Sam gunned the 425 horses as he exited the ferry and had no intention of letting up until he reached Newark. The car rocketed out of Rockland as Sam considered the route, back roads or main roads. US Route 1 ran through Rockland and would connect him to I95 but that was the most obvious route and would leave Sam seriously exposed for over 50 miles. The back roads, cutting North to pick up the I95 to the North of Rockland, offered a less obvious solution but this meant his journey time would be extended by almost an hour. An hour Sam ventured he didn’t have. So US 1 it was. With no obvious tails being picked up as he sped through Rockland, he felt comfortable that he had at least a couple of hours before he’d have anything to really worry about.
With his route selected, Sam’s mind began to fall back to Goat Island and the family and life that had been wrenched from him. Sam Junior, Goldie and Jane, his wife, slaughtered. Sam knew he should stay focused but the picture of his wife and child torn apart wouldn’t leave him. The adrenalin rush that had helped him overcome the attackers and got him to the mainland was wearing off and the cold light of day was hitting home; he was alone again. During his working life, Sam had remained single. His life had never been one to share. His new life had been though. Sam punched the steering wheel in anger. The resulting horn blast snapped him back. He had to leave Sam Junior, Jane and Goldie behind, not forever, but at least until he had avenged their deaths. He had to remain focused. Every single person who had had a hand in their deaths had to pay and to ensure that, Sam had to keep his mind focused.
First and foremost, Sam had to get to his brother and see just who it was he had pissed off this time. Charles had a habit of taking things too far and neither realizing nor taking account of what or who he was up against. In Montana, it had been an Albanian gang who had been prosperously running a prostitution and drug ring before the Senator had waded in. Little did he know how close he had come to being at the end of a three man hit team, sent by the Albanian ganglord. Sam had taken care of the hit team and the ganglord quietly and in such a fashion that nobody would ever again consider something so stupid, certainly not in Montana. But Montana had been a small stage. Charles was now playing with the big boys and obviously Charles had continued to push people way over the edge.
Sam considered the possibilities. Top of the list would be defense contractors. If Charles had taken issue with one, as Chairman of the Appropriations Committee, the impact could have been massive, involving billions of dollars and hundreds of thousands of jobs. Next were the usual whack jobs, white supremacist groups, Nazis, terrorists etc… but none of them would have known about Sam or his family.
Before he could consider anymore, Sam reached the junction with US Route 1 and the 131, his turning should he wish to use the less obvious circuitous route. He paused at the junction before making a final decision. He floored the accelerator and pushed out of Thomaston and on down the US Route 1. Time was of the essence.
The Avenger looked down on the junction and the clear open countryside ahead. From Rockland to Thomaston, the road had been lined with buildings and homes. After Thomaston, the road cleared and offered little or no cover for Baker, not that he even had hint he needed it. The Avenger was locked on and silently following its target’s every move from over 25,000 feet above him.
“Sir, we’re moving towards open road. The target has remained on US Route 1. Target is locked and weapons are hot.”
Johnson listened as the operator fed him the update. If only Sam had made the turn. It was going to be tricky to time a missile strike and minimize collateral damage. After all, he had promised the Vice President exactly that. However, Sam was a tricky bastard and Johnson knew better than anyone, the first chance they had, may be the only chance. So with little concern for collateral, he barked his orders.
“Fire the first clear shot you get. Just don’t hit a bloody school bus. We clear?”
“Yes Sir,” barked the operator.
The operator looked towards his screen which really wasn’t any different from an arcade game. His target was clearly visible in the middle of the screen and in the top left, he had a range of weapons to select from. However, in this instance, only the AGM114 showed any ammunition. AGM-114 were hellfire missiles, small and extremely accurate laser guide missiles. More than capable of destroying a car and certainly more appropriate than the other far more powerful laser guided bombs compatible with the Avenger. The operator zoomed out and keeping the target dead center, he began to note the area around the target. Release of the weapon to impact would be in the region of 20 seconds. The target’s speed was varying between 50 and 110 mph. Although traffic was light, the variables were mind-blowing. Minimizing collateral was almost impossible, other than if the road were totally clear for a couple of miles around the target which, looking at the flow of traffic, was highly unlikely.
At least the schools were still in he thought, looking at his watch. With a long straight ahead of him and little traffic, the target accelerated again and pushed over 100 mph. Of course, the Avenger had no issue with the target’s speed, nor would the missile which could fly 10 times faster. The issue was that the distance travelled by the target from release to impact doubled. The operator considered his boss’ final words and hit ‘Fire’ — there were no school buses anywhere near!
The missile dropped from its bay and immediately ignited its rocket, dropping and accelerating to its maximum speed of 1.3 Mach, almost 1,000 mph. The laser designator was firmly fixed on the roof of the car. The operator’s view switched from the Avenger to the nose mounted camera on the weapon, a small distance to target tracked down the meters to impact. Switching back to the Avengers view, the operator looked at the road ahead, it was looking good, the only vehicle visible in the distance that was likely to fall within the impact zone was a lone truck. Taking Sam Baker out with just one innocent victim would be a seriously good result.
Sam looked at the long straight ahead and floored the accelerator. The Hemi engine reacted immediately and the car powered to over 100 mph. The early afternoon traffic was light and Sam looked at the clock and wished he could keep up the 120 mph pace he was now setting but there was no way the route would remain this quiet. The I 95 was a main trunk route that fed Boston and New York. However, he would make hay while the sun shone and depressed the accelerator even further, sending another surge to the drive train, increasing the speed to almost 140 mph. Covering over two miles per minute, Sam needed all his wits about him. Cars coming towards him would close at over 200 mph and he could quite easily run into the back of dawdlers travelling in his direction. One such dawdler was dead ahead, having just pulled out from a small side road. Sam was closing fast, travelling at little over 45 mph, Sam guessed the driver of the ageing pick-up was probably in his seventies and was certain would be wearing some sort of head wear. Slow drivers had one thing in common, they always wore a hat, well in Sam’s experience anyway. Sam edged out to see beyond the pick-up and pulled back in sharply. A large truck was bearing down on him. In the blink of an eye, Sam had to make the call, slow and pull in behind the dawdler or accelerate and hopefully just miss the oncoming truck. It would be tight and he would have to be careful. The 300 was fast but only in a straight line. Agility was certainly not its strong point. The road ahead narrowed and disappeared into a wooded area. Being stuck behind the slow moving car was not an option, so Sam floored the accelerator and for the first time, did not feel the surge of the 425 horses. At 140 mph, the car was already pushing towards its limits. Acceleration was now harder to come by. Sam flinched as he noticed the truck bearing towards him. It was going to be closer than he thought. In fact, he may not make it but at the last second, he shot past the pick-up and pulled in ahead of it. Unable not to look, Sam smiled as the old boy with a Stetson who threw him a disapproving look.
That was the last thing he saw before the explosion threw his car clear across the road.
“Direct hit, Sir,” announced the operator as he watched the center of the screen blossom into a fiery red rose indicating impact.
“Whoa!!! Holy shit!” he followed quickly as the initial blossom bloomed and filled the whole screen.
“What?” asked Johnson looking across at the operator’s open mouth. “What the hell just happened?” he asked impatiently as the operator tried to comprehend what had just happened.
“I think, I’m not sure, but that truck may have been a fuel tanker of some type because there was a massive secondary explosion. It certainly wasn’t the hellfire that did that.” He pointed to a massive hole in the ground where the road had been.
“And Baker?”
“No way he survived that. Look, there’s just a hole where the truck, a pick up and his car were.”
“Excellent and we can cover the explosion as a tanker accident. Couldn’t be better, well done. Now get that Avenger out of there before all hell breaks loose and the place is crawling with cops, firemen, news crews and God knows what else.