“I don’t under—”
“Don’t talk. Don’t say another word.”
They sat there waiting, staring at each other, and the only sound in the room was the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. Jennifer tried to read Michael’s eyes, but they were blank, filled with nothing, giving away nothing.
The sudden ringing of the telephone jarred the stillness of the room. Michael picked up the receiver. “Hello?…Are you sure?…All right. Get out of there.” He replaced the receiver and looked up at Jennifer. “The bridge at New Canaan is swarming with cops.”
Jennifer could feel the relief flooding through her body. It became a sense of exhilaration. Michael was watching her and she made an effort not to let her emotions show.
Jennifer asked, “What does that mean?”
Michael said slowly, “Nothing. Because that’s not where Adam Warner is going to die.”
62
The twin bridges of the Garden State Parkway were not named on the map. The Garden State Parkway crossed the Raritan River between the Amboys, splitting into the two bridges, one northbound and the other southbound.
The limousine was just west of Perth Amboy, heading toward the southbound bridge. Adam Warner was seated in back, with a secret service man beside him, and two secret service men in front.
Agent Clay Reddin had been assigned to the senator’s guard detail six months earlier, and he had come to know Adam Warner well. He had always thought of him as an open, accessible man, but all day the senator had been strangely silent and withdrawn. Deeply troubled were the words that came to Agent Reddin. There was no question in his mind but that Senator Warner was going to be the next President of the United States, and it was Reddin’s responsibility to see that nothing happened to him. He reviewed again the precautions that had been taken to safeguard the senator, and he was satisfied that nothing could go wrong.
Agent Reddin glanced again at the probable President-to-be, and wondered what he was thinking.
Adam Warner’s mind was on the ordeal that was confronting him. He had been informed by Di Silva that Jennifer Parker had been arrested. The thought of her being locked away like an animal was anathema to him. His mind kept returning to the wonderful moments they had shared together. He had loved Jennifer as he had never loved another woman.
One of the secret service men in the front seat was saying, “We should be arriving in Atlantic City right on schedule, Mr. President.”
Mr. President. That phrase again. According to all the latest polls, he was far ahead. He was the country’s new folk hero, and Adam knew it was due in no small measure to the crime investigation he had headed, the investigation that would destroy Jennifer Parker.
Adam glanced up and saw that they were approaching the twin bridges. There was a side road just before the bridge and a huge semitrailer truck was stopped at the entrance on the opposite side of the road. As the limousine neared the bridge, the truck started to pull out, so that the two vehicles arrived at the bridge at the same time.
The secret service driver applied his brakes and slowed down. “Look at that idiot.”
The shortwave radio crackled into life. “Beacon One! Come in, Beacon One!”
The agent in the front seat next to the driver picked up the transmitter. “This is Beacon One.”
The large truck was abreast of the limousine now as it started across the span. It was a behemoth, completely blocking out the view on the driver’s side of the car. The limousine driver started to speed up to get ahead of it, but the truck simultaneously increased its speed.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” the driver muttered.
“We’ve had an urgent call from the District Attorney’s office. Fox One is in danger! Do you read me?”
Without warning, the truck veered to the right, hitting the side of the limousine, forcing it against the bridge railing. In seconds, the three secret service men in the car had their guns out.
“Get down!”
Adam found himself pushed down onto the floor, while Agent Reddin shielded Adam’s body. The secret service agents rolled down the windows on the left side of the limousine, guns pointed. There was nothing at which to shoot. The side of the huge semitrailer blotted out everything. The driver was up ahead, out of sight. There was another jolt and a grinding crash as the limousine was knocked into the railing again. The driver swung the wheel to the left, fighting to keep the car on the bridge, but the truck kept forcing him back. The cold Raritan River swirled two hundred feet below them.