Chapter 81
WHAT he saw was hard to put into words.
Wires and flashing lights. Blocks of Semtex and det cord. And rows upon rows of metal tubes slanted upward at forty-five-degree angles. They reminded Rapp of the Roman candles he and his brother lit as children every Fourth of July.
Rapp climbed down and looked toward the city.
By now, the president had to be taking the stage. Even if by some miracle everyone in the stadium could be magically evacuated, thousands would still die. In his mind’s eye he could see projectiles lofting from the metal tubes and detonating overhead with surprisingly gentle explosions.
And clouds of death drifting over the populace.
He turned east toward the ocean.
And then looked down.
It would have to work.
Rapp opened the driver’s-side door, yanked the dead terrorist out of the way, and took his seat. He flipped the visor down and his heart stopped. No keys. Turning his head, he peered around the steering column and felt his heart start to beat again.
They were in the ignition.
He cranked the starter and the engine caught.
After feathering the gas, he popped the transmission into first. The truck began to move. Rapp slid through the gears, watching the speedometer tick up as his mental clock ticked down.
The needle edged past eighty kilometers before bouncing back.
The truck wouldn’t go any faster.
Rapp fastened his seat belt and swung the wheel to the right. The truck’s bumper crunched into the guardrail. Rapp slammed into the restraint harness as his seat belt locked. For a moment he saw an expanse of perfect blue sky.
Then ocean.
Rapp ducked beneath the dashboard and braced himself against the wheel.
He fell.
And fell.
And smashed into what felt like a brick wall.
When he came to, water was flooding the cabin.
He tried to unfasten the seat belt, but couldn’t find the latch.
Salt water stung his eyes and burned his nose.
Taking a deep breath before the water crested his head, Rapp closed his eyes, followed the seat belt down to its buckle, and released the mechanism.
He shot up and banged against the ceiling as his buoyant body tried to escape the cabin’s confines.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Rapp opened his eyes, found the door handle, and pulled himself through the driver’s open window.
He scissor-kicked with all his might, fighting the vortex sucking him down as the truck sank.
Just as his burning lungs began to spasm and his vision tunneled, Rapp broke free of the undertow.
Three more kicks brought him to the surface and his head popped free of the water. He sucked in a shuddering breath and then stroked for the shore.
He needed to find a phone.
Irene would be worried.