Ziff under fire

Part 14 - Boulevard des Allumettiéres

Dunc's voice in my ear said. 'Ah think they are in a black Buick SUV on Bronson near Parliament Hill. Ah'll turn ma camera on.'

On cue, the monitors in front of Miguel and me lit up with Treeka grinning at us. 'Dunc is providing aerial surveillance. We have a visual.'

'Ziff, turn on the GPS . . . the satellite navigation system,' Licia said as she turned onto Bronson Avenue northbound and increased speed.

'Licia,' I tried to keep the alarm out of my voice as we rolled up onto the sidewalk. 'Slow down! You don't have a licence. What if we get stopped?'

'This is easier than driving my uncle's combined harv . . .' She braked sharply to avoid a car that pulled in front of us, 'I am more used to driving in fields than on highways but as long as I don't speed or break any traffic laws we should be okay.'

On the GPS navigation screen, we were a tiny dot of light in the middle of a moving map. Another dot was passing Parliament hill.

Beryl said, 'I know where they're going. Turn right onto Slater at the bottom of this hill, follow Wellington past the Parliament buildings. They're on Sussex heading for the Inter Provincial bridge.'

'Okay,' Licia said. 'Thanks Beryl. All I have to do is keep driving at the speed limit.'

'Oh,' Miguel giggled, 'that explains why those bikers are passing us and honking their horns.'

Licia laughed. 'They are probably admiring the Terramax.'

'Its those climate change biker gangs,' Beryl said darkly. 'They've found out where Canada is and . . . Turn right here and keep left. It's a one way street.'

'Oh, goody. A nice slow truck,' Licia said. 'I have an excuse to slow down a bit.' She glanced across to our monitors. 'What's happening to the Bunglers?'

Treeka said, 'They're crossing the river.'

'Unless we go faster, we'll never catch them,' Miguel said.

'The speed limit is 50 km/h,' Licia announced firmly.

It was freezing in the cab until the engine warmed and then it gradually became unbearably hot. I begged Licia to turn the heat down but we couldn't find the controls so we had to drive with the windows open. Unfortunately they seemed to be controlled by a thermostat because they opened and closed automatically so we were alternately freezing and roasting.

Licia stopped at every red traffic light and stop sign. We were getting strange looks from passing motorists and the occasional honk as Licia cautiously ran a few red lights. Luckily traffic was light. Miguel and I had nothing to do except watch the little red dot representing the Bunglers move along the GPS map on the screens in front of us. Licia was getting more confident as she turned onto Sussex. We turned left near a glass building and rolled alongside a rock face and suddenly we were rumbling over see-through steel decking of an old steel bridge over the Ottawa river. A sign said Bienvenu à la Ville de Gatineau. Province du Québec.

We stopped for a few red traffic lights on Boulevard des Allumettiéres and I had to ask what that meant.

'It's French for Avenue of the Match Stick Makers,' Beryl told me. 'This was one of the first industries in the area.'

Licia then turned onto Autoroute 50. 'Now let's see how fast this rig goes,' she said.

An aerial view of the Ottawa river appeared on my monitor as Dunc's voice said in my ear, 'What's happening doon there?'

'We're on Autoroute 50 heading for Montreal,' Miguel said. 'Where are you?'

'Ah'm taking the sort cut across the river. Ah think ah ken where these malfeasers are heading and ah dinna think it to a ski hill.'

'Licia, slow down,' I yelped as a highway-max tractor trailer cut in front of us.'

The Terramax slowed sharply as she replied. 'Don't worry. The anti-collision radar is on. The autopilot is keeping us out of trouble.'

The autopilot decided that the best way out of trouble was over the wide snow filled median. The front wheels lifted up and we rolled smoothly off the blacktop toward the west bound lanes where an eighteen wheeler was heading straight for us at about one hundred kilometre per hour.

Our tires, all six of them, skidded in the snow as we spun around, facing the other way, and the autopilot floored the gas pedal. The eighteen wheeler, braking hard and with its tires smoking and it's foghorn blaring, only just avoided colliding with our rear end as we rocketed across three lanes of traffic and exited at the next off-ramp. We didn't even slow down for the stop sign on the overpass. I cringed in my seat as we shot across the bridge, turned into the east bound on-ramp and re-entered the eastbound lanes toward Montreal. I realized I was still holding my breath and exhaled, relieved that I was still breathing.

'Yee-Ha!' Beryl grinned at us. 'This is so exciting! Don't you just love this Terramax?'

Miguel said quietly, 'Licia, turn the autopilot off . . . Please.'

Treeka was bouncing up and down on Miguel's monitor as an aerial view of the river reappeared on mine. Dunc's voice said. 'Ah was right. They are heading for the airport.'

'Turn off at the next exit,' Beryl said. It was marked, Boul. de l'Aéroport 2 km.