Collision Course

Chapter 9

Trey felt as if he'd been on the road forever. When the cab dumped him off at the station, he bought a ticket for the next bus leaving. For Seattle, of all places. Not that he gave a rat's ass. It got him out of the city and away from Bennett's hit men. At one of the stops, he got off for a minute to grab some food from the convenience store. He hadn't eaten since dinner yesterday, and his stomach sent him urgent messages.

By three in the afternoon, they'd reached a fairly good-sized city so he hopped off and told the driver not to wait for him. The bus station had a rack of free newspapers. He grabbed a copy of the Auto Trader, got a soft drink at the snack bar and sat down to see what he could find. An hour later, a cab dropped him at a home in a nice but low-end neighborhood where some kid had decided to sell his pickup to buy something flashier. Buying from a private seller worked the best because it always took them longer to file the paperwork. By the time Bennett's computers caught up with it, he'd be long gone in another direction.

The truck turned out to be in decent shape, and the kid had cleaned it up for the sale. The whole process took less than half an hour and Trey was on his way again. But now he headed south, away from the direction the bus had been heading. He figured he'd drive until he got to a place where no one would search for him, and then hide out until he could get his information together.

Not a city, although he could get lost in the crowd. But Bennett had contacts in every urban center of any size in the country, not to mention globally. No, he needed to find a place as far removed from where Bennett would expect him to be as possible.

But first, he needed some sleep. He found a decent motel in one of the small towns he drove through, got a room and prepared to crash for the night. But he set the alarm on his watch for seven. He needed to get an early start.

*****

Charles Bennett was not a happy man. Not only had Haggerty slipped through his hands but El-Salaki had called several times demanding a meeting. He couldn't put it off for long. Now, as he sat in his den, he stared at the two men who had let Trey slip through their hands, wishing he could dispose of them for their stupidity.

"He got on a bus?" he asked for what must be the hundredth time. He had a hard time absorbing the fact the man had escaped on public transportation. "How was it possible? You were supposed to have him boxed in."

They'd told their story over and over but he wanted to hear it yet again. See if they'd remember something they missed. Or if he'd overlooked anything. But nothing in the retelling gave him a clue. Except they should have been better prepared for their quarry to do what he did.

He turned his gaze to Holland. "Tell me again why you weren't you standing at the rear door instead of by his car."

Holland shrugged. "I told you, boss. He slowed Price down when he bolted for the door the way he did and I wasn't expecting him to come running out. I figured he'd head straight for his car, like we talked about."

"Okay, okay." Bennett stuck one of his ever-present unlit cigars in his mouth, almost chomping all the way through it. With an effort, he tamped down his anger, knowing it would get him nowhere. "The question is where do we go from here? He wouldn't be able to take a plane or rent a car. They'd ask for identification, and I doubt if he could have gotten fake credentials in such a short time. So you have nothing."

"No, it turns out we do have some good news," Holland told him. "We hit pay dirt at the bus station. It wasn't too busy this morning, and one of the clerks recognized the picture. Said he thinks he sold him a ticket to Seattle."

"Seattle?" Bennett said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "You can bet he won't go all the way there. And he'll dig up transportation someplace and then find a hole to crawl into."

"What do you want us to do next?" Price asked.

If only he could send them to El-Salaki in his place and confess their incompetence. It was on his head, though, and he'd have to take the heat.

"I don't know yet. The smart thing would be to check every stop the bus made but it's too time-consuming and I'd say unproductive. Haggerty's smart. He's figured out a way to lose himself. Blend into the population."

"He has to be somewhere," Holland protested.

"Yes, and the search for him may be taken out of our hands. My 'business partners' want to turn their own men loose to find him. Go home. Don't say a word to anyone. I'll call you when I know where we go from here."

The burner cell phone in his pocket rang yet again as the two men walked out of the room. He picked it up, knowing who waited on the other end and resigned to what would happen. Before the caller could speak, he said, "I'm on my way. Make arrangements for someone to meet me when I arrive."

He disconnected the call and used the landline to dial a familiar number. When his personal pilot answered, he said, "Vince, prep the plane. I'm leaving now for the airport."

Then he got Frank on the intercom and told him to get ready to leave.

Heaving his bulk from the deep chair, he let out a heavy sigh. Today promised to be a long one. He could see his empire and his fortune crumbling away if he didn't find and eliminate Trey Haggerty soon.

*****

Trey rubbed at the grit in his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake. He'd been driving steadily for two days, the pickup sturdier than he expected and eating up the miles with ease. The kid must have kept the engine in great shape. Stopping only for food, which he ate as he drove, and to take care of necessary bodily functions, he managed to cover about fifteen hundred miles. Although fatigue gripped his every muscle, fear kept his adrenaline flowing and his senses alert.

He barely paid attention to the scenery as he drove, one state blurring into the next. He needed to stop soon or he risked falling asleep at the wheel. The dashboard clock read ten o'clock at night when he started to pass through the small towns of the Texas Hill Country, an area known everywhere for its ranching and its colorful history. Losing his concentration, he needed to crash soon before he had an accident.

His headlights flashed on a sign with the message Welcome to Connelly, Texas, except nothing on either side of the road denoted a town of any kind. Maybe it was just a wide spot in the road but he hoped they had some kind of accommodations. Five minutes later his headlights picked up the sign for the-what else-Connelly Motel. Vacancy flashed in big red letters, the most welcoming sight he'd seen all day.

As much as he could see in the dark, the place sat in isolation, nothing near it except land and trees. No other buildings. Nada. But unlike the places he'd stayed in the past two nights, this one actually looked appealing. Built in the style of typical Spanish architecture, the two-story structure had adobe walls and arches along the walkway to the rooms and sported a classic red barrel tile roof.

Trey pulled up to the door marked Office and pressed the bell. Like similar establishments, they locked up the lobby after a certain time. In five minutes, he had a key card for a room on the side away from the road, parked his car and dragged his ass and his duffel into the room. And ten minutes after securing the locks and putting his bag on the bed next to him, he was dead to the world.