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She crossed the Golden Gate Bridge for the second time in an hour. The oncoming traffic on the northbound side of the bridge was still jammed up, a testament to her earlier trip. She saw several tow trucks weaving through the chaos. It looked like the police had managed to open one lane for traffic to squeeze through. Those folks did not look happy.

As she approached the south end of the bridge, Sara saw several SFPD and Highway Patrol cars waiting for her on the far side of the toll plaza. The FasTrak lanes were wide open. They were there to allow people with bridge passes to drive through unhindered, without stopping to pay the toll. Ironically, Sara didn’t even know what had happened to her pass. Driving through without it was almost certain to land her in jail. That was the least of her worries at the moment.

Sara merged over to the inside lane and flew through. Instantly, the other cops pounced. Sara counted four cars piling up behind her and saw three more approaching with their lights flashing. They pulled u-turns and joined the chase when they saw her pass.

The few civilian vehicles that separated Sara from her pursuers quickly pulled off to the shoulder. The cops never left her tail. Sara couldn’t shake them. The best she could do was try and stay ahead. Fortunately, the Roadrunner was built for the chore.

She sped through traffic, flying around the slow moving cars like they were standing still. Every time a cruiser got close enough to pass her, Sara smashed the accelerator into the floor and lunged back and forth between the lanes. She was not going to let them cut her off. She knew that if they got the chance, the cops would surround her and force her off the road.

Sara had nine cars on her tail at this point. There were probably dozens more headed in her direction. She merged right onto Highway 1 and headed for Golden Gate Park. She didn’t have any destination in mind. She just hoped that the change in course would buy her some extra time to come up with a plan.

On the approach to the MacArthur Tunnel, all of the squad cars pulled back except for one. Sara could sense something about to happen. She had a bad feeling about it. She reached down to make sure her seatbelt was tight. A moment later, Sara found out she was right. The cop rammed her.

Sara had seen the maneuver on television before, but had never paid much attention until it happened to her. She later learned that it was called the PIT maneuver, or Parallel Intervention Technique. The squad car nudged Sara’s Roadrunner on the rear quarter, just forward of the bumper, trying to loosen the rear tires’ grip on the road. Had it worked, Sara would have spun out sideways, allowing the cop to ram her. Only it didn’t work. Sara’s aging muscle car was built just as sturdily as the squad car, if not more so. They were almost exactly the same size in weight and dimensions, and the Roadrunner had the advantage of being made from stronger stuff. The frame and body panels were heavier, higher quality steel. The result was that the squad car bounced back from the impact, and his front tires lost their grip. He spun out and slammed into the meridian. Meanwhile, the impact drove Sara to the right, and into the outside lane.

Sara swerved to miss a car as she plunged into the darkness of the MacArthur tunnel with eight screaming squad cars on her tail. She passed two pedestrian vehicles before emerging on the far side. The police followed her path, slowing slightly as they eased around the civilians, and then pounced right back into the chase. Then the tunnel ended. Sara blinked as she exploded back into daylight.

The road was clear. Sara knew they were going to try to ram her again if she gave them a chance, so she floored it. It was a long shot, but she was going to do her best to outrun them. She sped into the corner around Mountain Lake doing one-twenty. She couldn’t even see the water through the dense trees at the left side of the road. She was halfway around the long, arcing corner when she saw the roadblock ahead.

The SFPD had three squad cars lined end-to-end across the road. Two more lurked just behind them, to make sure she didn’t ram through. There was a narrow strip of pavement open on the inside shoulder. That was where the cops had been letting traffic pass. As Sara appeared, one of the officers jumped into a squad car and eased forward to block off the opening. She aimed for the gap but quickly realized she wasn’t going to make it. She slammed on the brakes and began to careen sideways.

The two squad cars behind her were following too closely. Perhaps they hadn’t realized the roadblock was so near, or maybe they were too caught up in the chase. As Sara’s tires locked up, her front end veered to the right and her rear-end went into a slide. That was where the first squad car hit her. The impact slammed Sara forward, and forced the Roadrunner to go into a spin.

The squad car twisted to the right, towards the outside shoulder, and began to roll. The cops behind the barrier ran for the safety of the trees. Sara immediately felt the impact of a second car. It slammed into her going over one hundred miles per hour. The impact hammered the Roadrunner into the short concrete meridian at an odd angle. It caught the front end, and the inertia threw her into the air. As Sara felt herself hurtling skywards, the next squad car rammed the barrier and flipped end over end. The car’s rear end slammed into the Roadrunner in midair, like a baseball bat striking a ball. The trunk of the car slammed into the passenger side of the Roadrunner and sent Sara hurtling across the oncoming lanes.

The Roadrunner was upside down now, rotating slightly as it crossed the freeway and tore through the treetops on the far embankment. Sara’s adrenaline rushed, and time stopped. She glanced out the side window and saw the face of one of the cops as his car flipped through the air. The squad car landed roof-down in the center of oncoming traffic.

Sara saw treetops, and then water. It was vivid. She saw the darkening sky and the patchy clouds reflected in a million facets on the surface of the lake. She saw the trees at the edge of the road and the distant buildings on the far side of the water. Everything was crystal clear, and in perfect slow motion. Then the moment passed, and the Roadrunner plunged into the lake.

The water saved Sara’s life. If she had landed in the trees or on the highway, she would have been dead. Only by the sheerest improbable luck did she manage to make it all the way to the water. The car was still upside-down when it slammed into the waves. The choppy surface resisted the car’s forward inertia, pulling against the broad surface of the roof and the hood. As a result, the Roadrunner rolled onto its side as it slid below the surface.

Somehow, Sara had the presence of mind to take off her seat belt. She took a deep breath and rolled the window down. She braced herself as the icy water cascaded over her, forcing her back into the car. The current held her trapped for a few moments, pressed up against the dash with her feet standing on the passenger door. Sara panicked as the car plummeted into the inky depths, dragging her along with it. She clawed at the seat and the dash.

Then, as the Roadrunner’s interior filled with water and depressurized, Sara found herself sliding towards the open window. She twisted around the steering wheel, pressed forward by kicking against the dash, and shot out.

As Sara kicked away, the Roadrunner disappeared into the murky waters below. She surfaced long enough to get her bearings and a few quick breaths. Then she swam underwater in the opposite direction for as long as she could, until it felt like her lungs would explode. When she finally surfaced, she took two deep gasping breaths and quickly submerged again.

The adrenaline was working its magic. Sara made it farther and faster than she ever would have dreamed. The next thing she knew, she was on the far side of the lake. She emerged from the icy waters and climbed up the shallow embankment, gasping and heaving, her clothes dripping and heavy.

Sara’s lungs were on fire and her arms and legs tingled with numbness. She glanced back and saw a number of people running back and forth along the far embankment, both uniformed and civilian. They didn’t seem to see her. She turned away and disappeared under the shadows of the trees.

Chapter 17

“This doesn’t make sense,” Brandy mumbled. She was riding shotgun with Lee because he’d convinced her that his car was more comfortable. He was right. Her car was a piece of crap. Lee’s leather upholstery and power windows made Brandy jealous in a way she wasn’t comfortable talking about.

“What’s that?” Lee said.

“Murphy’s address. It’s not what I was expecting. Mill Valley is one of the most expensive and prestigious neighborhoods in northern California. Look at this:
three bedroom, one bath, asking price one-point-five million.
”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, according to what your team dug up, Murphy’s got a long list of criminal violations and possible connections to a couple terrorist organizations. I don’t know if she’s a pro or not, but this doesn’t sound like her type of neighborhood. She doesn’t strike me as the suburban type.”

“You’re reading a lot into this,” Lee said. “We can’t assume that everything we’ve heard is accurate. Take out the terrorist aspect and what’ve you got? A common criminal. Believe me, crazy comes in every tax bracket. She doesn’t have to be a professional assassin to know how to use a sniper rifle. This country’s full of whack-jobs looking to take out a celebrity.”

“Maybe,” Brandy said, “but something’s not clicking.”

Brandy had been trying to profile Murphy, and she’d had two possibilities in mind. The first was that Sara was a psychotic of some sort. That fit well with her criminal record, and Brandy wouldn’t have been surprised to find out Sara had a history of mental illness. This theory fit right into Lee’s assessment of the situation.

The second possibility was that Sara Murphy was a professional, probably ex-military, who had been hired for the job. It didn’t seem very likely, but how else could there be a connection between the Bay Bridge murder and the Fortress assassination? Plus, there
were
possible terrorist ties in Sara’s background.

Neither theory left room for the possibility that Sara was an affluent yuppie with a home in Mill Valley. It just didn’t make sense.

It was Lee’s opinion that Sara Murphy was just an obsessed fan. Judging by Sara’s neighborhood that would have made sense, but that was the only way it did. The problem with Lee’s theory was that Sara’s criminal record was way beyond the norm, even for an obsessive fan. People who stalked celebrities didn’t have connections to the IRA. They weren’t wanted overseas for acts of terrorism. If Lee’s theory was right, Sara should have had a record of mental illness and institutionalization. That was not the case. There were too many things about Sara Murphy that just weren’t adding up.

Brandy kept her thoughts to herself as they rolled into town. She didn’t feel like arguing with Lee and she knew it wouldn’t prove anything anyway. Until they had some more evidence, everything was just conjecture. Besides, she already knew where he stood on the subject. Lee was getting pressure from high up to close the case and be done with it. Plus, there was a golf tournament Saturday morning. The man had to keep his priorities in line.

If he could, Lee would put Sara Murphy behind bars and sort out the facts later. He’d get his case wrapped up, he’d look good to his superiors, and even get to play his golf game. Brandy had to admit his philosophy had a certain appeal. It probably explained why he’d been so successful in his career.

They converged quietly on Sara’s neighborhood. They didn’t want to risk scaring her off by arriving en masse with sirens blaring. Instead, they moved in covertly, with a team of ten people all in unmarked cars. Half the team went around the back, the rest went through the front door with Brandy and Inspector Lee.

Lee knocked on the door and called out: “THIS IS THE POLICE, WE HAVE A WARRANT!” He nodded towards one of the officers with the battering ram. In about two seconds, the door was hanging open. They entered with guns drawn.

The stench assaulted Brandy first. She grimaced as she moved through the entryway and crossed the living room, gun held up in her line of sight, finger on the trigger. She blinked rapidly against the dark interior of the house, forcing her eyes to adjust. She glanced at the wall covered in nazi propaganda and posters, and for the moment, ignored it.

“Living room clear,” she called out, trying not to gag. Brandy heard the other cops moving through the rest of the house, clearing the rooms one by one.

Sara Murphy wasn’t home. Brandy holstered her Glock and wandered out to the lawn to give the house a few minutes to air out. Most of the others followed her lead.

When the air was breathable, they went back inside. Brandy had been through a lot of crime scenes in her two years of probation, but never anything like this. Sara Murphy had been living like an animal. In the quiet, upper-crust neighborhood of Mill Valley, Murphy’s house seemed surrealistically out of place.

Brandy returned to the living room and stared at the collage of swastikas and images of Fortress with bulls-eyes painted on them. John appeared at her side.

“I’m going out on a limb to say Murphy’s our girl,” he murmured. “The kitchen’s full of empty ammo boxes and the rest of the house looks like a landfill. I’d say Murphy’s been planning this for a long time.”

Brandy stroked her chin. “Tell me, how does a psychopath afford a house in a neighborhood like this?”

John shrugged. “Maybe she had a good job. Anybody can go crazy. Does it really matter?”

“I’ve been through this entire house and I haven’t seen one thing to indicate why this woman would snap. Where are the books, the movies? Where are the things that drove her obsession? I see lots of garbage, lots of pictures on the wall here, and that’s about it.”

“That’s not enough?” John said. “Look, the chick’s nuts. You can’t expect logical behavior from a criminal psychopath.”

“Maybe. I’d like to find out more about Murphy before I draw any conclusions. What about her friends, her family? What if she had a job? Someone had to notice something.”