“We’ll be fine,” he whispered to her in the dark, as she slipped her hand in his.
Eventually the truck stopped, and they heard a voice coming from near the front as someone spoke to the driver. One word stood out to Sam: Radiographie.
“They’re going to scan us?” Remi whispered. “How much radiation are we talking?”
“If they were, with accelerator-driven, high-energy X-rays—”
“I already don’t like the sound of that.”
“It’s not going to happen. Trust me.”
“And when the two of us start glowing? What then?”
Sam laughed, as he put his arm around her shoulders. “We’re not going to glow. We’re sitting in a car that’s on every wanted poster in every law enforcement agency in the entirety of Europe and the UK. Rossi’s already paid off someone to make sure this container bypasses the normal security routes. That includes being x-rayed.”
Sure enough, they heard someone shouting that the container had already cleared, was sealed, and didn’t need to be scanned.
Remi elbowed him. “I hope you’re not gloating, Fargo.”
“In the dark? Is that even possible?”
The truck started moving. Once they were on board the ferry, the sway of the ocean and the lack of windows made her think of a submarine. She tried to drown out the creaks and groans of metal around them. A giant swell lifted the ferry, then dropped it. Nothing she wasn’t used to, except for the part that they were locked inside a metal box and couldn’t get out. “How do we get out of here if the boat goes down?”
“Think positive, Remi. Ever imagine that you and I would be crossing the channel in an ’06 Rolls-Royce?”
“Pretty sure that never entered my mind.”
“And yet, here we are. That’s one for the books.”
She moved closer to Sam, taking comfort in his calm presence. “I’m still worried,” she said.
“Better to worry when there’s something to worry about.”
“Being trapped in a shipping container isn’t worrisome?”
“We have each other, don’t we?”
They were quiet a few moments. The larger swells turned shorter, choppier.
“The wind’s picking up,” she said. “And now I keep thinking about that cargo ship with all the cars that sank in the channel back in the early 2000s.”
“Remember when we first met?” Sam asked.
Remi pictured the little jazz bistro in Hermosa Beach, the Lighthouse Cafe, where they’d spent hours talking the night away. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“You know what stands out when I think of that place?”
“Besides me?”
He laughed, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “The lighthouse on the neon sign inside the bar.”
“So, it’s not me?”
“Best night of my life.”
Remi looked over at him, unable to see anything in the dark. “Better than the day we married?”
“Think about it. A chance meeting that brought us together. Lighthouse. Beacon in the dark. It’s—”
“Symbolic.” That made her smile.
“If we hadn’t struck up a conversation, we would’ve missed each other. Like two ships in the night.”
Remi laughed. “Hope you weren’t planning to put that on our anniversary plaque.”
“Too sappy?”
“And clichéd.”
“How about . . . the tower, with the light emanating from it, and you. That’s what I think about”—he cleared his throat—“whenever I want to get my mind off something.”
Remi leaned her head on his shoulder. “Who thought being locked in a box could be so romantic?”
“Who knew?”
Remi closed her eyes, doing her best to let the feel of the ocean soothe her. Finally relaxing in the crook of his arm, she actually dozed for a while, then woke with a start, having completely lost track of time. “Where are we?”
“Almost to Dover,” Sam said.
“We need a plan,” she said.
“Bonnie and Clyde.”
His comment surprised her, and she sat up. “They died in a hail of gunfire after being ambushed.”
“Epic blaze of glory.”
“In the movies, Sam. This is real life?”
“Okay. Forget the blaze of glory part. Concentrate on the epic portion of the plan.”
“I’m listening.”
74
A sudden jar alerted them that they’d arrived in Dover. Sam slipped his flashlight from his backpack and turned it on. “First thing we’re going to need to do is figure out if this car runs.”
“Chad said it did.”
“Let’s hope nothing’s happened to it since then.”
“I doubt they’ve had the time or inclination to worry about batteries or draining fuel.”
“Well, let’s find the battery and make sure it’s charged.”
“I think you need to bang on the fuel tank to be sure it’s not empty,” Remi said. “You know, just planning for the blaze of glory.”
Sam and Remi found the battery and were rewarded when Remi tried the horn. The battery had juice. Sam determined there was enough fuel for their escape.
“We’ll have to time it perfectly. Move the blocks and get the straps off, then start it the moment they open up the container. I’m hoping the shock value will work in our favor. We can drive right on out.”
“The pallets, Sam. You forgot the pallets.”
“This baby can blast right through them.”
“What if they move the container inside a warehouse first? Nowhere to drive, at that point.”
“We go to Plan B, Remi.”
“The Plan B, where we have an actual backup plan? Or Plan B where we’re making it up as we go along?”
“I’m shocked that you have so little confidence in me.”
“Not you, Fargo, Bonnie and Clyde. This whole blaze of glory thing—”
“Forget that. Once they get the Ghost off the ferry, we’ve got to be ready. We might not have a lot of time to make our move.”
* * *
—
IT TOOK ABOUT AN HOUR for the truck and cargo to clear customs.
What Sam didn’t expect was that the truck and container would be moved onto a train. Fifteen minutes later, they were rolling down the tracks.
“Do we have a signal yet?” Remi asked. “Selma’s bound to be worried.”
Sam took out his phone to check. With the container now in the open, Sam found one and called, putting it on speaker.
“Mr. Fargo? Is that you? Your voice is cutting out. Where are you?”
“In a container on a train. With the Ghost. Just leaving Dover.”
“Container? Dover? To where?”
“We were hoping you’d know,” Sam said. “Long story short, we got locked in the shipping container with the Ghost, which is supposed to be on its way to Oren via ferry from Calais.”
“Hold on . . .” The silence lasted for several seconds until she came back on the line. “Oren has industrial property in Manchester, but Lazlo thinks he might have something outside of London. We’ll see if we can’t narrow it down.”
“Let’s hope it’s London,” Remi said. “We haven’t eaten since breakfast. I don’t think I can do four more hours locked in here.”
“Hate to say it, Remi. It’s possible we’ll be shuttled into some warehouse where we’ll be stored until Oren’s crew comes.”
“Cheery thought, Fargo,” she replied. “We still need to figure out how we’re getting out of here when we do land somewhere.”
“Blaze of glory, Remi. Blaze of glory.”
“Pardon?” Selma said.
“We’re planning on driving the Ghost out of the container and making our getaw
ay,” Sam said.
“A bit hasty, aren’t you, Sam?” Lazlo chimed in. “I’m afraid the Ghost isn’t as easy to start as the Ahrens-Fox. Eleven years of technology between the two.”
“While Lazlo was researching the events of ’06, he learned a little about the workings of automobiles back then,” Selma added.
“Yes, you see, there are thirteen steps to starting the Ghost. The automobile was not designed for your fast getaway. I think this will take more than a little planning on your part,” Lazlo continued. “I’ll have Selma send you a list that will take you through the steps so that you can get the car running.”
“And you’d better be sure that there’s a battery, it’s charged, and there’s fuel in the tank,” Selma added.
“Done, done, and done,” Remi answered.
“We’d better get going. Sounds like we have a lot to organize before we’re on firm ground.”
Sam ended the call, the dim light from the screen fading to black.
Shortly, Sam’s phone signaled Selma’s text had arrived. Reading through the complicated procedure, Remi said, “Right now I wish the ’06 Ghost came with a phone charger.”
Sam and Remi divided up the thirteen steps, trying to streamline their jobs, to make the process move as quickly as possible.
The next thing they knew, the train came to a stop.
Outside, they heard shouting, metal clanking, and the rumbling of the container as the truck drove off the train bed and onto the road. Sam and Remi gripped the door and seat back, grateful that the Ghost offered a measure of safety. Twenty minutes later, the truck stopped, started backing up. When it came to a rest, something heavy hit the top of the container, metal grinding against metal. The box shifted, and was suddenly lifted.
“We’ll be fine,” Sam said, with bravado.
“You seem awful sure of yourself.”
“We’re sitting in a car worth thirty-two million dollars. You really think they’re going to let anything happen to it?”
The sensation was similar to being in an elevator, quickly rising, then lowering to the ground. “Careful!” came a shout, and their descent slowed, the landing so gentle that they barely noticed. “Leave it there, boys!”
“I believe,” Sam whispered, “we’ve arrived.”
75
Silence surrounded them once more. “How’s this blaze of glory going to work?” Remi whispered. “The moment they open this container and move the pallets, they’re going to pull the canvas off and see us.”
Sam was already rethinking the plan. The only reason they hadn’t been discovered the first time was that the Ghost had already been strapped down for shipping, and they didn’t need to check it carefully. “We need somewhere to hide . . .”
“There’s nothing in here. Only the car and the false front—”
“That, Remi, is brilliant.”
“I love being brilliant. But how is that going to help?”
“They’re hollow,” he said, shining his flashlight on the boxes. “Come on.” He gave the light to Remi, shoved his knife in at the top right corner of a box about waist height, carefully slicing down at the edge, around the bottom, up to the top left corner, turning that side of the box into one large flap, revealing the empty space within. “You’re hiding in here.”
“That box isn’t big enough.”
“Not yet, but it will be . . .” he said, leaning into the now-open carton and slicing open the bottom of it as well as the top of the box beneath it. “In you go.” He pushed the large flap aside and helped Remi climb in. She squatted down, pulling the flap closed. He’d kept his cuts to the very corners and edges. Satisfied that as long as anyone didn’t look too close, they wouldn’t see. He repeated the process with the second pallet. Grabbing his backpack, he dropped the knife inside, climbed in, carefully pulling his flap closed. And it was none too soon, judging by the voices he heard coming from outside. Sam drew his gun when he heard the container being opened. This was the moment. If the cut boxes were noticed, he and Remi wouldn’t survive, once they were discovered . . .
“Get that forklift over here,” someone shouted.
An engine revved, Sam shifted suddenly as the prongs were inserted under the pallet at the base of the false front. As the pallet was pulled from the container, he could just make out the empty warehouse through the cut he’d made in the corner of the box. The vibration from the forklift as it drove the stack of boxes across the floor caused his carton flap to open. He grabbed it, pulling it closed, hoping his fingers weren’t visible as he held it shut. A moment later, his limited view suddenly darkened, and he realized the entire unit had been shoved up against the wall, blocking his and Remi’s flaps from opening.
“How’s the car?”
“Looks fine.”
“Let’s get that other pallet out of there. We’d better have that car out of there before Mr. Oren arrives.”
Sam and Remi could do nothing but sit and wait as the two men freed the Ghost from the container.
A cell phone rang. “Mr. Oren. It’s here . . . But it’s already out of the container . . . Right.” Sharp footsteps echoed across the warehouse, then, “Let’s close up the warehouse. Oren wants it to stay put until he gets here.”
“When?”
“Shouldn’t be too long. He took the train under the Channel. Now, hurry it up. I’d like a bite before we leave.”
Sam heard heavy footsteps receding as the men walked out. A door slammed shut, silence.
He pushed on the cardboard flap, but it hit the wall. It was too close. Holstering his gun, he pulled out his knife and sliced a new opening through the sides of the boxes until he was free. Sam saw that Remi couldn’t get out of her hiding place, either, and quickly sliced an opening for her.
The warehouse was empty except for the pallets, the shipping container, and the Gray Ghost. The car was a thing of beauty, unmatched by any vehicle save the more famous Silver Ghost. The two side-by-side overhead doors were operated by wall switches. To the right was the entrance door, with small window, and, beside it, an alarm panel on the wall, blinking red.
He turned on the phone and saw Selma had texted the address of Oren’s London area warehouse. He called the police, giving them the address that Selma had provided.
“That’s a large complex, sir. Can you narrow it down?”
The GPS on his Italian cell phone wasn’t registering. Wondering where, exactly, they were, he looked out, saw a row of similar warehouses, the nearest one with a forklift driving out the open bay door with a pallet of goods. “The best I can do is, we’re at the end of a road, next to a blue warehouse.”
“Please stay in a safe location until help arrives, sir.”
“They’re on their way,” Sam told Remi.
Remi looked at the alarm panel. “What if we set it off? That should tell them where.”
“If the crooks are setting that alarm, the only ones getting notified are the crooks. I doubt they’d have a system that connects to the police.”
“I think it’s time to see if the Ghost really does run.”
Sam looked out the window again, then looked to Remi. “Ready?”
“Blaze of glory.”
Sam and Remi smoothly went through each step. Sam had just flooded the carburetor, and was putting down the hood.
“Sam, a car just drove up. I’m not sure, but I think it’s parking between the buildings.”
“We’re good to go. I can finish starting the Ghost. Open the overhead door.”
“The alarm—”
“No choice,” Sam said. “We’ve got to go.”
Sam hopped into the driver’s seat, and Remi hit the button. The overhead door started to roll up. The alarm panel on the wall started beeping as she ran back to the car, jumping from the left running board into the passenger seat.
The engine start
ed easily. He pulled the ignition lever on the left side of the steering wheel down to its stop when the engine began to fire. He eased the throttle, to build up the revolutions per minute, as the engine smoothed out.
“Chad is a man of his word. A consummate musician. Just listen to her purr.”
“Sam, I’m not sure we have time for accolades right now.”
“Remi, you’re ruining a magic moment.”
“A bullet will ruin your magic moment.”
“Ah, Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Right. Blaze of glory.”
Sam put the car in first gear and eased off the clutch. The car’s response was immediate, and Sam drove toward the door.
The side door suddenly opened. The two men walking in stopped short when they saw Sam at the wheel.
“Hey!” one shouted.
The Ghost surged forward.
One of the men ran after them, drawing his gun.
“Put that away, you idiot! You might hit the Ghost!”
“They’re getting away!”
“Get the car!” the other shouted, running after them.
The Gray Ghost increased speed, Sam popped the clutch into second and cruised into the street, gaining speed, putting distance between them and the warehouse. A silver sedan pulled up, the men jumped in, the sedan’s tires burning rubber as they sped after the Ghost. Sam pressed the Rolls as fast as he dared, hitting the horn as a forklift came whipping down a truck ramp. It stopped, the driver stunned to see the antique car zipping past.
“They’re on our tail!” Remi said.
Sam glanced back. “I get the feeling they’re under orders to preserve the car.”
“No wonder. That’s definitely Oren with them.”
Sam shifted into third and stepped on the gas.
“Slight problem . . .”
The Ghost didn’t respond. It gave one last cough, then died.