CHAPTER 17
Hiss pressed the gas and the truck jerked forward, throwing Locke against the rear of the cab. The wheels grasped for traction as the crazed Hiss spun the steering wheel left and right. Locke flew against the passenger side with his legs ending up over his head. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he heard the engine screaming.
Righting himself, Locke saw Hiss had Ames in his sights. The spy fled sixty feet ahead, head turned back, eyes wide. Hiss gunned the engine and the truck bounded over the small dirt hills and indentations in the ground. One second the headlights pointed toward the sky, the next toward the ground. Hiss kept going straight, right toward Ames.
“What are you doing?” Locke grabbed Hiss’ right shoulder, but Hiss shrugged it away.
Ames stumbled just a few feet ahead, his face solid with terror, blood still running from his mouth.
At the last second, Ames jumped out of the way but the front bumper caught him. He flew out of range of the headlights. Hiss screamed, “Yeah!” and slammed the brakes. Locke’s momentum almost launched him into the front seat.
Before Locke could right himself, Hiss spun the truck around and jumped out, leaving the door open.
Regaining his composure, Locke located Hiss through the dirt haze, stalking in the direction of where Ames must have landed.
Locke got out and followed, stumbling over the uneven ground to catch up to Hiss. “You could’ve killed him. We need him.”
“Oh, he will be fine. He will talk now. Where is he?” Hiss meandered at the extreme range of the headlights, almost making a complete circle.
“I don’t see him,” Locke answered, squinting.
“That Offender is around here somewhere,” Hiss grumbled. “We will find you, Ames. Do not try to hide,” he yelled, laughing.
Hiss and Locke walked in opposite directions. Locke didn’t have a flashlight like Hiss, and he stumbled over rocks, dirt, and brush. He saw nothing in the dark. He’d have to trip over Ames to find him.
Which is exactly what happened.
Locke hit the ground, hard enough to rip a hole in his pants.
“Found him,” Locke yelled.
Ames made no sounds when Locke tripped. Locke stood up and kneeled next to the spy, jostling his shoulder. “Ames . . .”
From thirty feet away, Hiss pointed his flashlight.
Locke’s stomach sent convulsions up his throat at the sight.
The spy wouldn’t be answering any more questions. It looked like one of the truck wheels had run over the male’s head when he fell. His skull was flattened on one side. A look of terror still etched on Ames’ face. Jaw stretched, eyes protruding.
He didn’t appear to have any other injuries. Even the leg Hiss hit seemed unbroken.
“That’s just great,” Locke muttered, covering his mouth at the sight. “He can’t tell us anything now, can he?”
“I did not want to kill him. Only break his leg,” Hiss responded, his words shallow as a puddle.
Locke didn’t believe him. The driving had been too reckless, Hiss’ emotions too genuine. “So, what’s the procedure? We have to call this in.”
Hiss let out a chuckle that grated on Locke’s tense nerves. “Call in? We do not have to call this in.”
“Why not?”
“You forget your OWG Manual already?” Hiss seemed to search his memory. “Chapter 6, Section 9. Any subject or subjects who inhibit a Govicide investigation may be dealt with by any means necessary since subjects are not more important than the OWG, the System, and Govicide. Not word for word, but you get the idea.”
Locke knew the chapter and section. But did it mean Govicide could run over a subject with a truck? “Okay, what do we do? Throw him in the truck bed?”
“No, we will leave him here. Animals will consume him. In a few days he will be nothing but bones.” No compassion from Hiss, he kicked some dirt at Ames’ body.
“Just leave him?”
“Yes. Govicide Agent Locke, is there something you want to say?” Hiss pointed the flashlight at Locke.
Locke felt lucky the light wasn’t a stun gun. “All I’m saying is subjects will ask questions. That chapter may say we can do anything we want. But when someone notices Ames isn’t around anymore they’re going to wonder what happened.” The pitch of Locke’s voice rose, his Homicide experience echoing in his words.
“Who? Govicide Director Stallings? The Govicide Board? Who are you worried about asking questions? Because I will tell them the absolute truth. I ran this subject over because he would not talk. And nobody is going to care.” Hiss took a few steps toward Locke. Only three feet remained between them.
“I’m not worried about them.” Locke lowered his voice, feeling Hiss’ encroachment. “I’m more worried about someone like Hamilton. We start going around roughing these Offenders up, some Hamilton type is going to retaliate.”
“There you go with Hamilton again. You do not need to tell me about Hamilton. He murdered my partner.” Hiss and Locke stood chest to chest.
“I investigated the murder. Remember, Govicide Agent Hiss? I don’t want your current partner to get killed. Did you ever think for a second that your partner got murdered because of you?”
Locke watched his words hit Hiss like a fist. Hiss opened his mouth then stopped. Maybe Hiss was not by the book after all.
The punch to his gut gave him the answer. The searing pain made Locke fold over, almost smacking his head into Hiss’ chest.
“You say that again and I will run you over with this truck, too.” Hiss stomped back to the truck, leaving Locke with his face inches from the dirt.
Locke might have gone a little too far. But, running over and killing of Ames pushed him over the edge. Not only was it careless--an action of emotion and not thought, but it left them at a dead end. Ames would’ve talked if he’d been properly motivated.
In retrospect, he had no idea why Hamilton murdered Hiss’ ex-partner. He’d spoken in a fit of anger. And he shouldn’t have. But did his words deserve a punch?
Straightening back up, he rubbed his stomach. He would have a bruise there tomorrow. Today’s lesson: Don’t mess with Hiss.
With a nauseous feeling rivaling any bout of food poisoning, Locke dragged himself back to the truck. He got in on the passenger side.
Hiss drove the vehicle over to the chain link fence. “Keep your eyes open for an entrance or a sign. Something that will tell us what this place is.”
They reached one end of the fence with no luck. Staying close to the fence, Hiss turned to creep along the next length. They bounced along in silence.
It appeared as unspectacular as the surroundings. No distinguishing markings. No flaws. No fallen poles. No breaks in the rusty links. The OWG built it to last.
After more bumpy riding, the second quarter-mile length ended, still revealing no clues. They followed the fence around to the next side, directly opposite from where they started.
With the high beams on, Locke could almost see to the end of this section. But at their speed, the boundary seemed to go on forever.
“Hey, I think something’s out there.” He pointed out in front of the truck.
“I see nothing.” Hiss pressed the brakes.
“It’s a gate. Pull around and point the headlights at it.”
Hiss swung the truck around.
“Did you feel that?” Locke grabbed the door handle.
The truck was moving but had stopped bouncing.
“No bumps,” Hiss responded, stopping the truck up against the gate.
They exited the truck.
This wasn’t ground but pavement. Granted, pavement covered by weeds and brush. But, at some time in the past, this was a road.
Hiss joined Locke at the front of the truck. He pointed his flashlight at the ground.
“Pavement,” Hiss said.
No kidding.
His stomach still aching, Locke jogged to the gate. Grabbing each side, he shook them. No luck. A chain and padlock kept them shut.
When Locke took his hands off the fence, the rust became powder on his palms. He smacked them together.
“This thing’s old. Probably one of the first things the OWG Construction Company built,” Locke remarked.
“But why?” Hiss asked. His calm demeanor belied the fact that he’d just killed a male.
Locke examined the chain and lock. He noticed something odd. “Point your flashlight over here.”
Hiss did so.
The chain and padlock were clean to the point of almost being shiny. Locke rattled the chain. “These are new.” The wind whipped Locke’s tie in his face. He tucked it into his shirt. “Somebody has been here recently.” Locke gazed into the area. “I’d like to see what’s in there, but we don’t have any bolt cutters. How are we going to get inside?”
“I know how,” Hiss answered, grinding his heel on the pavement and limping to the truck.
Locke had no doubt what was next. Hiss meant to drive right through the gate.
Backing the truck, he stopped fifty yards away. The old pavement would make his run up smooth enough to gain some speed. This would’ve been impossible had he tried it going over any of the other terrain.
Hiss gunned the engine. The truck sprayed dirt, weeds, and brush from under its rear tires. The clumps pinged off the rear fenders.
It accelerated, headlights brightening the lock and chain. Taking one last glance at them before getting out of the way, Locke flipped the padlock over.
Something caught his eye.
The vehicle barreled toward Locke, its revs increasing in Locke’s ears. With every inch under its wheels, the lights got brighter on the gate.
And illuminated a U scratched into the padlock.
Identical to the one on the envelope.
Shrieking behind him, the truck’s motor charged toward Locke. His mind told him to get out of the way but his eyes wouldn’t leave the U.
In one lightning quick moment, his mind scrambled through a logical progression like water down a spout. The U on this lock and the cash flying outside the fence wasn’t a coincidence. Meaning, the pregnancy message with a U on the envelope was linked to this cash. The cash had been linked to Hamilton through the timing of his murders. That meant . . .
The engine’s roar finally pierced Locke’s concentration.
Why was Hiss not slowing down? Locke was directly in his path.
Locke swiveled, arms waving trying to stop Hiss. But the headlights were relentless fireballs.
Did Hiss mean to run him over, too?