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“Repeat what I just said.”
“You are going to help me. I will not shoot you with my gun. Here, here . . . I will drop it out the window.”
Sam walked to the rear of the car and peeked around the bumper so he could see the driver’s door. A hand holding a revolver appeared through the open window. The revolver dropped through the gap and tumbled into the mist below. Sam walked back to the passenger door.
“Okay, hang on.”
He uncoiled the paracord, doubled it up, knotted the loose ends together, then tied square knots at three-foot intervals down its length. Once done, he gave the bridge’s side railing a test tug, then tossed one end of the paracord through the passenger window.
“When I say go, I’m going to pull, and you’re going to climb. Understand?”
“I understand. I will climb.”
Sam looped his end of the paracord around one of the posts, gripped it with both hands, then called, “Go!,” and started pulling. The car began rocking and groaning. Wood splintered. “Keep climbing!” Sam ordered.
A pair of black hands appeared through the passenger window, followed by a head and face.
The Passat lurched sideways and slipped a foot. Glass shattered.
“Faster!” Sam yelled. “Climb! Now!”
Sam gave the paracord one last heave, and the cop came tumbling out the window. He landed in a heap, his torso lying across the plank, his legs dangling in space. Sam leaned forward, grabbed his coll
ar, and dragged him forward. With a series of overlapping pops and cracks, the crossbeam gave way, and the Passat slid through the gap and disappeared from view. A moment later, Sam heard a massive splash.
Panting, the man rolled onto his back and looked up at Sam. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He began coiling the paracord. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t offer you a ride.”
The cop nodded.
“Why were you following us?”
“I do not know. We were given an alert from the district commander. That is all I know.”
“How far did this alert go?”
“Antananarivo and outlying communities.”
“When did you last report in?”
“When I realized you had turned onto this road.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing,” the cop said.
“Are there any main roads ahead that come from the north?”
The cop thought for a moment. “Asphalt roads? Yes . . . three before the main road west to Tsiafahy.”
“Do you have a cell phone?” Sam asked.
“It was in the car.”
Sam said nothing, continued to stare at the cop.
“I am telling the truth.” The cop patted his front pockets, rolled over, did the same to his back pockets. “It is gone.”
