Shadow Code (A John Kovac Thriller Book 2) (John Kovac Thriller Series)

by David Caris

  As soon as they were behind him, he pushed the Skoda back towards its controllable limits. It bucked under him and shuddered before stabilizing and rapidly picking up traction, then speed. He wanted Bibi. Preferably alive, but dead if that’s all that was on offer.

  With a chase like this, there was never any certainty. He knew that. He could end up dead in the space of a few seconds, along with the countless innocents who found themselves unwitting obstacles. But it was a price he was willing to pay. He was incensed. It felt like everyone he had ever trusted wanted him dead, and he was done taking it lying down.

  Kovac glimpsed a few signs for political candidates stuck in the lawn, and beyond this lawn the dark void of a nighttime river.

  What was his plan here? He considered trying to bring the van to a stop while he still had the option to run it off to the left, into the river. Less risk to pedestrians and other cars that way… But he was too far back.

  As if on cue, a fence reappeared, dividing the road from the river, and the road closed in again. It was now lined with old trees – oaks or something similar. He saw a bus shelter with people staring and another red light and intersection, but without a tram this time. The van ran this light too, though it slowed to perhaps thirty miles per hour before doing it.

  As Kovac reached it, the red light was joined by a flashing orange light, and both disappeared, replaced with green.

  He rocketed through, but had to slam his foot on the brake a second later, sending the ABS into a spasmodic frenzy. There was a woman on a pushbike, crossing the street just shy of another tram shelter. She looked as if had come to a dead stop after seeing the van fly past, putting one foot down to stabilize herself. And this was where she had remained – directly in line with Kovac’s left headlight. Thankfully, she didn’t stay frozen. She saw Kovac coming, all screeching tires, and she pushed off the foot that was on the ground. This decision saved her life. Kovac, one hand on the horn, cleared the back tire of her bike by less than an inch.

  Coming off the horn and swapping his foot back to the gas, he heard sirens, but they were distant. He still had time.

  He got another clear stretch of road, this one also lined with trees, beyond which lay six-story buildings and a few grand old statues. The tram wires strung up in this area had old lights, which illuminated the street well, and Kovac decided he wasn’t going to get a better chance to bring this to an end.

  He accelerated until he had pulled up almost level with the van, exploiting his horsepower advantage over the far heavier vehicle. Then he eased off and matched its speed. His eyes flicked from the road ahead to the van and back again, over and over. No one threw open the sliding door and pointed a gun at him, and the driver didn’t think to brake.

  Good enough.

  Kovac edged right, making gentle contact with the van’s rear left bumper. It was so soft, he doubted anyone in the van even felt it.

  They were going too fast for this kind of craziness, but Kovac wasn’t going to be able to maintain this position for more than a few seconds. Now or never, yes or no. Kovac gently turned his steering wheel towards the van.

  Chapter 40

  And then everything went wrong.

  It was Kovac’s first use of the Pursuit Intervention Technique – or PIT maneuver as most knew it. The hope had been to turn the van sideways and either bring it to a sliding halt or send it into a roll. That was one of the benefits of having Juliette clear of this mess. Kovac could risk damage to the van and its occupants, though hopefully not so bad he sent anyone somersaulting into the afterlife.

  He had questions he wanted answered, after all.

  With the turn of his wheel to the right, tram tracks, the remnants of rain and a million other tiny details Kovac couldn’t possibly hope to account for, suddenly came into play. Collectively, they turned what should’ve been a successful PIT maneuver into torn rubber, twisted metal and shattered glass. The van spun round in front of him and rolled once. For a moment, Kovac thought he had nailed it. He was aware of the Skoda pushing the van forward like a bulldozer. He saw flame and smoke coming from the van’s undercarriage, which was now directly in front of him – until suddenly it wasn’t.

  Kovac realized he was airborne. But not going up. Airborne, going down. How the hell…?

  There was momentarily no gravity. He saw water rushing up at him and his head snapped forward. It collided with what felt like a soft pillow – a pillow filled with powder. He sucked in burnt gunpowder and pulled his head back, dazed and coughing, looking for what he figured was an airbag. His seatbelt had caught him.

  He pulled deflated airbag clear and immediately noticed a new sound over the ringing in his ears. Gurgling.

  Water?

  It was cold, and coming in all around his feet and ankles. Coming in fast.

  Kovac still didn’t fully understand what had happened, but his brain was starting to catch up. His car was floating. He felt like he was on a boat, bobbing. The impact had been into water, and soon he would be sinking. He wasn’t in too much pain, but he had no idea how far the car had plunged before striking water. There was just that one flash of memory, the water rushing up at him. Then the airbags, which he had never seen, and the seatbelt, which he didn’t remember putting on.

  His training kicked in.

  Okay, he thought. Underwater egress.

  He was confident he could get out now, before he sunk. But he didn’t know if that would expose him to danger from the van. Griffin had been cuffed, sure, but also armed.

  Right now, he had the Skoda giving him some cover. And until he knew where the van was, sinking wasn’t such a bad idea. It would provide additional protection.

  He kept his belt on as the water cleared his shins, then his knees and waist. At first it was slow, and he used the time to locate the van back behind him. It was also in the water, but on its roof. He didn’t see any sign of open windows as it now rolled onto its side. It was sinking, too, just like he was.

  He reconsidered getting clear, but knew it was probably too late for him. The van was another story. It rolled again, completely righting itself.

  Kovac knew the rising water would put incredible pressure on the van’s doors – hundreds of pounds per square inch. But he wasn’t sure about the sliding door. Would it still open? Whatever the case, everything would equalize eventually, just as it would in his Skoda. That was inevitable because both vehicles would fill with water.

  It was a waiting game, a protracted battle with physics.

  The water in Kovac’s own vehicle cleared his stomach. Now he knew where the van was, he decided it was time for the windows. He pushed down all four window buttons at once, confident they would still have electricity. Cars, he knew, could maintain power for five and even up to ten minutes in water.

  As expected, the windows all came down save for the passenger one, which was jammed on account of chassis damage.

  The pressure and weight of the water flooding in through these windows was terrifying, as was the groaning and popping of the chassis in response. Kovac felt it clear his chest and he took a few deep breaths.

  In, out, in, out, aaaaand hold.

  The water cleared his closed mouth, then his nose, then his eyes. He kept his eyes open, but lost most of his vision. The water was dark and it blurred everything.

  It didn’t matter. He had a plan and he reached for his steering wheel, gripping it firmly. He concentrated on the water, which fell still around him as the pressure finally equalized. He had done all this in training and knew exactly what to expect.

  Three, two, one and… exit stage left.

  He undid his belt, opened the door with ease and pushed off the steering wheel to get clear. It worked, and he let his body carry him towards the surface. He had plenty of air in his lungs and knew he was in effect a giant balloon right now.

  He used his ascent to search for the van, but the water was too dark and he wasn’t even sure it was down here with him yet.

  And where the he
ll was “here” anyway…?

  He got his answer soon enough. Breaking the surface, he saw it all. The path he and the van had cut from the road, chewing up grass and dirt. The fence they had flattened. And the eventual ten-foot drop into a river.

  Chapter 41

  Hospital wasn’t part of Kovac’s plan. Sure, he had plunged Skoda-first into a river. And sure, that had left him with a sore neck that clicked in a way it hadn’t before the collision. But hospital would bring complications, the most obvious being handcuffs.

  For this reason, he didn’t linger at the scene of his crash. He cleared the river’s edge and sprinted until he reached a corner, where he turned right and sprinted even harder. Blending in, playing it cool – that was out of the question now. He was sopping wet, and he was certain he had been photographed and most likely filmed as he dragged himself out of the river. If he was lucky, the footage wouldn’t be much more than a grainy image, yeti-like; but whatever it was, police would have a leg up. They just had to search for the sopping wet guy.

  At least he didn’t have a gun, Kovac thought. Getting caught with a gun here or in his vehicle would’ve been the end of him.

  He paused, checking windows, listening for sirens. He slowed his breathing. Prioritize and execute.

  There were sirens, but all headed for his Skoda, for the crash. He searched the street. He needed a vehicle, but the few on offer at this hour weren’t cabs. He patted himself down for a phone, but of course he didn’t have one anymore.

  Shit.

  He resumed moving, still running, but at a slower pace now; almost a jog. He was looking for a way out of these large, wide-open streets, looking for an alley that would be empty but not so empty it never saw traffic. He didn’t know this city well, but he did eventually find his way into a narrow medieval alley with cafes and places to eat: all currently locked and dark.

  The cobblestones were uneven and hard to pick out in the gloom, and he almost rolled an ankle as he passed through a small passage at the end and entered an even smaller square. This square led to another medieval alley, with impressive arches at its mouth. There was a beautiful church, lit up a golden yellow, then more picturesque, narrow streets. All medieval, and all starting to feel like a maze.

  Kovac was still jogging, his footfall echoing loudly off stone walls, and he realized he was disorientated. Worse still, he had the sense he was being followed.

  He needed to get a grip, and he needed to get the hell out of this city.

  He stopped and listened again. The sirens were all at the crash site still, but he could also hear traffic off to his east. He took an alley that curved east, then a couple more that were closer to straight, eventually emerging onto a modern road with cars.

  Progress.

  He felt like he had time traveled 500 years in a few steps. He walked out in front of the first car that looked willing to stop, pressing his hands to the hood as it came to an abrupt stop. He circled round and climbed into the passenger seat, as his neck sent an unexpected lightning bolt of pain directly into his brain.

  ‘Ffff –’ he began, blowing the sound out between two front teeth.

  The young man in the car beside him fumbled with his phone and pointed it at Kovac – like a weapon. Like he was going to shame Kovac to death. Kovac snatched it. ‘Drive,’ he grumbled, deleting the video of himself and using the phone to call Megan, whose number he had long ago memorized.

  ‘Drive where?’ the man asked in thickly accented German.

  ‘The airport, no detours.’

  The call connected.

  ‘It’s me,’ Kovac said. ‘How’s Juliette?’

  ‘Not good. I’m at the hospital now and they’re –’

  ‘Leave her. Get out of there.’

  ‘What? I can’t just – Kovac, what’s going on?’

  ‘I crashed the Skoda.’

  ‘And the van?’

  ‘Gone. We need to meet.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Can you get to the airport?’

  ‘I can’t just leave, Kovac, she –’

  ‘Yeah you can. You’ll end up under arrest if you stay, and for what? You’re not helping anyone pacing the waiting room.’

  ‘What if she –’

  ‘Megan. Get out of there. Or you go to jail and lose everything. Do you understand what I’m telling you? We’re done with this city.’

  This had the desired effect. ‘Got it.’

  He hung up the phone and pocketed it. The man eyed his pocket but didn’t complain. He returned his gaze to the road and Kovac said: ‘Airport.’ The driver started to accelerate, then stomped one foot hard down onto the brake pedal. Kovac – his head rolling forward, his neck spasming with pain – sensed movement out in front of the car. He looked up to see two narrow-set eyes under a familiar, giant brow. Kovac’s mind ran the checklist. Mangled nose, big lips, small ears, the exact same receding hairline…

  Shit, he thought again, before twisting and attempting to lock his door. He was too slow. Malone had already circled the vehicle, pistol in hand.

  Malone pulled open the door, keeping the pistol pointed at Kovac. He ordered him out and made him stand with his stomach to the car’s rear side window. He forced Kovac’s head down, trapping one ear against the vehicle’s cold roof.

  Kovac sensed Malone lean in and felt something stab him in the ear – not the ear hard against the metal, the one that was facing skyward. Kovac tried to swat the intruding object away. He straightened up. But the world swirled and pulsed, then cartwheeled. Kovac heard Malone telling the driver to disappear, his voice booming unnaturally in one ear but silent in the other. Kovac battled to hang on, blinking furiously, but nothing he did seemed to make any difference now. He was slipping, unable to keep his grip on consciousness.

  He tried to speak, tried to reason with Malone, but Malone was gone. The driver and car, too, everything.

  All that remained suddenly was the stench of gasoline.

  Chapter 42

  Kovac woke with a splitting headache to a clacking sound he couldn’t place. He was in complete darkness, on some kind of bed. He sat up, feeling his head swirl. There was a faint aftertaste of blood in his mouth, a metallic, almost coppery taste.

  His eyes began to adjust – enough to make out shapes. There was a narrow doorway on the opposite side of this room. And beyond that, a… what? Was it a person? No. But something was moving, moving in response to his movements. Perfect and instantaneous.

  A mirror, he realized, feeling foolish that it took him so long.

  His mind wasn’t right. He had definitely been drugged.

  He swung his legs down, wincing at the pain in his neck and head. The neck pain he remembered. There had been an accident. He had crashed into a river. And he had been running. But then what? He remembered cobblestones, remembered being lost. And there had been a car, with a man… He remembered the jab in his ear, and felt this ear now.

  Sure enough, it was tender to the touch.

  That was how Malone drugged him.

  His mouth was dry and he had trouble swallowing as he battled the brain fog. He groped around for a light switch and eventually found one on the wall. It wasn’t the sort of switch he was used to. It was a small square, a button that clicked in or out. When he clicked it in, he heard something tinkle overhead. A light in the ceiling.

  Where the hell was he?

  He still couldn’t think straight. He was wearing slippers, he knew that much. Cheap white ones, possibly even disposable slippers. He stared through to the mirror, which he now saw was part of a small bathroom. He crossed to it, unsteady on his feet, his hands out, his fingers sliding over the walls. The walls didn’t feel stable, though. They were moving, vibrating, and he could still hear the clacking underfoot.

  Some kind of train sleeper, but what train? From where, going where?

  There was no toilet. Just the mirror and a tiny table. Kovac examined the table and saw it opened. Two panels slid back, revealing a faucet and wash
basin. He touched another button to get water and splashed it on his face. Then he doubled back and puzzled over the single blind covering what he hoped was a window.

  It was a window. Kovac opened it and saw dark objects flashing by – poles and houses and machinery. And beyond all this, mountains silhouetted by the moon. A cloudless night sky. He was in a train, in a sleeper carriage, he was sure of that now. And the branding on his pillow slip and on a paper goodie bag told him it was the Nightjet.

  He rifled through the goodie bag, determining this was where his slippers had come from. Someone had unwrapped them, stuffing the packaging back into the bag. There were other items, too – a towel and instructions for placing meal orders.

  On a little desk, he noticed a wrapped muffin and bottle of water, and he cracked the water and drank it. The menu offered food and alcohol, neither of which he felt like. Right now his stomach was too queasy even for the muffin.

  What he really wanted were answers. He had been a captive. Malone’s captive. Was he now free or was he in danger here? Was someone coming back to this room at any moment? It seemed likely. Perhaps someone had just stepped out for something, thinking him unconscious.

  Kovac tested the door.

  Open.

  And no one standing guard.

  He shut the door again then searched his sleeper cabin a second time. He found buttons for temperature control and another to call the Nightjet attendant. He wasn’t sure he was ready to do that, not until he knew more.

  He checked the closet and a small drawer in the corner desk, and that’s where he found the phone. It wasn’t his phone, which was lost in London, or the phone he had stolen just before he was drugged. It was a new phone, a Samsung that was all screen and zero bezel.

  He powered it up. It didn’t request a password or any other form of identification. It loaded straight to the app home screen, where Kovac saw he had one text message.

  He opened it.

  It was from Malone. Nothing but an address in Zurich.

  Was that where this train was headed? Zurich?