Part 34 (1/2)

'I was supposed to meet my sister and her girlfriend here-the girlfriend is a stunning African-American-and I missed them. They arrived on the Delta nine-twenty from New York. Did they rent a car here?'

'No, senor. . . .

' No, senor. . . .

'No, senor. . . .'

At the Alesa booth, Flint was in luck.

'Oh, yes, senor. I remember them well. They-'

'Do you remember what they rented?'

'It was a Peugeot.'

'What colour?'

'Red. It was our only-'

'Do you have the number of the license plate?'

'Of course. Just a moment.'

Flint watched the clerk open a book to look it up.

He gave Flint the number. 'I hope you find them.'

'I will.'

Ten minutes later, Flint was flying back to Barcelona. He would rent a car, watch for their red Peugeot, follow them to a place in the road where there was no traffic, run them off the road, and make certain that they were dead.

Diane and Kelly were only thirty minutes away from San Sebastian, driving along in a comfortable silence. The highway was un-crowded, and they were making good time. The countryside was beautiful. Ripe fields and orchards filled the air with the smells of pomegranate, apricot, and orange trees, and off the road were old houses, with walls covered with jasmine vines. A few minutes out of the little medieval town of Burgos, the scenery began to erupt into the foothills of the Pyrenees.

'We're almost there,' Diane said. She looked ahead, frowned, and started to slam on the brakes. Two hundred feet in front of them was a burning car with a crowd gathered around it. The highway was blocked off by men in uniform.

Diane was puzzled. 'What's going on?'

'We're in Basque country,' Kelly said. 'It's a war. The Basques have been fighting the Spanish government for the last fifty years.'

A man in a green uniform with gold and red trim and a black belt, black shoes, and black beret stepped onto the highway in front of the car and held up his hand. He pointed to the side of the road.

Kelly said under her breath, 'It's the ETA. We can't stop, because G.o.d knows how long they'll keep us here.'

The officer walked to the side of the car and approached them. 'I am Captain Iradi. You will please get out of the car.'

Diane looked at him and smiled. 'I really would love to help you with your war, but we're busy fighting our own war.' She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, drove around the burning car, and sped ahead, the car weaving through the screaming crowd.

Kelly's eyes were closed. 'Did we hit anybody yet?'

'We're fine.'

As Kelly opened her eyes, she looked in the side-view mirror and froze. A black Citroen Berlingo was behind them and she could see the man behind the wheel.

'It's G.o.dzilla!' Kelly gasped. 'He's following us.'

'What? How could he have found us so quickly?' Diane pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The Citroen was gaining on them. Diane looked at the double-faced speedometer. One dial read: 175 kilometres an hour. The other dial read: 110 miles an hour.

Nervously, Kelly said, 'I'll bet you're too fast to drive at the Indianapolis racetrack.'

A mile ahead Diane saw the customs checkpoint between Spain and France.

'Hit me,' Diane said.

Kelly laughed. 'I was only kidding, I just-'

'Hit me.' Diane's voice was urgent.

The Citroen was getting closer.

'What are you-?' Do it now!'

Reluctantly, Kelly slapped Diane across the face.

'No. Punch me hard.'

There were now only two cars between them and the Citroen.

'Hurry,' Diane shouted.

Wincing, Kelly punched Diane on the cheek.

'Harder.'

Kelly hit her again. This time, her diamond wedding ring made a gash in Diane's cheek, and blood started flowing.

Kelly was looking at Diane, horrified. 'I'm so sorry, Diane. I didn't mean to-'

They had reached the customs checkpoint. Diane braked to a stop.

The border guard approached the car. 'Good afternoon, ladies.'

'Good afternoon.' Diane turned her head so that the guard could see the blood running down her cheek.

He looked at it, aghast. 'Senora, what happened?'

Diane bit her lip. 'It's my ex-husband. He enjoys. .h.i.tting me. I got a restraining order against him, but I-I can't stop him. He keeps following me. He's back there now. I know there's no use asking for your help. No one can stop him.'