She shook her head, and for a moment in the dimly lit room, Jack felt as if he were watching a twenty-year-old Sicilian beauty struggling in the middle of the night as she came to terms with her fears about a new life in Cyprus and her new husband's line of work.
"I can't do this," said Sofia.
"You must," said Demetri.
"Where's the Russian guy?" said Jack.
"Dead," said Demetri. "They killed him."
"Who are theyV said Jack.
"The same people who are going to kill us if we don't get out of here right now. Sofia, I'm begging you. Don't stay here to die."
Jack heard panicked voices and footsteps in the hallway outside their door. Guests were running from their rooms.
"They're evacuating the hotel," said Jack. "Obviously they heard your gun go off."
"We're running out of time," said Demetri.
"You go," said Sofia.
"I don't make the same mistake twice. Tonight you come with me."
"That time has passed," she said, "a long, long time ago."
"Don't let yourself believe that. We're older, but it!s still me, and it's still you. That will never change."
His words seemed to play on her very conflicted feelings, but before Sofia could speak, police sirens sounded on the next block. Demetri pulled his pistol and checked his ammunition clip.
"Don't be a fool," said Jack.
Demetri held Sofia's hand tightly and looked her straight in the eye. "You know what will happen if you go with the police, don't you?"
She didn't answer.
Jack said, "It's the only choice."
Demetri ignored him, continuing in his soft, persuasive voice. "Sofia, that's not what you want."
The approaching sirens grew louder. Sofia shot a nervous glance at Jack, and he shook his head, as if to tell her Don't even think about it. Then her gaze swept back to Demetri, her voice filled with more resignation than resolve.
"I'll go," she said.
Demetri threw his arms around her and helped her up. Then, like a guy turning the doorknob in a gas station bathroom, he reluctantly reached inside Mika's pants and grabbed the gun. He pitched the silencer aside and tucked the little .22-caliber pistol into his pocket.
Suddenly, sirens were blaring right outside the hotel.
"It may be too late," said Sofia.
Demetri aimed his pistol at Jack's face. "You're coming, too."
"Leave him," said Sofia.
"He's our ticket out."
"I won't be a kidnapper," she said.
Demetri's face flushed with anger. It was as if the pressure of the past two weeks, the stress of the past two days, and the events of the past two hours had finally come to a crescendo. All patience--even for Sofia--had run out.
"Then be a hostage," he said as he pointed his gun at her.
"What?"
"Let's go."
Sofia was dumbstruck.
"Go on!" he said. "Move!"
Sofia obeyed, and the way his command sent her moving toward the busted French door reminded Jack of the battered wives he'd defended.
Demetri spotted Mika's 9-millimeter pistol on the nightstand, did a quick check of the ammunition clip, and smiled like a man who'd just hit the daily double. He tucked the extra weapon into his other coat pocket, and then he grabbed Jack and took him out at gunpoint.
The narrow alley outside the hotel had been converted into a pedestrian walkway with vine-clad walls and colorful flower boxes adorning the windows. The streetlights resembled old-fashioned gas lamps, and the cobblestone path had just enough twists, turns, and depressions to remind Jack of old Sienna at midnight. Right around the corner, at the main entrance to the hotel, blue beacons from police cars swirled in the night. Demetri stopped.
"Where's your car?" he asked Jack.
"My car?"
Demetri shoved the gun up under his chin. "Where is it?"
"In the parking lot behind my office."
"Can we get to it the back way?"
Jack struggled. "You really want to take my new car?"
Demetri cocked his pistol.
"Follow me," said Jack, and he led them down the narrow walkway.
"Faster," said Demetri, even though Sofia was already struggling to keep up.
Jack picked up the pace to a near trot. They reached a T
-
intersection in the walkway, and Jack took them to the left. A paved parking lot opened up before them, and they stopped for Demetri to make sure there were no police.
"It's the green Mustang," said Jack.
Demetri almost smiled. Jack cringed.
"Keys," said Demetri.
Reluctantly, Jack handed them over. Jack crammed himself into the tiny backseat, and Sofia rode shotgun. It was a bad time for Jack to discover that the rear seat belts were broken. Demetri fired the engine and raced toward the exit, gaining speed until another car pulled out and blocked his way. Demetri stood on the brake, and Jack slammed into the backside of the front seats as the Mustang screeched to a halt.
"Shit!" said Demetri.
Jack looked up in time to catch a glimpse of the other drivers face, but it was Demetri who told the story.
"It's him!" said Demetri.
He slammed the five-speed into reverse and steered backward with the intensity of an Indy racer.
"Slow down!" said Sofia.
"Hang on!" said Demetri.
Still in reverse, Demetri steered the speeding Mustang toward the walkway. Jack was still in the back, which meant that he was effectively in the front, as Demetri gunned it straight toward the narrow opening between buildings.
"It won't fit!" said Jack.
"Will too," said Demetri.
"My car!"
A quick glance at the speedometer nearly stopped Jack's heart. Tail end first, the Mustang shot into the narrow walkway, its side mirrors brushing the leafy vines on either wall as they burrowed deeper and deeper into the darkness.
"Stop!" said Sofia.
Demetri pressed on. Jack spotted a pair of window boxes ahead. Behind. Whatever.
"Look out for--"
Too late. The rear fender took out the window boxes like a wrecking ball.
"Ouch," said Jack, cringing. It was like a bad dream--his beautifully restored Bullitt Mustang in a "bass-ackward" chase scene, all with Jack at the mercy of a crazy son of a bitch who was no more Steve McQueen than the flat streets of Florida were the hills of San Francisco.
"Hold tight," said Demetri.
They flew past the T-intersection in the walkway, the brick walls on either side a blackened blur in the night. Finally, the Mustang came out on the other side of the Hotel San Pietro and spun to a stop in the middle of a four-lane street. An SUV was about to T-bone them when Sofia screamed and a horn blasted. Demetri found a gear and hit the gas to speed out of the way.
Sofia reached over and slugged him. "You're going to kill us!"
Demetri didn't seem to care. In seconds he had the fastback in fifth gear, weaving in and out of urban traffic at double the speed limit.
"Red light!" said Jack.
Demetri blew through it, sending a crossing car into a screeching tailspin.
"You're scaring me!" said Sofia.
He didn't respond.
"Demetri, I'm too afraid."
"This will work."
"I don't like this," she said.
He kept driving.
"I don't deserve this!"
Demetri hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop at the curb. Jack expected to see another temper flare, but Demetri didn't look angry. Sofia's last remark--I don't deserve this--had simply resonated on a level that even Sofia could not have expected.
Demetri reached across her lap and opened the passenger-side door.
"Run!" he said.
"What?"
"It's just like the first time. It's me they really want. Run fast and disappear."
Sofia looked at him for several long moments, her eyes welling. It seemed to Jack that she didn't know how to say good-bye.
Finally, she just turned away and got out of the car without a word. The door closed, and Demetri spun the tires.
"What now?" said Jack.
Demetri didn't answer. The speedometer was quickly up to seventy.
"This is pointless," said Jack. "You've got the Russian Majiya after you. By your own admission, Madera's men are out to kill you. And in about two minutes the police will be chasing you down. It's over."
"Ain't over yet," he said.
"What are you going to do?"
The tires squealed as Demetri made a sharp turn toward the expressway ramp.
"You and me are gonna talk to the president," he said.
Chapter
39
They were flying past cars as if traffic were standing still.
The speed limit on this stretch of interstate was seventy miles per hour, and Demetri was pushing well beyond that. Jack was about to tell him to slow down when a pair of motorcycles shot past them like silver bullets. The bikers weren't wearing helmets, of course, and their girlfriends clung to them like frightened koalas as they maneuvered around cars with the precision of slalom skiers. For a second, Jack wondered if one of them was Theo. No such luck.
"You think we can catch those guys?" said Demetri.
"Before or after they kill themselves?" said Jack.
Demetri snorted. "You're a funny guy, you know that?"
Jack's hands were feeling numb. The cord around his wrists was too tight, and sitting in the cramped rear seat with his knees up to his chest and his hands behind his back didn't help the circulation.
"You don't actually plan to drive my car all the way to Washington, do you?" said Jack.
"What are you worried about, the mileage on your precious Mustang?"
"No," said Jack. Well . . . yeah.
"Just sit tight and don't make trouble."
"You said we were going to talk to the president."
"And that's what we're gonna do."
"That's just crazy. Do you know how many crackpots have demanded to speak to the president? It never works."
"Your father is about to be vice president. I bet he'll have something to say about that."
"I'll tell you exactly what he'll say: N-O. It just won't work. Don't you get it? It's time to give it up."
Demetri raised his pistol. "Did you ever see Pulp Fiction?"
"Yeah."
"Remember that scene with Travolta and Samuel Jackson in the front seat and the guy that gets blown away in the backseat?"
Jack got the point.
Demetri suddenly fell silent, his eyes darting back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror. Jack checked over his shoulder and saw the reason for concern. A Florida state trooper was several hundred yards behind them but closing in, its beacon flashing.
"Hold on," said Demetri.
The Mustang lunged forward, and Jack sank even deeper into the rear seat. Jack knew his Mustang had the horses, but Demetri was pushing it harder than Jack had even thought Theo would push it. At this speed, Jack felt as if they were passing mile markers like hash marks on the highway, and in just a few minutes they caught up to the motorcycles. The leader extended his tattoo-covered arm to flash them a thumbs-up. Jack glanced back through the rear window. The Florida state trooper had actually gained ground--and there were three of them now.
Demetri slammed his fist against the dashboard. "What does it take to lose these assholes?"
"It's not going to happen," said Jack.
"Shut up!"
"Check it out," said Jack. "Choppers are already here."
Demetri leaned forward and looked up through the windshield. The whir of the helicopters was audible even over the roar of the Mustang. It was a dark night, but the lights from the helicopter were bright enough for Jack to read the painted logo on the side.
"It's the media," he said.
"How the hell did they get here so fast?"
"What did you expect?" said Jack. "You're driving straight toward the studio for the biggest news station in Miami."
Jack could almost see Demetri's despair transform to hope.
"That must be the station over there, right?"
Jack peered out the passenger-side window. The sign and network logo were lit up against the night sky, easily visible from the interstate: ACTION NEWS--SOUTH FLORIDA'S NEWS LEADER.
"Yeah, that's it."
"What time do they do their late news?"
"Right now," said Jack. "All the networks but Fox do it at eleven. But you're not thinking of--"
Before Jack could finish his sentence, Demetri drove off the interstate and headed straight for the station. It didn't seem to faze him that they'd missed the exit ramp a half mile back. The whine of rubber tires on pavement gave way to the pop and crunch of flying mud and gravel as they blazed a virgin trail off the shoulder, across the swale, down into the ditch, and into a field. Jack tumbled around in the backseat like tennis shoes in a dryer. The ride was so rough that the headlamps were pointing up one moment and down the next, making it impossible to see the chain-link fence ahead in the darkness. The speeding Mustang ripped right through it, but it sounded as if they'd hit a train. The windshield cracked into a starburst pattern, both headlights were gone, and the Mustang suddenly sputtered like most cars its age.