Page 7 of Destroyer
That was close.
As he drove past the police, who’d pulled the speeder over, Teddy’s phone beeped. Farquin was back online, still heading north on State Road 79.
Teddy hit the accelerator. The farther north he drove, the more rural the two-lane road became. Up ahead loomed a lone vehicle. As he raced closer, he confirmed the car as the one from the home improvement store.
BANG!
A bullet pierced his windshield on the passenger side. The terrorist was firing from inside his vehicle.
Wrong choice, asshole.
Instead of slowing down, Teddy increased his speed and caught up to Farquin. He then made like was going to pass him, but instead he veered right and tapped the other vehicle’s left rear fender. Farquin’s car spun two hundred and seventy degrees, flipped, then rolled twice, ending up on the embankment.
Teddy glanced in the rearview mirror. They were alone. He slammed on the brakes, drove onto the shoulder, made a hard U and floored it, coming to an abrupt stop behind the wrecked car.
The road was pitch dark, not a car coming in either direction. Rather than shine his lights on the other car, he killed them, grabbed his helmet, and pushed out of the vehicle. After strapping it on, he lowered the goggles before pulling his weapon.
He’d been chasing ghosts, eager to get his hands on a Haqazzii terrorist. His patience was about to pay off, and he could not fucking wait.
Glock drawn, he approached the vehicle with caution. The airbag had deployed, Farquin was slumped over the steering wheel, not moving. Teddy opened the passenger door.
“Hey, asshole, you alive?” Teddy ground out.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Farquin hissed as he opened the driver’s side door.
Teddy strode around the car as Farquin struggled to unbuckle. As soon as he did, he pushed out of the vehicle.
“Arms up,” Teddy commanded, his Glock drawn.
Farquin’s lips split into a crazed smile. “Fuck you, American,” he said as he pulled a handgun.
BANG! BANG!
Teddy shot him in the guts.
“AAAAIIIIIEEEEE, FUCK!” Farquin reared back, blood darkening his shirt.
Teddy shoved him onto the grassy area. Stumbling backward, Farquin fell. The second he hit the ground, Teddy grabbed his weapon.
“Last chance,” Teddy growled. “Where. Is. Muhammed?”
Farquin pressed his hand against his bloodied midsection. “I know who you are.”
Teddy didn’t give a fuck.
“Get me an ambulance,” Farquin hissed.
“Where’s the terror cell?”
“Not here.”
“Three,” Teddy growled.
“They’re going to finish the job,” Farquin hissed.
“Of blowing up federal buildings? Epic fail.”
“Something else.”
