Shit!!!
Owen wanted to laugh, but couldn't. It was that surreal feeling of narrowly escaping death—he didn't know how to describe it. Just moments ago, he had gripped the steering wheel and watched the RPG streaking straight toward them before exploding on the Cadillac's hood.
Unlike Walker, who had squeezed his eyes shut in terror, Owen had a bizarre thought: he wanted to watch. Even if he died, he wanted to see exactly how he went out.
Thankfully, Cadillac hadn't been lying. The presidential limo really could withstand a direct RPG hit to the front.
Owen couldn't help but pump his fist in excitement. If he made it out of this alive, he swore he'd buy a Cadillac—and if they asked him to endorse it for free, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
The discomfort from the blast faded quickly. Once both had recovered, Owen handed control back to Walker.
"Let's go. Get us out of here. Drive to the side—now!"
He barked the order while scanning the White House grounds. Who knew if they had more rockets? If they fired another couple, there might not be enough left of the Cadillac for him to endorse.
Obedient as ever, Walker spun the wheel hard, pulling a dramatic drift across the lawn and leaving two deep ruts as he veered toward the side of the White House. Behind them, the two escort SUVs clung close like chewing gum on a shoe—no shaking them.
We've got to ditch them.
Owen mentally calculated. They'd have to get back into the White House somehow. Walker still needed to rescue his girlfriend Jennifer, and maybe—if possible—the Secretary of Defense and Secretary of State. Especially the latter. Back in LA, Owen had met Benjamin Affleck, that second-gen elite on a resume-boosting trip to the FBI. The Secretary of State was his father.
But those were problems for later. Right now, they had to lose their tail. No way were they getting back in with those two vehicles chasing them.
Whoosh—another white streak shot toward them. Owen had been watching closely and shouted a warning just in time for Walker to swerve and avoid the rocket with relative ease. They'd put some distance between themselves and the front of the White House now, and RPGs were notoriously inaccurate.
Clang!
One of the SUVs slammed into the Cadillac's side. Apparently, realizing neither the machine guns nor the RPGs could stop the limo, Staz had grown desperate.
But he had miscalculated—again. The presidential limo was built like an armored tank. It weighed over nine tons. Trying to knock it over with a standard SUV was a joke.
Sure enough, the Cadillac barely budged, its frame shuddering slightly under the impact but continuing forward, unphased. Staz's SUV, on the other hand, bounced off and nearly flipped. Only the driver's quick reflexes kept it upright.
"Let me drive," Staz growled.
He swapped seats with his assistant, abandoning the roof-mounted gun to take the wheel himself. He then threw the SUV alongside the Cadillac, ramming it over and over, while the second SUV closed in on the other side.
Pinned on both sides, the Cadillac started to slow—dangerously so. If they stopped completely, it would be over.
They were trying to use friction to gradually reduce the Cadillac's momentum. Without speed, their nine-ton weight advantage meant nothing.
"What do we do?" Walker called, panicked.
He was a decent enough driver, but he'd never been in a car chase—let alone one like this. Owen didn't hesitate. He stepped down hard on Walker's foot, flooring the gas, while gripping the wheel to counteract the pressure from both sides.
The Cadillac roared defiantly, speeding up again, wrestling against the SUVs that boxed it in. Metal shrieked. The three vehicles tangled violently as they tore across the lawn.
"Hold on!"
Owen spotted an artificial lake up ahead. He yanked the wheel hard left, breaking free from Staz on the left, then immediately jerked it back to the right, crashing their front bumper into Staz's SUV. The hit sent it skidding sideways.
Staz realized too late what was happening. With the Cadillac's superior mass, there was no winning a head-on collision. His vehicle spun off-course and, despite braking, momentum carried it straight into the lake. Water surged into the SUV from all sides, swallowing it almost immediately.
"Hope you guys can swim," Walker whistled as the Cadillac surged ahead.
Behind them, the second SUV gave chase like a mad dog. The gunner on top resumed firing wildly at the limo, as if they'd given up on capturing anyone alive.
"Ram them!" Owen yelled.
Walker turned the wheel sharply, but this time, the escort vehicle kept its distance, weaving and strafing while spraying bullets. It had learned not to get too close. With the Cadillac's weight slowing it down, the lighter SUV could easily keep its distance and pepper it with fire.
Two more RPG trails streaked in from the distance. Walker swerved instinctively—perfectly this time—dodging both rockets.
Then—another shot from the side.
A rocket whooshed past mere inches from the hood. Owen and Walker both jumped. Where the hell had that come from?
Apparently, one terrorist had slipped out of the White House and hidden in the tall grass, taking a potshot as they passed.
Luckily, Walker had just adjusted their course, and the RPG missed.
"F*** you! Die!!" Walker shouted and stomped the gas.
The Cadillac swerved and barreled toward the bushes.
"No, no, no—!"
A figure scrambled out of the foliage in a panic, running for his life. Through the windshield, both men could see the terror in his eyes behind the mask.
Thunk!
The Cadillac struck him. The vehicle jolted slightly as it rolled over him. Owen glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see the trailing SUV run over the same spot.
No bones cracking, no screams. Just silence. Flesh was no match for nine tons of steel.
"Buddy, you just committed vehicular manslaughter. And the whole country saw it live," Owen quipped.
Walker shrugged. "Guess I better get a good lawyer."
"Drive that way!"
Owen pointed to a side entrance of the White House. A terrorist had just emerged and was kneeling on the steps, aiming another RPG at them.
"You sure?" Walker asked.
"Trust me!"
Owen wasn't actually aiming for the shooter—his real goal was the White House itself. But both entrances had short staircases. The Cadillac wasn't a motorcycle; trying to jump those steps might end with a faceplant.
Still, Owen did the math in his head. He was a racing expert and knew car dynamics like the back of his hand. Factoring in angles, speed, and clearance—he figured they could risk it.
When Owen confirmed again, Walker didn't hesitate. Owen had earned his trust.
The Cadillac accelerated again, taking a wide arc, then charged straight at the RPG gunner—who stood, aimed, and waited. The setup was like a duel: a calm sniper vs. a charging bull.
The second escort SUV lined up perfectly behind the Cadillac, unaware that its view was blocked.
"Wait for it… wait… wait…" Owen whispered.
He kept one hand on the wheel, the other on the door for balance. His eyes locked on the gunner, reading his body language. The man stayed composed, holding his aim, waiting for the exact moment.
"Now!"
Owen shouted and jerked the wheel. In that instant, the RPG was fired.
To Walker, it was like the shooter had timed it to Owen's words. The rocket screamed toward them—only for the Cadillac to veer aside just in time.
BOOM!
The RPG slammed into the escort SUV behind them. Flames erupted. The vehicle flipped in midair before crashing back down, wheels-up and burning.
That one wasn't built to tank rockets.
(End of Chapter)
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