EVINRUD - 12

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‘Gabriel, we have satellite confirmation, it was definitely the target.’

‘fine’

‘We expect full diagnostics and…’

I pull out the ear piece and flick off the DAT. ‘I know exactly what you expect.’

I can’t be more than a minute behind the crash. The Jag tears up the freeway shoulder. I’m doing 200 and not slowing for anyone.

‘Exit, 15 metres’. GPS states the obvious, hard to miss the explosion site. It’s diverting the attention off Reece for the moment, not every day a forty storey industrial furnace explodes.

He’s less than 900 metres from the explosion site. We’ve been tracing since the first missile lock on them. I pull the Jag away from the barrier, sling shot us down the industrial off ramp and we fish tail out onto the trucking service road still doing 150.

Sirens are wailing, there is a blazing industrial hell on my right and a cloud of black forming in the sky. Quick scan of the road, it’s almost deserted. GPS, 800m… 400m.

I see the impacted truck, rip past two light trucks stopped in the middle of the road, cover another 200m and brake. The Jag won’t cut it. The boy is not going to be walking out of that, even if the unit is operational. Reverse 200m, brake and leave the Jag where it stands, disposable. I’m not exactly traceable, even if they manage to find a stray hair.

The two truck drivers are gawking at the pretty orange and black explosions. First truck nothing, second truck, Bingo…a hydraulic Pal Lifter and the motors running. I shoot the tyres out of the first truck and climb into the cab of the second one. The driver’s faces registering shock as I pull away.

We were so close… Mercury… my first scent of him in years. And their fears confirmed, he’s completed the bio-connection without them. He’s got new sponsors. He’s got twenty years of hate on us. And if the boy survives it will only have been by dumb luck. Was it worth it?

There’s another disbelieving truck driver standing beside the impacted Semi. This one’s angry.

‘Did you see it? Something fucking hit my truck. World War three or wha…. Who are you?’

‘I’m with the anti-terrorism department.’ I show him a badge and while he is trying to decide what to make of it, I get a syringe in his neck and he’s down.

Reece is unconscious and the unit is a dismembered mess.

It’s their fault, they made a deal with the devil and then they lost.

When you play with the devil you always get burned. Hah…. I suppose I should take a bit of my own advice. It’s too late for me though, probably too late for the boy as well...
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