She looked back. “The white Dodge Charger?”
“Yep.”
“He’s three cars back. Where are we going?”
“Hold on,” he said again, whipped the Audi around a station wagon, and floored the gas. She was thrown back, felt her seat belt tighten against her chest. Oddly, she wasn’t scared, not particularly, more excited really, and wasn’t that screwed up? She grabbed the chicken strap, jerked around to look back—
A bullet exploded the back window, spewing spears of glass everywhere, embedding itself in the back of Julia’s seat.
“Get down, all the way! Keep your head covered,” Cheney yelled.
Julia popped her seat belt and squeezed down as far as she could into the small space in front of the passenger seat.
Cheney tossed her his cell. “Punch four—it’s Captain Paulette’s personal number.”
Another bullet came through the jagged-edged mess of glass and slammed again into the back of the passenger seat. With no glass window to slow it down, the bullet tore through and drilled into the Audi’s glove compartment, not an inch above Julia’s bowed head. He nearly stroked out. “Try to scrunch down more! Lower!”
Cheney looked in the rearview and finally saw Makepeace, in his sunglasses. It would take some time before they heard any cop sirens, before the sound of approaching cops might force Makepeace to peel away. What could he do in the meantime? The truth was, he really didn’t want Makepeace to peel away. He wanted to bring him down, but first he had to protect Julia, he had— He said aloud, “The thing is, Julia, I know San Francisco very well and Xavier Makepeace doesn’t.”
He pressed down on the gas again and soon the Audi’s speedometer passed seventy miles an hour in the middle of San Francisco. The hit of it all was more powerful than a Turkish double espresso.
And then he knew exactly what he was going to do.
“Julia, tell Captain Paulette we’re heading west to Ocean Beach, just south of Cliff House.”
The chances were good no one would be on the beach this early in the morning. It was cold and windy and the air was thick with mist. It would be foggy out near the ocean. And that meant a long stretch of empty beach.
Julia said, “Captain Paulette, this is Julia Ransom. I’m with Cheney and we’re in a bit of trouble here—” and he listened to her tell Frank exactly where they were, and where Cheney was headed.
He saw her punch off the cell and lay it calmly on the floor next to him. He gave her a quick smile. “Hang in there, this might get a bit hairy, okay? Keep down.”
She heard another bullet strike metal, then the sound of a distant siren.
Cheney cursed but didn’t slow.
Julia said, “The cops can’t ignore two maniacs speeding through the city. If there are enough of them, they might box him in.”
Dream on, he thought, but said, “Might happen, but it’s not what I want. Now, we’ve got to make it to the beach. I’ll try to keep this guy off us, Julia.”
Cheney jerked to the left across Geary onto 29th Avenue amid blaring horns, ripe curses, and the sound of screeching tires. He dodged and swerved, cannoning his way through the Richmond District, with its narrow streets, funneled by cars parked bumper to bumper along the curb on both sides. He looked back, grinned at the white Charger speeding after him. “Oh yeah, nearly there now, nearly there, stay with me,” his mantra now, she thought, and when she heard him say it again, she laughed.
“Hang in, Julia.”
“No problem. Can I come up now?”
Cheney looked back to see the Charger cut off by a screaming Chevy driver, then saw Makepeace back up and swerve around the parked cars on 29th. He’d gained most of a block on him. “No, stay down. He’s still there. That’s right, you putz, don’t give up on us yet. Come on, come to papa.”
There were more sirens now, and they were closer.
Makepeace fired twice. One bullet tore off the passenger-side mirror, sending it crashing against the side of a parked car; the other grazed the rear bumper of a Miata backing out of a driveway.
Cheney flew across Fulton and into Golden Gate Park, saw a huge Lexus nearly on him. He slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right at the same time. He thought he felt the heat of that big monster as it roared past, massive enough to smash his Audi and kill both of them. He caught a glimpse of a woman’s white face, the terror in her eyes, before he took an insane fast left turn on John F. Kennedy Drive, nearly shearing off the front fender of a parked station wagon.
There weren’t many cars in the park, thank God, but he had to slow some for a dozen or so bicyclists and a long tail of runners. He laid on the horn, giving them time to scatter, which they did. They jetted past the bison paddock, and took a fast right. It was a straight shot now. Julia eased up into her seat. She saw the Queen Wilhelmina Tulip Garden and the Dutch Windmill on her right, saw the looming red light, and managed to hold back a scream as Cheney drove straight through the light onto the Great Highway.