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The Gray Ghost increased speed, Sam popped the clutch into second and cruised into the street, gaining speed, putting distance between them and the warehouse. A silver sedan pulled up, the men jumped in, the sedan’s tires burning rubber as they sped after the Ghost. Sam pressed the Rolls as fast as he dared, hitting the horn as a forklift came whipping down a truck ramp. It stopped, the driver stunned to see the antique car zipping past.
“They’re on our tail!” Remi said.
Sam glanced back. “I get the feeling they’re under orders to preserve the car.”
“No wonder. That’s definitely Oren with them.”
Sam shifted into third and stepped on the gas.
“Slight problem . . .”
The Ghost didn’t respond. It gave one last cough, then died.
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Remi gripped her pistol, looking around for help, as Sam tried to restart the Ghost as it rolled to a stop in front of one of the many warehouses on the street. It was closed.
She aimed at Oren’s car, pulling up behind them. “Let’s hope he was serious about not shooting at the Ghost.”
“That won’t keep them from dragging us out of it,” Sam said.
“They’re going to have to get close enough to do it,” she replied, finger on the trigger.
Oren’s car suddenly slowed, tires screeching as the vehicle came to a stop, shifted into reverse, then started forward again, making a sudden left turn, engine roaring as it raced off.
“Police,” Sam said, as the smell of burnt rubber drifted toward them. He put his hand on her gun, pulling it down, out of sight.
Remi turned, saw a patrol car speeding toward them. “Just when things were starting to get fun,” she said, holstering her gun and pulling her jacket closed.
* * *
—
THE FIRST THING they did was call Selma with the news that they’d recovered the Gray Ghost. As soon as they finished giving their statements to the investigators at the police station, they called again with an update.
“Any word from Oliver and Chad?” Sam asked.
“About an hour ago, Mr. Fargo,” Selma replied. “Oliver was ecstatic to hear the news. They should reach Manchester this evening.”
“Good to hear. How’s the financial end of things looking?”
“We’re making progress. The FBI’s actually taking the case on, with their cybersecurity division helping to coordinate with the UK agencies.”
“I meant short-term,” Sam clarified, as he and Remi walked outside the station. “As in we’ll be lucky to have train fare to Payton Manor.”
“There should be a car waiting for you. A black Mercedes.”
He looked around the lot and saw the vehicle, which had been idling, was now headed toward them. “Love the efficiency, but how do we know he’s not one of Oren’s men?”
“Unless Oren managed to get to your personal banker, you should be in the clear. His nephew works in their London office. I think you met him at one of your fund-raisers last year.”
The Mercedes stopped a few feet away, and a short man, early forties, got out of the front seat, looking at them over the roof of the car. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo. Good to see you again.”
Sam recognized Geoffrey Russell. “Efficient as ever, Selma. We’ll be in touch, once we hear from Oliver and Chad.”
Geoffrey smiled as he opened the car door for them. “I hope you’ll forgive my delay in getting here, but Miss Wondrash wanted to make sure that your crew was taken care of and the jet released. It’s still a tangled mess. A few last-minute details with the Italian government, but nothing to worry about. The only issue is, we’ll need to sit down, look over some legal documents, sign them, and—”
Sam’s cell phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he said. “Oliver. You heard the news?”
