Chapter 12 - Highway Gauntlet
The heavy diesel truck cut through the thick morning fog on Interstate 84, its engine humming with steady power. Lily sat in the back cabin, hidden behind the deep factory tint, coloring in a notebook Frank had given her. Mark kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, constantly checking his mirrors. The highway was choked with early morning commuter traffic, providing natural camouflage, but the tension in Mark’s chest never released. Every highway patrol cruiser stationed in the median made his breathing falter.
Forty miles outside the capital, the traffic began to thin. In his rearview mirror, Mark noticed a dark grey Suburban matching the profile of the vehicles from the private transport agency. It maintained a steady distance two hundred yards behind him, matching his lane changes with chilling precision. Mark eased his foot off the accelerator, letting the truck drift into the middle lane. The Suburban immediately mirrored the maneuver, closing the gap to fifty yards. They had found him.
May you like
Mark reached down to the encrypted burner phone Frank had provided. He hit the single speed-dial button. ""Frank, they're behind me. One grey Suburban, tinted windows, out-of-state private security plates."" Frank’s voice came over the speaker, calm and steady. ""Stay on the interstate until Exit 42. There’s a state commercial weigh station right before the river bridge. Pull straight into the inspection lane. State DOT officers are armed and neutral—private muscle won't dare pull a weapon in a commercial inspection bay.""
Mark signaled a lane change, accelerating hard toward the upcoming exit. The Suburban surged forward aggressively, attempting to pull alongside his left flank to box him against the concrete highway divider. Through the dark glass of the Suburban, Mark could see two men in tactical vests, the passenger holding up a radio. Mark didn't flinch. As the Suburban nudged closer to his front fender, Mark tapped the brakes, slipped behind their rear bumper, and whipped the wheel sharply toward the weigh station deceleration ramp. The Suburban overshot the ramp, tires screeching as they blew past the exit at sixty miles per hour.
