An Imminent and Dangerous Quest

Nick had provided great information. But Nick didn’t provide ice core data for free. In exchange, Dr. White had promised to attend a conservation conference in Highland that same evening. Nick wanted to stop or at least slow down real state development in the area, and knew that Dr. White, a leading scientist in the battle to stop global warming, worked well with politicians. Even though money and materials were already coming, Nick wanted Dr. White to get the local politicians on their side, and minimize the incoming environmental damage.

As Dr. White drove down the meandering road, he noticed how the driver ahead drove cautiously when taking each curve. Going off the road and down the steep slope meant risking serious injuries, if not death. It was an uneven slope of trees and bushes and rocks. Dr. White followed the example, and he remembered Nick’s advice.

“You are a flatlander. You better be careful,” Nick had said, in a mocking, Western accent.

“A flatlander?” Dr. White had asked.

“You know. A flatlander, a person who lives on flat land and doesn’t have the skills to drive up here,” Nick clarified, smiling.

As he continued driving and turning, Dr. White knew Nick had been serious. Pouring rain in this part of Southern California created mudslides. That fact made him realize how dangerous it would be to drive down these sharp curves under blinding rain.

Glancing at his rearview mirror, he shook his head. Two cars up there were coming down fast. Dr. White always did everything with contagious speed and optimism. It came natural. Here, however, that was not prudent.

From Running Springs to Highland, State Road 330 provided the best access, back and forth. Nick Dutton knew this road very well. Yet, he couldn’t recall ever driving down this fast, and steadily accelerating. But the guy pursuing him did it relentlessly. Against his better judgment, Nick decided to risk it and accelerate, just a bit more. The tires screeched as friction increased, and the car crossed the solid yellow line into the adjacent lane of the one-way-up, one-way-down road. Nick not only heard the rumbling motor, he also felt its vibration.

Vladimir Schnidt stared at how well Dutton maneuvered. On this mountain road, Dutton seemed in his element. Dutton was full of surprises. After jumping through the second floor window of his two story house, rolling down the roof, and landing relatively well, Dutton had reached his car and momentarily escaped. Schnidt didn’t expect it. Scientists didn’t jump through glass windows, especially at that height, and especially not this one. The man worked behind a computer or inside a lab. Even if he felt scared, the man was not supposed to jump.

Behind the wheel, Schnidt tried to stay with Dutton, with his assignment. And he had the skills to do it. Through years of encounters with very dangerous men, in time Schnidt became skillful in many things, including high-speed car chases. The chase proved exhilarating, but unnecessary. And his assignment kept gaining distance.

Dr. White approached the bottom. One more light and he would be off the road. The traffic light changed from green to yellow and then to red. That made him uneasy. The mirror didn’t display enough view, so he threw his right arm over the passenger’s seat and twisted to check the whole scene. He wanted to see where the cars were.

The first driver kept coming down too fast for his safety, or anybody’s safety. Both cars disappeared behind the cut in the hills. But that first car was bound to reappear soon, right behind him, and without enough space to brake safely. He turned back to check the light. It remained red, and the car ahead didn’t move.

Higher up, Schnidt couldn’t possibly catch up. He looked to his left. Not a steep fall anymore, but combined with speed it mixed perfectly. He pulled his gun out, the suppressor still attached to it, and carefully aimed.

Nick heard the bullet, ricocheting off the rocks to the right. Reflexively, he hunched forward and stepped on the gas. He realized his mistake too late.

Schnidt had anticipated Dutton’s reaction correctly.

When the light turned green, Dr. White was already too anxious to feel any relief. On his mirror, the first car swerved wildly. As he cleared the last curve, the driver lost control and the car became a tumbling projectile, rolling and rolling.

Dr. White shifted to Parking and threw himself to the passenger’s side. Waiting for the collision, he listened to the sound of rebounding metal. Whatever he imagined to be ready for would probably magnify at the point of impact. He braced tightly to the seat, as crushing metal and breaking glass rumbled over him. The force of the hit rattled him, and his face hit nose first against the radio. Then he heard a crash and a final, long screech.

Bringing himself up to inspect the situation, Dr. White bumped his head into a flattened roof. He tried to open the door. It didn’t give. He tried again, both doors. Feeling trapped, he stretched on the seats and started kicking with his heels. As the door finally swung open, an acute pain climbed from his right foot up his leg. His face wrinkled in agony.

Schnidt slid off the seat and stepped onto the asphalt. The man hadn’t driven off the road, but that should do it. The thought didn’t last long. His unblinking stare beamed at the moving arm inside the wreckage. He cursed his prey, which he seldom did.

Hanging upside down, his seatbelt holding him, Nick Dutton breathed in short, sucking motions. He kept himself in good shape, jogging and lifting weights, but right now that didn’t help. He felt nauseated. Things moved abnormally. He couldn’t focus well, and his head pounded. But even with blurred vision, he recognized the two men coming his way. The closest one, Robert White, had just left his house when the other man, Schnidt, showed up. Schnidt had come to kill him. Why? As the reason returned, Nick saw his end coming.

Nick started to shiver. The December air felt cold. His eyes rolled. He distinguished Schnidt, walking only a few paces behind Robert. There wouldn’t be enough time to talk. With great pain, Nick reached for a pen and paper from the driver’s visor. He had barely written down a few words when the pen fell off.

A stinging pain shot up from his foot with every step, but Dr. White reached the unfortunate driver and knelt to assist him. Recognizing the face, he staggered. It was Nick. His face and his arms were slashed. His eyes kept rolling, in no definite direction. During their high school years in Miami, Florida, both of them had represented their school in their respective sport: Dr. White in the wrestling team and Nick Dutton, the county’s champion, in gymnastics. “Nick! Nick!” Nick didn’t respond. However, Nick seemed to cling to consciousness. The winning spirit, still there, Dr. White noticed.

To the few people already coming their way, Dr. White shouted, “We need an ambulance, fast.”

One of the men yelled back, “Already on its way.”

At the faint sound of a siren, Dr. White turned away from his friend. Help would arrive soon. Then he felt a hand, grabbing his jacket pocket, tugging him down.

Schnidt came within just a few steps. In his desperation, Nick wanted to tell Robert what he knew. But his breathing allowed him only incoherent whispers. “Don’t force it,” he heard Robert telling him. He had scarcely inserted the note in Robert’s pocket when suddenly his head wobbled, and all things turned black.