I-70 heading east in nine minutes. When they had twelve minutes left, he got off at State Highway 203 and turned north into the Gateway Truck Plaza. Cochran pulled over out back by a field of weeds.
“Move!” Acadia said, holding a large duffel bag she’d retrieved from the sleeping compartment behind them.
Sunday jumped down, stepped around the diesel tank, and got up on the fifth-wheel frame between the cab and the container. He put a key in the lock of the custom hatch on the front end of the freight car. It wouldn’t turn.
Had that kid in the rail yard back in Philly bent the hasp? He tried again, then jiggled the lock and twisted a third time. He thought the key was going to break off in the lock. Then something gave, and the hasp released.
He pulled it out, raised the bar holding the hatch shut. It swung open.
“Ten minutes,” Acadia said, handing him the duffel.
“I’m putting my money on you,” Sunday said and ducked into the pitch-black space.
Acadia glanced up at the leaden sky before following him and shutting the door behind her.
CHAPTER
16
WHEN THE HATCH OPENED twenty minutes later, they were both drenched with sweat. Acadia came out first, carrying the duffel, which was considerably lighter. Sunday had a large black plastic trash bag in his hands.
“Told you we were good,” he said.
Acadia got down off the frame, wiped at the sweat on her face, said, “It was touch and go there, I’m telling you.”
“What you’re trained for,” he said, setting the bag down and turning to close and lock the hatch.
“I left the field because I hated stuff like that. Still do.”
“Sometimes we have to just push through the nasty tasks in life.”
“That qualified,” she said, and went back to the truck cab.
Sunday dug out a small plastic box filled with silicone earplugs. He mashed a chunk of one into the key slot so he’d know if it had been tampered with and then got down. Cochran had the engine going by the time he shut the door.
Sunday looked at the driver.
“Any visitors?”
“Couple of pickups went by,” Cochran said, putting the truck in gear and pulling out. “Nothing to worry about.”
Acadia said, “It’s five twenty-two. Well, four twenty-two here. We’ve got until Monday morning, same time.”
“Gotta be at the dock by six.” Cochran grunted.
Sunday looked at Google Maps, said, “Piece of cake.”
After they’d gotten onto I-70, heading west this time, toward the Mississippi River, Acadia said, “Why are we doing all this, Marcus? I mean really. Deep down, is this just payback for Cross savaging your book?”
Sunday looked at her sidelong for several seconds before flipping his hand dismissively. “If it was just that, I wouldn’t have bothered. I
am
proving to Dr. Alex that I was correct and he was wrong. But mostly, Acadia? I’m doing it because I can, and because this little project and the logistics involved intrigues and amuses me a great deal. Does it continue to amuse you?”
He’d delivered the question in a hard voice.
Acadia hesitated.
But Cochran chortled in the driver’s seat, said, “I can tell you it’s kicking my ass, Marcus. Most fun I’ve had since Iraq by a long shot.”
“Acadia?” Sunday asked, watching her closely.
Acadia seemed to struggle before she shrugged in resignation. “Ma always called me a shooting star, born to burn bright and brief.”
Sunday smiled, reached over, and stroked her cheek. “The hell with a shooting star, am I right? Why not ride a comet?”
CHAPTER
17
ACADIA WAS GROWING INCREASINGLY uneasy about everything Sunday had gotten her into, but she said, “A comet sounds good too.”
Rush-hour traffic slowed them, but within sixty minutes, they were pulling onto the scales at the new AEP River terminal north of the city on the Missouri side.
The woman working the scales said, “She’s just fifteen hundred pounds?”
“She’s riding empty while we test our experimental solar
“Move!” Acadia said, holding a large duffel bag she’d retrieved from the sleeping compartment behind them.
Sunday jumped down, stepped around the diesel tank, and got up on the fifth-wheel frame between the cab and the container. He put a key in the lock of the custom hatch on the front end of the freight car. It wouldn’t turn.
Had that kid in the rail yard back in Philly bent the hasp? He tried again, then jiggled the lock and twisted a third time. He thought the key was going to break off in the lock. Then something gave, and the hasp released.
He pulled it out, raised the bar holding the hatch shut. It swung open.
“Ten minutes,” Acadia said, handing him the duffel.
“I’m putting my money on you,” Sunday said and ducked into the pitch-black space.
Acadia glanced up at the leaden sky before following him and shutting the door behind her.
CHAPTER
16
WHEN THE HATCH OPENED twenty minutes later, they were both drenched with sweat. Acadia came out first, carrying the duffel, which was considerably lighter. Sunday had a large black plastic trash bag in his hands.
“Told you we were good,” he said.
Acadia got down off the frame, wiped at the sweat on her face, said, “It was touch and go there, I’m telling you.”
“What you’re trained for,” he said, setting the bag down and turning to close and lock the hatch.
“I left the field because I hated stuff like that. Still do.”
“Sometimes we have to just push through the nasty tasks in life.”
“That qualified,” she said, and went back to the truck cab.
Sunday dug out a small plastic box filled with silicone earplugs. He mashed a chunk of one into the key slot so he’d know if it had been tampered with and then got down. Cochran had the engine going by the time he shut the door.
Sunday looked at the driver.
“Any visitors?”
“Couple of pickups went by,” Cochran said, putting the truck in gear and pulling out. “Nothing to worry about.”
Acadia said, “It’s five twenty-two. Well, four twenty-two here. We’ve got until Monday morning, same time.”
“Gotta be at the dock by six.” Cochran grunted.
Sunday looked at Google Maps, said, “Piece of cake.”
After they’d gotten onto I-70, heading west this time, toward the Mississippi River, Acadia said, “Why are we doing all this, Marcus? I mean really. Deep down, is this just payback for Cross savaging your book?”
Sunday looked at her sidelong for several seconds before flipping his hand dismissively. “If it was just that, I wouldn’t have bothered. I
am
proving to Dr. Alex that I was correct and he was wrong. But mostly, Acadia? I’m doing it because I can, and because this little project and the logistics involved intrigues and amuses me a great deal. Does it continue to amuse you?”
He’d delivered the question in a hard voice.
Acadia hesitated.
But Cochran chortled in the driver’s seat, said, “I can tell you it’s kicking my ass, Marcus. Most fun I’ve had since Iraq by a long shot.”
“Acadia?” Sunday asked, watching her closely.
Acadia seemed to struggle before she shrugged in resignation. “Ma always called me a shooting star, born to burn bright and brief.”
Sunday smiled, reached over, and stroked her cheek. “The hell with a shooting star, am I right? Why not ride a comet?”
CHAPTER
17
ACADIA WAS GROWING INCREASINGLY uneasy about everything Sunday had gotten her into, but she said, “A comet sounds good too.”
Rush-hour traffic slowed them, but within sixty minutes, they were pulling onto the scales at the new AEP River terminal north of the city on the Missouri side.
The woman working the scales said, “She’s just fifteen hundred pounds?”
“She’s riding empty while we test our experimental solar
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