Dancing with the Dragon (2002) by Joe - Dalton Weber, Sullivan 02 Page A
Authors: Joe - Dalton Weber, Sullivan 02
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off the right side of the highway, dangerously swerving and swaying.
Merrick shoved Harrington toward the passenger side, at the same time desperately grabbing the steering wheel to get the car under control. The Mercury careened back on the highway and lurched to the right again. Merrick struggled to climb over the seat and Harrington's tangled legs. Take control!
An instant later, the cruiser's flashing lights came on. The officer began slowing the car and easing toward the shoulder of the highway. Afraid that he might be rear-ended, he kept moving while the Mercury driver was steering in such an erratic manner.
With one leg twisted behind her, Merrick swerved to miss the cruiser and smashed into her smaller rental car. The Oriental driver made an attempt to pass her and they collided again. Both cars sprayed glass and twisted parts on the highway as the drivers fought for control. The man floorboarded the Cavalier and continued driving, passing the Mercury and the CHP cruiser.
Shocked by the collisions, Merrick stomped on the brakes. She brought the Grand Marquis to a screeching, smoking stop on the right side of the highway. The patrol car pulled in behind the battered Mercury and stopped. The officer radioed a description of the gray Chevy to headquarters, while he kept an eye on the driver of the Grand Marquis.
Feeling the effects of the adrenaline boost, Merrick finally opened the door and stumbled out. Her knees were shaking as she turned toward the patrolman. He must think I'm falling-down drunk.
In the process of running the Grand Marquis's license plate, the officer opened his door. He stepped out of the cruiser and put his hand on his weapon. "Ma'am, step to the back of your vehicle and place your hands on the trunk."
Merrick complied and turned her head toward the patrolman. "Officer, the car I collided with is my rental car."
" Your rental car?"
"That's right."
"Well, after eighteen years on the job, that's a new one."
She looked straight ahead. "It might be a good idea to radio a description of the stolen vehicle--this isn't it."
More curious than concerned for his safety, the patrolman ignored her suggestion. "Ma'am, do you have any weapons on you?" "No, but the FBI impostor lying in the front seat has a handgun." "FBI impostor, huh?"
"That's right."
"Well, that's another first."
The trooper cautiously walked toward the driver's door. "Ma'am, have you been drinking?"
"Yes, I have, if you count one glass of wine with dinner about nine-thirty last night."
The officer shone his flashlight on Harrington for a long moment. "Has your passenger been drinking?"
"He was the driver until I saw you, and then I overpowered him. I think he may be dead."
"Overpowered him?"
"Pardon me, but do we have to go over everything twice?"
The patrolman slowly shook his head and cautiously walked to the front passenger door. He kept his light on Harrington while he checked his vital signs, then stepped back.
"You're right about that," he said without taking his eyes off Merrick. "He certainly is dead--looks like he was strangled."
"He was, with one of my belts."
More cautious now, the trooper returned to the back of the Mercury and shone his light in Merrick's face. "Let's start over. Do you have any identification with you?"
"Yes." She squinted at the light. "It's in my handbag in the car." "Would you mind getting it for me?"
"I'd be happy to," Merrick said, and opened the rear door. She grabbed her purse and then gave the trooper her driver's license and her navy identification card.
He carefully inspected the IDs and handed them to her. "Well, Lieutenant Hamilton, what do you do in the navy?"
With the rush wearing off, Merrick chuckled. "I'm a fighter pilot."
The officer again shook his head. "Why does that not surprise me?"
Cape Canaveral, Florida
The sun was barely above the horizon when a U. S. Air Force Titan 4B Centaur booster, carrying an advanced six-ton NRO Orion signal intelligence spacecraft,
Merrick shoved Harrington toward the passenger side, at the same time desperately grabbing the steering wheel to get the car under control. The Mercury careened back on the highway and lurched to the right again. Merrick struggled to climb over the seat and Harrington's tangled legs. Take control!
An instant later, the cruiser's flashing lights came on. The officer began slowing the car and easing toward the shoulder of the highway. Afraid that he might be rear-ended, he kept moving while the Mercury driver was steering in such an erratic manner.
With one leg twisted behind her, Merrick swerved to miss the cruiser and smashed into her smaller rental car. The Oriental driver made an attempt to pass her and they collided again. Both cars sprayed glass and twisted parts on the highway as the drivers fought for control. The man floorboarded the Cavalier and continued driving, passing the Mercury and the CHP cruiser.
Shocked by the collisions, Merrick stomped on the brakes. She brought the Grand Marquis to a screeching, smoking stop on the right side of the highway. The patrol car pulled in behind the battered Mercury and stopped. The officer radioed a description of the gray Chevy to headquarters, while he kept an eye on the driver of the Grand Marquis.
Feeling the effects of the adrenaline boost, Merrick finally opened the door and stumbled out. Her knees were shaking as she turned toward the patrolman. He must think I'm falling-down drunk.
In the process of running the Grand Marquis's license plate, the officer opened his door. He stepped out of the cruiser and put his hand on his weapon. "Ma'am, step to the back of your vehicle and place your hands on the trunk."
Merrick complied and turned her head toward the patrolman. "Officer, the car I collided with is my rental car."
" Your rental car?"
"That's right."
"Well, after eighteen years on the job, that's a new one."
She looked straight ahead. "It might be a good idea to radio a description of the stolen vehicle--this isn't it."
More curious than concerned for his safety, the patrolman ignored her suggestion. "Ma'am, do you have any weapons on you?" "No, but the FBI impostor lying in the front seat has a handgun." "FBI impostor, huh?"
"That's right."
"Well, that's another first."
The trooper cautiously walked toward the driver's door. "Ma'am, have you been drinking?"
"Yes, I have, if you count one glass of wine with dinner about nine-thirty last night."
The officer shone his flashlight on Harrington for a long moment. "Has your passenger been drinking?"
"He was the driver until I saw you, and then I overpowered him. I think he may be dead."
"Overpowered him?"
"Pardon me, but do we have to go over everything twice?"
The patrolman slowly shook his head and cautiously walked to the front passenger door. He kept his light on Harrington while he checked his vital signs, then stepped back.
"You're right about that," he said without taking his eyes off Merrick. "He certainly is dead--looks like he was strangled."
"He was, with one of my belts."
More cautious now, the trooper returned to the back of the Mercury and shone his light in Merrick's face. "Let's start over. Do you have any identification with you?"
"Yes." She squinted at the light. "It's in my handbag in the car." "Would you mind getting it for me?"
"I'd be happy to," Merrick said, and opened the rear door. She grabbed her purse and then gave the trooper her driver's license and her navy identification card.
He carefully inspected the IDs and handed them to her. "Well, Lieutenant Hamilton, what do you do in the navy?"
With the rush wearing off, Merrick chuckled. "I'm a fighter pilot."
The officer again shook his head. "Why does that not surprise me?"
Cape Canaveral, Florida
The sun was barely above the horizon when a U. S. Air Force Titan 4B Centaur booster, carrying an advanced six-ton NRO Orion signal intelligence spacecraft,
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