The secret service agent next to the driver had grabbed his radio microphone and was calling wildly into it, “This is Beacon One! Mayday! Mayday! Come in all units!”
But everyone in the limousine knew that it was too late for anyone to save them. The driver tried to stop the car, but the truck’s huge fenders were locked into it, sweeping the limousine along. It was only a matter of seconds before the huge truck would edge them over the side of the bridge. The agent driving the car tried evasive tactics, alternately using the brake and the accelerator to slow down and speed up, but the truck had the car cruelly pinned against the bridge railing. There was no room for the car to maneuver. The truck blocked off any escape on the left side, and on the right side the limousine was being pushed against the iron railing of the bridge. The agent fought the wheel desperately as the truck pressed hard into the limousine once again, and everyone in the car could feel the bridge railing start to give way.
The truck was jamming harder now, forcing the limousine over the side. Those in the car could feel the sudden list as the front wheels broke through the railing and went over the edge of the bridge. The car was teetering on the brink and each man, in his own way, prepared to die.
Adam felt no fear, only an ineffable sadness at the loss, the waste. It was Jennifer he should have shared his life with, had children with—and suddenly Adam knew, from somewhere deep within himself, that they had had a child.
The limousine gave another lurch and Adam cried out once aloud at the injustice of what had happened, what was happening.
From overhead came the roar of two police helicopters as they swooped down out of the sky, and a moment later there was the sound of machine guns. The semitrailer lurched and all motion suddenly stopped. Adam and the others could hear the helicopters circling overhead. The men remained motionless, knowing that the slightest movement could send the car over the bridge, into the waters below.
There was the distant scream of police sirens drawing nearer, and a few minutes later the sound of voices barking out commands. The engine of the truck roared into life again. Slowly, carefully, the truck moved, inching away from the trapped car, removing the pressure against it. The limousine tilted for one terrible instant, and then was still. A moment later, the truck had been backed out of the way and Adam and the others could see out of the left-hand windows.
There were half a dozen squad cars and uniformed policemen with drawn guns swarming over the bridge.
A police captain was at the side of the battered car.
“We’ll never get the doors open,” he said. “We’re going to bring you out through the windows—real easy.”
Adam was lifted out of the window first, slowly and carefully, so as not to upset the balance of the car and send it over the side. The three secret service men were next.
When all the men had been removed from the car, the police captain turned to Adam and asked, “Are you all right, sir?”
Adam turned to look at the car hanging over the edge of the bridge, and then at the dark water of the river far below.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Michael Moretti glanced up at the clock on the wall. “It’s all over.” He turned to face Jennifer. “Your boyfriend’s in the river by now.”
She was watching him, her face pale. “You can’t—”
“Don’t worry. You’re going to have a fair trial.” He turned to Gino Gallo. “Did you tell her that Adam Warner was going to be blown away in New Canaan?”
“Just like you told me, boss.”
Michael looked at Jennifer. “The trial’s over.”
He rose to his feet and walked over to where Jennifer was sitting. He grabbed her blouse and pulled her to her feet.
“I loved you,” he whispered. He hit her hard across the face. Jennifer did not flinch. He hit her again, harder, then a third time, and she fell to the floor.