Redhead Meets Redneck: First Date (12 page)

Laura sat a little straighter in her seat.

“
Laura.” William handed her his SAT phone. “Push the recall button and dial the last number. We need to talk to General Thompson. Put him on the speaker phone.”

Laura fumbled with the buttons, and finally William could hear the
general’s number dialing.

“General Thompson.”

“General, this is William. We have a change of plans.”

“Are you al
l right? How is Laura?”

“We
’re both fine, but we were attacked by terrorists at my hunting lodge. They’d planted a tracking device on Laura, but we found it and trashed it. Now we’re on our way to my sailboat where we can hide for a while.”

“Those terrorists, they just
won’t leave innocent people alone. Do you want the extraction team to pick you up at your boat?”

“Yes
. It’ll take us awhile to get there. It’s at the Potomac Marina, slip number 226. I’ll call you when we get there.”

“Fine, I
’ll let the extraction team know about the change in plans. Laura, are you okay?”

Another
tear streamed down her cheek.

“Yes, sir, I
’m fine.” Her voice was weak.

“Laura, believe me when I say I
’ll get you out of this situation. My extraction team has done this hundreds of times, and they’re the best.”

“Thank you
, sir.”

“William, keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Laura pressed the off button and l
ooked at William just as several more tears streamed down her cheek. “I don’t think I can stand this much longer.”

William reached over and grasped Laura’s hand. She squeezed it tightly and slid over to his side. She wrapped her other hand around his muscular arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Will it be over soon?”

“Yes, as soon as we get to my boat.”

***

“Hamid
, we have a problem. I need more information about Ms. Richardson’s boyfriend. Where would he hide if he was on the run?”

“Well, maybe, he might—”

“Stop mumbling and get to the point!”

“His checkbook says that he pays dues to a marina on the Potomac River
. It’s slip 226.”

“Good. Get me the address, immediately!”

William had been watching his rear view mirror for the last
forty-five minutes. He had been making occasional zigzags and U-turns in hopes of revealing any terrorists that were following them.

“Laura, wake up.” Laura’s head rose from William’s shoulder with a start.

“What’s wrong.”

“We’re being followed.”

“Are you sure?”

“A big yellow
delivery truck with ‘Flowers For Her’ printed on the side has made every U-turn I made.”

“ ‘Flowers For Her’? That’s not a problem
. They’re the good guys. I mean, they don’t go around killing people.”

“What do you know about them?”

“Oh, not much. I just know that they certainly don’t work for the terrorists.”

“We don’t have time for cat and mouse
. What do you know about this big yellow delivery truck?”

Laura sank down into her se
at, crossed her arms tightly. “If I tell you anymore, I could be imprisoned, or fined ten thousand dollars.”

“And if you don’t tell me more, you and I are both going to die.”

“Well, since you put it like that.” Laura uncrossed her arms. “The CIA operates a messenger service for its field agents using a flower delivery service. They deliver flowers with—”

“With secret messages embedded in the card that’s attached to the flowers. Okay, I understand. I suppose they make deliveries to Langley?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s probably how they got the GPS tracker into your purse. They must
’ve snuck it in while making deliveries to an office near yours.”

“They have full access to the building. We get used to seeing them and don’t even think about their presence.”

“We’ll have to let the general know about that. Right now we need to lose the big yellow truck.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Let me think about it for a little bit.”

William pressed the accelerator and speeded up. He looked in the rear-view mirror and noticed the yellow truck did the same.

***

Laura looked at the speedometer. Seventy miles per hour was slow compared to what William had been driving earlier. Maybe he was slowing down because the traffic was getting busy.  The road twisted and turned and climbed as they drove through the mountain-filled terrain. Looking at William, she noticed that he was squinting, as if looking in the far distance.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a hiding place. We need a plan to lose your friends before we get to my boat.”

Laura wanted to ask more about his “plan
,” but she was too tired, physically and emotionally, to pursue the conversation. She slouched into her seat, wishing that this whole terrorist mess would come to an end soon.

All of a sudden, the truck lurched as William slammed the accelerator to the floor. Laura
looked for something to hold on to.

“What’s happening?”

“I think I found our hiding place. It’s on the other side of this valley.”

William’s truck whizzed past cars as the distance between them and the yellow truck began to grow.
Laura glanced back at the yellow truck and noticed that the distance between them had grown enough that when they went around a curve, she couldn’t see the delivery truck.

Several more curves down the road
, William shouted, “There it is.” He pointed to a small church on the side of the road with a bunch of motorcycles parked in front.

Laura studied the small weathered building. It had a steeple like a church, but the paint was peeling, and no cars were visible in the parking lot, just
motorcycles. She wondered what this strange place had to do with their hideout.

“We’re not going inside that place
, are we?”

William pulled into the parking lot of the church. “They
’ll never look for us here.” He pulled around to the back of the church and parked by a dumpster that blocked the view of the truck from the road. Hopping out, he said, “Hurry, we need to get inside before they see us.”

Laura hopped out of the truck
and heard the sound of people singing hymns in the church.  William came around to her side, grabbed her hand firmly, and pulled her towards the front of the church. Approaching the front door, she saw a big guy sitting on a chair by the front door, wearing a bandana, with tattoos covering his arms, neck, and head. He appeared to be quietly humming or singing between drags on a cigarette. A bulge under his shirt, just above his belt, looked like it could be a gun.

“
You mind if we join you for worship?” William said.

“Nope, everyone is welcome here. Don’t matter none whether
you got a bike or not.”

“My fl
athead twelve hundred is gettin the jugs bored out, gotta git a bit more power, if you know what I mean.” William’s voice had a noticeably stronger southern accent.

“Sweet
. Couple of the boys inside done that too. Said it was definitely worth the money.”

“Hey, we got a few fri
ends in a yellow truck that came down from New York, and they don’t have to know that we’re here, if you know what I mean.”

“Mm
.” The tattooed man looked at William, then he looked at Laura up and down.

“Nobody’s going to bother
you while you’re here.” Mr. Tattoo rested his hand on the bulge under his shirt and a thin smile appeared on his face as he nodded.

“Thanks for understanding.” William quickly pulled Laura into the front door.

Inside the church Laura saw a mixture
of men and women, all wearing biker jackets or leathers, singing the words to a familiar song:

When we've been here ten thousand years..
.



Bright
shining as the sun
.



We've no less days to sing God's praise..
.



Then
when we've first begun.

William pulled her to a far corner in the back of the church next to a window. He motioned for her to slide into an aisle by the window. He kept glancing out the window as the bikers finished the song.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
,



That saved a wretch like me...
.



I once was lost but now am found
,



Was blind, but now, I see.

The song ended and a man with jeans and a denim jacket stood and walked
to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this morning. It’s our privilege this morning to be in the presence of the Lord, and some visitors. Please, after the service, say hello to the two new people on the back row.”

Everyone turned and looked at Laura and William.

Laura sank down into her seat, and swallowed, hard.

The Reverend
Biker began preaching a sermon:

“Today’s message is from Romans chapter 3, verse 23. For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

Laura looked at the back of the lady in front of her. Her summer top was cut low in the back, revealing a tattoo of a large wooden cross that stretched from one shoulder to the other, and from her neck to her waist.

The man next to her
wore jeans and a denim jacket with the words
Bikers For Christ
sewn into the back. Next to him was a boy in his teens with long hair and a denim jacket that also read
Bikers For Christ.

“Y’all may think that you are a pretty good person,

but God do
esn’t think like that.”

Two rows in front of Laura stood a young woman with leather pants and hair that was braided to below her waist. She wore a denim jacket that read
Fellowship Riders
. Next to her was an old man with gray hair that stuck out from a blue and white bandana that wrapped tightly around his head.

“There is no difference between y’all and me.

I’m
just as bad a person as y’all,

and we’re just as bad as a convict in prison.

In fact, some of us done time in the big house.”

Laura watched the people to her left and right. Their eyes were glued on the Reverend Biker. They didn’t move, they barely blinked.

“Our self-centered nature has drawn us away from God and His glory. He alone is worthy of His glory. Our best is vile in God’s eyes.”

Laura looked at William. His eyes were fixed on the Reverend Biker. She reached out and grasped his hand. William squeezed her hand, but kept his eyes fixed on the preacher.

After a few minutes
, William’s head turned and looked out the window. Laura saw him frown, and she turned in time to see the yellow truck drive through the parking lot. It stopped in front of the biker who was watching the motorcycles. Mr. Tattoo stood and walked to the truck. He hopped onto the running board and leaned into the cab of the truck.  She could see him conversing with the driver, and they appeared to be arguing. Mr. Tattoo started pointing to the church with his finger. Then he raised his fist to the driver. The driver appeared to be yelling at him. Mr. Tattoo’s hand reached down and landed on the bulge under his shirt. The driver looked and must have realized what was under his shirt because he stopped yelling and just stared at the biker’s hand. Slowly the biker stepped off the running board and waved the driver away with is hand.  The truck slowly pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the road.

Laura noticed that William’s focus had returned to the preacher. 
Why wasn’t he looking out the window any more? The terrorists might return. Maybe they would come back with some more terrorists. Maybe they would bring guns and bombs with them. Maybe—

William leaned back in his chair and put his arm around Laura, squeezing her gently as if to say that everything was going to be
all right. His gaze remained fixed on the preacher.