the GTO pitching violently when they hit the ramp. They followed Natasha’s car, which was whipping up dust in its wake. The police cars scrambled to pursue them by the road alongside the lawn. Morgan and Conley were trailing Natasha closely now, and their car handled better on the grass than hers.
Even though they had caught up with Natasha, they were faced with another problem. The police cars were converging around them, attempting to cut them off from any escape routes.
“Lowry, now would be a really good time for you to get a lock on her car!” Morgan snapped.
“Tracing now! Just keep with her for a few more seconds!”
They were fast running out of lawn, and the police cars were attempting to block their way forward.
“Cobra!” shouted Conley. “Forget Natasha! We need to get out of here!”
“Not until Lowry gets the trace!”
“We’re not going to be able to escape the cops unless we split off from her!” Conley insisted. “Now!”
He was right. The Mall was a wide-open space, but the cops were closing in. There was a far better chance of escape if they gave up the chase.
“Lowry! We can’t hold on much longer!”
Through the rearview mirror, Morgan saw that two police cars had climbed onto the lawn after them, far behind but gaining. If they didn’t separate, this was going to be over pretty quickly.
“Lowry?”
“Got it!” exclaimed Lowry triumphantly. “Now you two get the hell out of there!”
Morgan pulled the hand brake, making a 180 that pinned him against the door and sent dust up all around them. The car stopped mere feet from the curb, and he instantly hit the gas hard, back in the direction they had come from. Natasha raced on, just making it between two police cars that were attempting to block her way. Now turned to face the two police cars that had been coming up behind them, Morgan feigned a turn to the left, then made a sharp right. One of the police cars, trying clumsily to respond to Morgan’s maneuver, spun out and hit the other. Morgan could still see them, motionless, in his rearview mirror as he drove back onto the street and turned right at the National Gallery. He sped down Constitution Avenue, turning at the Canadian embassy. As they drove farther from the Mall, the sirens faded behind them, and Morgan pulled the car into a darkened alley.
Conley, sitting beside him, breathed a sigh of relief. “Jesus, Cobra. I’d almost forgotten how crazy you are behind the wheel.”
Morgan smirked. “A little fast for you, Grandpa?”
Conley grinned back at him. “How about you get on an F-22 with me someday, and we’ll see who the grandpa is.”
Morgan chuckled. “All right, Lowry,” he said. “Tell us where to go.”
CHAPTER 44
Natasha parked her car at the sharp elbow of a residential road that bordered the arboretum. Beyond a couple of old concrete barriers to the east was a dark, abandoned lane. She got out of the car, surveyed the street once more for any trailing police cars, hopped over the barrier, and ran down the road, into the darkness and away from civilization. She spotted the chopper about three hundred feet away, and even with it on the ground she could see its beams, brilliant in the twilight. She could hear the rotor from where she was, too, powered up and ready for takeoff. She looked back, half expecting to see Morgan’s headlights behind her. But no; everything was dark.
As she approached the chopper, she saw a man standing in front of it, facing her. In the half light, she could just make out his facial features. It was a beefy man with greasy black hair and bulging eyes. Roland Vinson.
“What is going on here?” she demanded, shouting over the roar of the motor and blades of the helicopter.
“Change of plans, sweetheart,” he shouted back.
She reached for her weapon, but he was faster. He aimed the sleek black silencer at her chest and fired twice. She collapsed, her legs splayed at awkward angles. She gasped, and then her breathing settled into a labored wheeze. Her lungs, she realized, were filling with blood. She tried to get up, but it was as though there were a heavy rock on her chest. Her mind was already far away. It felt as though to move a finger would take all her strength. Vinson walked toward her until his feet, huge in ugly crocodile shoes, were planted next to her head. He aimed right between her eyes.
“It’s too bad I gotta mess up such a pretty face.”
She kept her eyes firmly on him, defiantly. If he was killing her, she would make her death her own and stare down the barrel of the gun that did it. She fought through the haze. She wanted to be fully conscious for it.