Eighteen Wheel Avenger. William W. Johnstone

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СКАЧАТЬ walked out of the room.

      Cutter leaned back in her chair and looked at Barry. “Man … just who in the hell are you, anyway? You just spoke to one of the top Treasury people like he was dirt under your boots.”

      “Jackson and I have to clear the air every now and then. We get along. Although that’s hard to tell at times.” He pushed back his chair. “Let’s go to work, Cutter.”

      She smiled at him. “Yes, sir, boss!”

      The smile was not returned. Hers faded on her face when he said, “Call me Dog.”

      They rolled out on a crisp October morning. Barry and Cutter in the lead truck. Ready and Smooth in the rocking chair. Frenchy and Mustard in the drag. It had not taken the instructors long to hone down the drivers. They had just spent three of the most brutal weeks of their lives. They had been awakened at four in the morning; they didn’t see a bed until ten at night. For three weeks they did not walk anywhere. They ran all the time. Seemed to them they even ran in their sleep. And some of them did, legs jerking from exhaustion.

      The Air Commando instructors had not turned out trained killers, not in three weeks, but they had taught the men what they could of self-defense and combat situations.

      Barry and Cutter watched from the sidelines, but always ran with the other drivers, and stayed with them every waking hour.

      A team was being formed.

      Special radios had been installed in the trucks: military frequencies with scramblers.

      They rolled east, fully loaded with M-16s and M-60 machine guns.

      Cutter took the first trick at the wheel.

      Dog was on the floor of the big walk-in custom sleeper. He was happy to once more be on the road.

      “What did your people say about when we might be hit?” Barry asked.

      “They couldn’t get any intel on it. But it’s almost always at night. Since we’ll be out of the desert in a few hours, they’ll probably try to take us out between Oklahoma City and St.Louis. I’m guessing when we get in the Ozarks. That’s the way I’d do it.”

      “You’ve done this before?”

      “In Europe, working with various police and military units.”

      “They do it differently over there, huh?”

      “Much differently. The military and the police, in most of those countries, are not forbidden by law from working together. Spain and Germany are the best to work in.”

      “We picked up a tail,” Frenchy radioed. “It’s firm. Dark blue late-model Chevy. Four men in it.”

      The convoy was rolling at a steady 60 mph. It was odd that the car did not pass.

      Cutter picked up the mike. “That’ll be just one of several teams. I doubt they’ll try anything in daylight, but you never know about these people.”

      “Ten-four.”

      “A second car is laying back,” Ready radioed. “I seen it when we come out of that last curve. It’s back a good half mile. Dark blue or black. I couldn’t tell.”

      “That’s probably the second team. What we call a throwaway team,” Cutter radioed. “The trick is they hope we’ll worry about that team and fail to pick up on it when that Chevy pulls off and another team takes it place. This time probably ahead of us.”

      “Wrong,” Barry said bitterly. “They’re going to try us in broad open daylight.” He had been looking out his window, watching a dot in the sky become larger.

      “That’s crazy!” Cutter said.

      “Helicopter coming up fast from the south,” he told her, then grabbed up his mike. “Heads up. Watch that damn chopper coming from the south.”

      The convoy was about sixty miles west of Tucumcari.

      “Exit off!” Barry shouted. “Now. Let’s take the fight to them!” He repeated the orders to the others.

      Cutter hit the exit ramp too fast and had to stand on the brakes to avoid rolling when the ramp merged with a secondary road. She cut south, on a beat-up country road.

      “That move blew their minds, Dog!” Frenchy yelled into his mike. “Caught ’em completely by surprise.”

      The helicopter had changed flight direction, the pilot confused by the sudden change in tactics of those on the ground. Barry could see a man sitting with a rifle in his hands.

      Barry stuck his M-16 out the window and began letting the lead fly. The canopy of the chopper spiderwebbed and the pilot swerved away, content to let the ground personnel handle it from here on in.

      Barry pointed to a broad intersection just ahead. “Turn it around there, Cutter. When you get it turned around, stay in the middle of the road and ram them.” He radioed back to the others what he intended to do and then jumped from the seat and fitted Dog into a special harness, securing one end to a chrome O-ring on the sleeper wall. Barry got back in his seat just as Cutter was taking a wide swing and heading back.

      “I wondered what that ring was for,” Cutter shouted, over the roaring of the modified Cummins. “I thought you might be into leather and handcuffs!”

      “That might be fun,” Barry yelled. “You bring it up again when we’re out of this!”

      She smiled at him. “You might need handcuffs to handle me, Dog.”

      “Anytime you feel up to it, Cutter.”

      She laughed and shifted gears.

      The driver of the Chevy had panic written all over his face as he realized what was coming at him and what was going to happen to him if he didn’t do something and do it right the first time.

      He just didn’t act fast enough. The armor-plated and steel-reinforced front of the Kenworth caught the car just as the driver elected to turn. The massive reinforced bumper knocked the car off the road and flipped it rolling, just as the second car slid to a halt, the occupants spilling out, automatic weapons in their hands.

      “Roll over them!” Barry shouted. “Goddamnit, do it!”

      Cutter shifted and pedaled the metal. A terrorist was caught between the bumper of the Kenworth and the parked car. The bumper hit him stomach-high and crushed the life from him. The scream of metal against roadway was shrill in the autumn air combined with the roaring of the big Cummins, it drowned out the screaming of the other man who was caught under the wheels of the big rig and dragged to his death.

      Barry grabbed for his mike. “Shut ’em down and come out firing!” he ordered.

      He was out the door and on the ground before Cutter even brought the big rig to a complete halt.

      Lining up one redheaded, freckle-faced man, Barry cut the legs out from under him and saw one kneecap shatter under the M-16 fire. Cutter was firing her weapon from the cab of the truck and the other drivers were rocking and rolling with СКАЧАТЬ