Leonard looked annoyed at serving as intermediary, but asked.

There was a pause before the commander responded, “Not as high as before.”

“It’s in the truck,” Kelly said.

“How do you know that?” Leonard demanded.

“The bomb went off early in Phoenix, so they must be deviating from their plan. Maybe Dante got wind of the fact that we’re looking for him.”

Leonard appeared unconvinced. “Maybe. Or they’re trying to get rid of the evidence before the parade tomorrow.”

“No.” Kelly shook her head. “Burke is too smart. By now he knows it’s only a matter of time before we track down Dante. I’m guessing he was sent on a suicide mission.”

“We’ll stop the truck, check it just in case,” Leonard reasoned, picking up the radio again.

Kelly put out a hand to stop him. “You can’t do it here. If it blows, it’ll take out half of downtown. We need a better spot.”

Leonard looked like he wanted to growl. “Hard to find a good spot if we don’t know where he’s headed. And I’m guessing if he sees a string of black-and-whites on his tail, he’ll blow it then and there.”

Kelly thought for a minute. “The border,” she finally said. “That’s what it’s all about for these guys. He’s going to blow it somewhere near the border.”

“That’s nuts. Why would they punch a hole in the wall for illegals to pour through?” Leonard snorted.

“Maybe he’s headed for the guard booths. Or it might be symbolic, to show that border patrol is ineffective. Either way, it’s the most likely target.”

Leonard picked up the radio again. “I want the CHP liaison to come up with a good spot to stop that truck, preferably somewhere unpopulated between here and the border. And I want all available units to converge on that spot.” He signed off and glanced at her. “Happy?”

“I’ll be happy when we stop him,” she said.

“Women. Always so demanding.” Leonard turned the key in the ignition and kept the lights off as they drove out of the shadows on the opposite end of the airfield.

“Where are we going?” Kelly asked.

“We’re an available unit, aren’t we? I want to be there when they take this guy down.”

Jake, George and Rodriguez were a mile from the meet spot when an eighteen-wheeler whipped past, followed by a string of what were clearly unmarked cars.

“Uh-oh,” Rodriguez said. “Looks like we’re late to the party.”

Jake whipped their car in a U-turn and joined the caravan, inspiring bleating horns from the other drivers.

“Better get on the radio and ask them nicely not to shoot us,” he said.

George sighed, but radioed their Dallas contact and explained the situation.

“What’d he say?” Rodriguez asked.

George shrugged. “Said he’s glad for the extra help. Apparently half their field office is still in Houston, and another bunch were sent to Phoenix. He’s spread pretty thin.”

“Probably a good idea to gloss over that Jake’s a civilian,” Rodriguez observed.

“Probably,” George said drily.

“They got a plan to stop this guy?” Jake asked, eyeing the speedometer. It was at ninety and climbing. The rental car hadn’t been built for high speeds, and it was all he could do to keep it on the road. If he pushed much harder, pieces might start falling off.

“Up ahead, at the thirty mile marker. They’re going to blow the tires when he hits the roadblock. They want us to hang back in case he blows the bomb.”

“That’s the plan? Keep your fingers crossed and hope the truck doesn’t blow up?”

“Hey, don’t blame the messenger,” George said. “I get the sense we’re not dealing with the best the field office has to offer.”

“Jesus,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Where do they think he’s headed?”

“The border. San Diego reported their guy bolting around the same time. They figure there’s been a change of plans.”

“That’s what, three hundred miles from here? Four?” Rodriguez asked.

“Something like that,” George said. “But he caught on to the tail almost immediately. Now they figure he’s just running scared.”

Jake tuned them out as soon as they mentioned San Diego. He pictured Kelly tearing down a similar road, pursuing a truck wired to take out everything in a mile radius. It was madness. Syd had barely survived, and here they were following in her footsteps. He remembered the panic in Syd’s voice as the truck charged into traffic. When the line went dead, he nearly lost his mind. It was a normal reaction, he thought. After all, she was his business partner, and a good friend. But part of him knew it was more than that. He could have cried from relief when she called. It was like a clamp released from his heart.

Kelly, he reminded himself. He should be worrying about Kelly. Syd was fine, she’d be on a plane to New York as soon as the airport reopened.

“There’s the twenty-five mile marker,” George pointed out. “Time to ease up.”

Jake slowed, watching the truck lights fade into the surrounding darkness. The other unmarked cars followed suit until they were at a standstill, a solid line of vehicles marching toward the horizon.

“What if he pulls off?”

George examined the map he’d dug out of the glove compartment. “No turnoffs between here and the blockade.”

Route 35E had slimmed to a two-lane road, too narrow for the truck to turn around even if he wanted to. Jake tapped the steering wheel nervously with one finger. This was farm country, acres of fields rolled away from the road. Power lines were strung shoulder to shoulder like steel sentinels. A rabbit skittered across the blacktop, shuddering for a moment in their headlights before vaulting the last few feet into darkness.

Ironically, having a quiet moment to reflect rattled him more than anything else. Jake wondered how the Grants were doing, if they’d found out about Randall yet, and who told them. He tried to remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep, or had a real meal. And now he was on a dusty Texas highway in the middle of the night, braced for an explosion. Madness.

“You think he’s there yet?” Rodriguez asked, breaking the silence.

As if in response, there was a flash in the distance. The sentinels flared bright red.

“Oh, shit,” George said.

Dante frowned into the side mirror. He hit the gas, bringing his speed up to eighty. The sedan followed suit. No doubt about it, he had a tail. Shit.

He was so close, too. Another five miles and he’d hit the turnoff into the housing development a few hundred yards from the border wall. All he had to do was park the truck, get out, and walk away. Then five minutes later: boom.

But they’d found him somehow. How was it even possible? Dante scratched the scruff where his hair was growing back. He and Jackson had spent so much time laying the groundwork for this plan, sketching out every possible twist. But things kept going wrong. He sighed.

Well, there was one last thing he could do. Taking a hand off the wheel, he felt in his pocket for the remote detonator.

“He’s spotted us!” Leonard hissed, grabbing for the radio. “Who’s the moron in the lead car? Back the fuck off!”

But it was clearly too late. Kelly watched the truck leap ahead. They were on the outskirts of San Diego, clusters of housing developments surrounding them. Thousands of people asleep in their beds, completely unaware of the danger.

“We have to stop him,” she said.

“No kidding. Any suggestions?”

“Get him on the CB radio.” She looked over at Leonard. “The truck must have one, right? Figure out what channel he’s on, see if a negotiator can talk him down. Make sure they know his name.”

Leonard barked the command into their radio. A minute later they heard the rustle of static, then a hostage negotiator hailing Dante. On the third attempt, a gravelly voice responded. “Yeah?”