Chase by James Patterson Page B

has a broken arm,” Haber said. “Last thing we need is more heat.”
    “I think his back is broke, too, sir.”
    Haber glanced at him angrily.
    “He’s stabilized, right?”
    “But there could be internal bleeding.”
    “Don’t give me ‘could be,’ Devine. Don’t be an old biddy. Therk is old-school tough. Just give him some morphine until we get this thing settled. Then we’ll get him completely patched up.”
    “You sure, boss?”
    Haber glared at him. Not a comfortable feeling. Yet he went on.
    “I mean, maybe we should retreat, sir. Get out of here. Reassess. We’re starting to take some serious casualties now. We’re down to seven guys.”
    “Not that I need to explain this to you, Devine, but I just got off the phone with our southern friends who are bankrolling the operation, and we’ve agreed to ramp up the schedule. We leave tomorrow. They’ll have good men at the airfield to replace the ones we lost. It’s all set up.”
    “Tomorrow we go?”
    “Yes, buddy, and we’re leaving here right away. After we bag the cop, we’re scrubbing this entire hill. Gone without a trace. Is that good enough for you, you worrywart?”
    Haber smiled then as he pounded Devine in the arm.
    Devine smiled back.
    O Captain, my Captain, he thought.
    “Sir, yes, sir,” he said.

Chapter 23
    Bumping and tripping, sweating and bleeding, with my arms still handcuffed behind my back, I ran down the endless slope of the middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania forest.
    Crossing a narrow creek, I slipped and did another long roll that ended in a full somersault before I came to a painful, skidding stop in the wet forest leaves.
    As I lay there spitting dirt out of my mouth, a memory surfaced from when I was a kid—when we’d play army in the woods of Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx, using sticks that looked like rifles as we patrolled. I fought back a desperate urge to start weeping.
    Instead, I stood and continued southwest. I would have headed back toward the road I’d taken there, except I had no idea where I was in this damned woodland maze. I knew west by the hastily setting sun, but what the hell did that gain me? Which way was help?
    The one thing I could do was pick a direction—southwest—and keep steadily moving to distance myself from the wrecked truck. Because whoever was on the other end of that big dude’s phone would be coming after me, and they were going to be pissed. I still didn’t know a damn thing except that these guys were killers, of the professional CIA - military variety; and I now, like a complete idiot, was in their home court.
    After another quarter-mile, I came to a small cliff—three or four stories of angled gray rock. I could have run down it if my arms were at my sides, but I couldn’t risk tripping, so I had to inch down like an infant.
    At the bottom, I looked to the left and saw something sparkle through the brush. It was a creek, I saw. I walked over to it. A stream heading the same way I was, southwest. It was wider than the one I’d tripped over; and running water would lead to more, bigger running water, wouldn’t it? That might mean fishermen, a boat, perhaps a bridge.
    But as I followed the stream down, it began to slow. When I came to the foot of the wooded hill, I saw that it became a trickle that fed an enormous wetland swamp. “There goes my merit badge,” I mumbled. I went to the left, following the curve of the wide hill.
    I was at the edge of the swamp, where it seemed to become dry land again, when I began to hear it. To the left beside the swamp was a stand of tall, very skinny white trees with yellow leaves, and a lot of brush; and from the brush came the faint sound of chirping.
    At first I thought it was a bunch of birds, but it was too consistent. It sounded mechanical. A weird kind of electronic beeping, like a smoke alarm or a truck backing up, which made zero sense.
    I thought I was cracking up when I heard a dog bark from the same direction. Initially it