1993 BMW M5

“They’re on the move,” Blaine called over the radio, the faint sound of rotor-chop in the background.  Colby double-clicked in response.  His brother was in a police helicopter on the far side of the land bridge; he was in a police car at the other end.  There were other cop cars here as well; with the chaos of the long pursuit, many departments had gotten involved and that none of the real cops knew him wasn’t cause for concern.  The car was a BMW this time.  The driver they’d hired had insisted.  Lexi had outdriven them twice, and this time they weren’t taking chances.  The driver, Wire, was a young, spike-haired New Zealander with big, gaudy red-framed glasses and a penchant for heavy metal, but he came highly recommended.  So long as the radio stayed off, Colby didn’t mind being stuck with him.

Colby had been filled in about the parade of bikers when the rest of the police had.  There was quite a bit of debate among the cops as to how to proceed; they had little more than half an hour to revise their bridge-blocking plan and separate the cars they were after from the protective herd of motorcycles and civilians.  

Rolling the window up, Colby nudged Wire.  “It doesn’t matter what they do,” he said.  “She’s going to outrun them regardless.”

“You think that pack of bikes is going to work?”

“Of course it will.  The freeways and land bridges are privately maintained, and the company that owns this bridge has already refused to allow the government to block it.  They don’t want to upset the public–their customers.”

Wire nodded.  He seemed only half-interested in what was going on around him when the car wasn’t running, and was just waiting to hear what he had to do.

“Anyway, we’re going to stick with her.”

“She’s driving the Alfa?”

Colby nodded.  “Will you be able to keep up?”

“Why do you think I insisted on the 540?” he asked, referring to their car and clearly amazed that Colby had even needed to ask.  

“Good.  We’re going to stay with her, and make sure she heads toward Pimpton instead of Woodford, once we’re over the mountains.”

“Fair enough. What then?”

“Out into the desert.  I’ll show you the road, if we get that far.  She might even find it herself.”

“And then you’ll use that AK-47 you’ve got in the back seat, I take it?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Colby said absently.  He intended to shoot Lexi at the first opportunity, actually.  If it was before they reached their destination, he could drive the Alfa the rest of the way there.  In the salt desert outside Pimpton, there was an abandoned amusement park called Pirate’s Nest.  The only things out there were defunct rides, battered pavilions and a backhoe that had been parked there since this morning.  Blaine and Colby intended to dispose of both Lexi and her car somewhere in Pirate’s Nest.  With all of the attention given to the chase, even an “accidental” shooting would attract a great deal of controversy and skepticism.  It was best for Lexi to just vanish into the desert.  It happened frequently in Ile du Soleil.  Blaine had already picked out a spot underneath a merry-go-round; if they dragged the ride out of the way, buried the car and its driver, then put the ride back, Lexi wouldn’t be found until urban sprawl finally closed the twenty miles between Pimpton and the dead amusement park, if then.

Wire didn’t need to know any of this, of course.  Between himself, his brother and the helicopter pilot, Colby figured there were too many eyes on this caper already.  Wire knew what he needed to; no matter how discreet he reportedly was, the sooner he was back in New Zealand with no record of ever having passed through Ile du Soleil, the better.