Poseidon's Arrow

“I think we’re out of danger and into trouble,” Summer said, noting the lights behind.

Dirk tightened his grip on the wheel as the roadster bounded over the uneven surface. He followed the van along the walkway until it dropped off a curb into the parking lot of a student dormitory. Just ahead, two freshmen were smuggling a beer keg into the building when the van charged at them. The students dove for safety as the van sped by, just clipping the keg.

The aluminum keg skittered across the parking lot and bounced off a retaining wall. A short distance behind, Dirk braked hard but couldn’t avoid the keg. The front bumper caught it first, gouging a hole in the aluminum before the right fender knocked the keg aside. The shaken beer exploded in a foamy fountain that doused the side of the car—and Summer inside.

“Dad’s not going to like that,” Dirk said.

She wiped the suds from her face. “You’re right, he won’t. It’s light beer.”

The van and the Packard accelerated through the parking lot, pushed faster by the pursuing patrol car. The van skidded out of the parking lot and onto a cross street. Unable to decide which way to turn, the driver went straight, bouncing onto a sloping gravel road that stretched ahead. The road dipped down a small hill and turned onto the university’s football field. In the middle of a practice, the men’s lacrosse team was forced to scatter as the van bounded across the artificial turf.

Seeing the old Packard and the police in pursuit, several players fired lacrosse balls at the van, ringing its side with dents. A few took aim at the Packard until they were disarmed by a wave and smile from the beer-drenched Summer.

The van opened a sizable gap on the Packard as it sped off the opposite side of the field and passed through an open gate. The driver turned left on the facing street, following a sign that directed them toward the university’s exit on Canal Road. “C’mon, we can lose them,” the van’s passenger said.

Fifty yards behind, Dirk heard a similar appeal from Summer. “Don’t lose them, I still haven’t gotten the full plate number.”

Dirk turned onto the road in pursuit, but had to slow for a trio of coeds crossing the street to a te

The road curved past another residence hall before descending a landscaped hill out of campus. Dirk saw the van accelerate sharply down the hill and he tried to keep pace. At the bottom of the hill, a stoplight marked the intersection with Canal Road, a busy thoroughfare that fed into suburban Maryland.

The light was green, and Dirk feared it would change before he drew close. Then it flashed to yellow, and he knew the van would have to stop.

Only it didn’t.

With the van’s passenger urging him on, the driver floored the gas when the light turned yellow. The van was still fifty feet from the intersection when the light turned red. Remarkably, the stopped cross traffic hesitated, perhaps detecting the bouncing rays of the van’s headlights as it roared down the hill.

Charging into the intersection at better than seventy miles an hour, the van crossed the near lanes of traffic and attempted to turn left into the far lanes. But its speed was far too great, and the panicked driver slammed on the brakes, sending the van into a skid. It slid across the asphalt until its right front tire kissed the curb. The tire burst, but the van kept moving, hopping the curb and plowing into a low retaining wall, the front fender buckling as the rear wheels bounded into and over the curb. The combined forces flipped the van onto its side atop the retaining wall. It slid a few feet, then tumbled over the wall, splashing roof first into the road’s namesake, the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, flowing just beyond.

Dirk skidded the Packard to a halt before the stoplight and raced across the street, with Summer ru

Dirk slipped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. “I’ll try and get them out,” he said. “See if you can get the campus police to help.”

He jumped into the canal and swam to the van, diving along the passenger door. The glowing headlights turned the water’s visibility from zero to next to nothing, and he had to find the open window frame by touch. The frame height was barely a foot high, telling him the roof had collapsed at impact. It didn’t bode well for the occupants.

Reaching inside the open window, he felt a lifeless body strapped in the seat. Groping blindly, he found the buckle release and freed the seat belt. The body dropped loosely, and he pulled on the victim’s shoulders, dragging him through the narrow window.

Dirk shot to the surface, gasping for air, as he pulled the head and torso free of the water. A bright flashlight beam, aimed by the campus policeman, shined on the victim, and Dirk knew he had wasted his time. The passenger’s head tilted at a grotesque angle, his neck broken.

Dirk pulled the body to the bank and called up to the policeman. “Give me your light.”

He passed Dirk the light as he reached out to help pull the body ashore. Dirk swam to the van’s other side and dove once more. With the flashlight, he could now see the driver was also dead, his torso pi

Though ru

Pushing off from the door, he swam to the back of the van and checked its license plate before popping to the surface. He stroked to the bank, where Summer helped him up the incline.

“No luck with the other one?”

“No, he’s dead, too.”

“I’ve got paramedics on the way,” the policeman said. His inexperience with fatalities was betrayed by a pale face. He regained his composure but spoke with a forced tone of authority. “Who are those people? And why were you chasing them?”

“I don’t know who they are, but they stole something from us.”

“They get your money? Or was it jewelry or electronics?”

“No,” Dirk replied, looking at the dead man. “It was our words.”

55

IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN DIRK AND SUMMER staggered back into the NUMA computer center. Gu

“I didn’t realize you were taking time for a seven-course meal,” Gu

Summer related the series of events, including a two-hour interrogation by the District of Columbia police.

“Any idea who would have tailed you?” Yaeger asked.

“None,” Dirk said. “I suspect it may have something to do with Dad.”

“Could be,” Gu

Summer handed Yaeger a slip of paper. “Here’s the van’s license number. The police wouldn’t tell us, but maybe you can identify the owner.”

“With ease,” Yaeger said.

“How’re things progressing with the Adelaide?” Dirk asked.

“Not well,” Gu