24 Declassified: 03 - Trojan Horse by Marc Cerasini

rims, I guarantee it.” Lang faced the detective. “If the plan’s okay with you, that is.”
    “You’re in charge here, Captain Lang. All I ask is that your men do everything they can to take this fugitive alive.”
    The Captain stared at the vanishing point. “I’m afraid that’s not really up to my men, Detective. With all those tire shredders on the road, the suspect’s overall health will depend on how fast he comes around that corner.”
    “He’s a suspect in a multiple murder investigation—”
    “I heard about those kids in the bus.”
    “Not only them,” said Castalano. “He also killed a family in Los Angeles. And he may not be acting alone. I need to bring him back to L.A. alive and interrogate him.”
    “Is he armed, Detective?”
    “No firearms were used in the murders.” Castalano knew that wasn’t an answer. As far as anyone knew, the perp could have a fifty-caliber machine gun for a hood ornament.
    The Ranger on the radio gestured for silence, listened intently. “He’s less than two miles away, coming up fast,” he said at last. “Ninety seconds, maybe less.”
    Lang faced his men. “Everyone in position,” he bellowed loud enough to be heard without a bullhorn. “Get behind those vehicles. The suspect is probably not armed. Repeat, the suspect is probably not armed. Use Tasers to subdue him if you must, but no deadly force. I want this man taken alive .”
    Castalano nodded his thanks to Captain Lang, studied the faces of the other men. The State Troopers were keyed up, ready to go. The Rangers looked worried as they moved behind the steel wall of vehicles.
    In less than thirty seconds everyone was in position, listening. For a long moment, the only sound they heard was the winds whistling through the mountains, the rustling of trees.
    Far up the road, near the curve, a State Trooper acting as an advance spotter popped out of his camouflaged position near the curve. He waved to Lang, then ducked out of sight.
    The Captain touched the handle of the .357 Magnum in its holster. “He’s almost here,” Lang warned in a voice like muted thunder.
    The roar of the Jaguar’s high-performance engine rapidly rose in volume and lowered in pitch, a blur of chrome and crimson raced into view. Then came the explosive blast as the two front tires blew at the same instant. Castalano winced, fearing for a moment that some trigger-happy State Trooper had opened fire. Two more sharp pops followed, and the Jag dropped to the cracked concrete. Shredded rubber rolled free, and the engine’s rumble was replaced by a terrible scraping squeal. Sparks erupted as the undercarriage hit the pavement. The Jag fishtailed, leaning so far to one side that Castalano thought the hurling steel projectile would flip over. Instead, the vehicle careened into the raised shoulder of the road, to slam to a halt in a cloud of dust and a shower of sparks and rocks.
    Feet instantly pounded the ground. Castalano followed the State Troopers as they burst from cover and ran toward the car. The first helmeted trooper who reached the Jag extended his arms, aiming a Taser with both hands.
    The passenger side door swung wide. A chunk of chrome clanged to the ground.
    “Do not move!” the Trooper cried. “Keep both hands on the steering wheel and remain seated or I will shoot.”
    Castalano was still fifteen feet away when he saw a figure leaping out of the shattered automobile like a wolf vaulting toward its prey. The Trooper fired the Taser. It struck the man squarely in the chest, but the momentum of the driver’s attack carried both men to the ground. That’s when Castalano saw the driver’s teeth buried in the State Trooper’s neck, blood rapidly pooling on the weathered roadway.
    Detective Castalano drew his service revolver, his vow to capture the man alive forgotten in the savagery of the attack. A wall of State Troopers closed around the thrashing men on the ground, more Tasers flashed. Castalano saw pops and