“What is it? Do you know where Mati is?” No more spite, just a restrained worry.
“No. Meera, listen to me. Are you secure right now?”
“I’m in the house, why?” Her tone got pointed again, ready to stab. “What’s going on? Where’s my daughter?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Don’t panic. Lock all the doors and windows, then stay away from them. Don’t let yourself be seen and don’t answer the door unless I tell you that you can trust the person knocking.”
“Jack, what the fuck have you done?”
Jack’s heart imploded with grief. Meera’s words, spoken in anger and fear, and torn by tears, gutted him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel and his foot lifted off the accelerator.
This very moment was one Jack had dreaded, and one Meera had always accused him of potentially causing. She didn’t know exactly what he did, but she was aware enough to understand it was dangerous, and her own prejudices and beliefs automatically took it to the worst possible scenario. She’d called him a government sanctioned murderer in the past and had accused him of being blind to the manipulation and brainwashing inherent in the military and higher administration.
Her worries, if not all of her accusations, had been right.
Jack’s foot pressed down and the Vanquish leaped forwards.
“I’m on my way, Meera,” he said grimly. “Nearly there. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Too late,” his sister snapped. “Mati’s out there, Jack. She ditched school and I don’t know where she is. Oh God.” Her voice choked off in a strangled sob. “If something’s happened to her . . .”
“I’ll find her. I promise.” Jack balled up all his fear and anger and shoved it in the filing cabinet in the back of his head. His compartmentalisation skills had been a trifle hit and miss lately, but for this, for something so fucking important, he would make it happen. “Remember what I said about locking the house and staying inside. Do it now. Then send Matilda’s phone number to Lewis, the man who called you before me. He’ll be able to track it and we’ll follow it to wherever she is.”
All he heard for several moments was Meera’s ragged breathing, then, “Don’t let anything happen to her,” and she hung up.
Hoping like hell she was calling Lewis back, Jack slammed shut the drawer on the filing cabinet. His stomach curdled for a moment only, then the calm settled over him, letting him know he was ready to do whatever was needed to successfully complete the mission.
Ten minutes later, just as Jack was going to crack and call Lewis himself, his friend contacted him.
“Sturges’s team has landed and are sourcing transport right now. They should be at Meera’s address within ten minutes. We have Matilda’s phone number and Fabes is tracking it now.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Right. We’ll—”
“Got her!” The shout from the background was an excited Fabian. “She’s on Woronora Dam Road, heading west. Moving pretty fast.”
“Send me directions,” Jack commanded.
“Coming through,” Lewis said.
Jack grunted acknowledgement and a moment later, the file appeared. It was automatically opened by the implant and a dry inner voice gave him the way to go.
He’d just left the motorway and was curling around onto a highway that would take him back north and west when Lewis called.
“We have people on your dad. It was decided to leave him where he is for now, unless there’s a clear threat against him.”
Jack agreed. His dad didn’t do well with new situations these days. “And the strike team?”
“Sturges is at Meera’s. They’re holding back, searching for the subject but haven’t found any indication someone’s watching the house. He’s going to approach the house.”
“Is Meera on the line with the Office?”
“Yeah. Lyds is trying to keep her calm. She’s pretty worked up.”
Yeah. That was Meera. “She’s just worried. Go easy on her. And Matilda?”
“I think she’s okay at the moment,” Lewis said. “Her signal’s pretty much just going up and down Woronora Dam Road. If something bad was going down, I doubt it would be so steady.”
Jack let out a little sigh. He trusted Lewis’s interpretation of clues above most others. “Let me know if anything changes.”
The tiny respite didn’t mean he stopped worrying or slowed down. The sooner his niece was as safe as he could make her, the better.
Minutes later, he came up to the turn for Woronora Dam Road. Victoria’s rear swung out a little wide as he made it without slowing enough, but the sleek car corrected easily and sprinted on. There was no traffic on the narrow two-lane road and bushland bracketed either side as it wound into the hills.
“Where is she now?” Jack asked Lewis when his friend connected.
“About two kilometres ahead of you, heading away.”
“Got it.” Jack held the steering wheel in one hand and loosened his USP in its holster under his left arm. His little Tilly might not be in any direct danger right now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going in as if she were. “I’ll call in when I have her.”
“Right. Going silent here to direct Sturges.” Lewis signed off.
As promised, Jack caught up to what he presumed was his niece several kilometres later. They were almost at the end of the road, just before a sharp turn right where it crossed the dam in question. Ahead of him, the dirt bike, which was the only other vehicle around, slowed and veered onto the side of the road. There were two people on the bike, both wearing open-faced helmets, but that was their only consideration for safety. Neither had on leather jackets or anything more protective than jeans on their legs. Still some distance back, Jack couldn’t make out more details but he guessed the pillion rider was Matilda. The arms she threw up in exaltation were light brown, shown off by the rolled up sleeves of a flannel shirt, and the hair flying wild from under the back of her helmet was dark.
She’d ditched school to go joyriding on a dirt bike with some delinquent.
“Goddamn it.” Jack eased off the accelerator.
The bike eased into a turn, getting ready to undoubtedly speed back the way they had come.
A small red blur shot past the Vanquish and right for his niece.
“Fuck!”
The red sports car braked sharply, smoke curling up from its tyres, as it passed the pair on the bike. Both riders’ heads turned to follow the curvy little car, the bike slowing to a stop as they gawked.
The chances of someone bringing their sports car to this very road for hooning purposes at this very time were fucking ridiculous.
Beyond the riders, the red car drifted into a tight turn, the driver’s side window rolling down as it came to a stop, sitting sideways on the road. Jack floored Victoria’s accelerator and charged towards the other car. In the rapidly diminishing distance, an arm extended from the red car and pointed a gun at the kids, who were still staring at Jack.
“Move,” he shouted uselessly and, trying anything available, flashed his headlights.
On the back of the bike, Matilda tilted her head, then turned to look behind them. A second later, she was bouncing and slapping the back of the other rider. He looked over his shoulder, too.
The crack of the gun was muffled by the Vanquish’s sealed windows and the growl of the engine as Jack arrowed past the kids. He was going too fast to see if they were okay. Before Jack reached it, the red car lurched into abrupt motion, turning to chase after the bike again. The cars passed each other, barely a foot of space between their side mirrors. Jack’s glimpse was fleeting, but the driver had a ponytail of white-blonde hair and sunglasses. Then they were past each other, her flooring it after the dirt bike, and Jack facing the entirely wrong way.
Victoria came to a shivering stop in the middle of the road. Turning around would take far too long, so Jack chucked the Vanquish into reverse and rocketed backwards.
Twisted in
his seat, Jack saw the bike disappear around the next bend, both riders aboard and upright. The sports car followed them, closing the distance. Jack sped up, his heart hammering wildly in fear for his niece, and his own driving skills. If only Ethan were here. Around the bend was a bit more room and, praying hard, Jack whipped the Vanquish through a reverse one-eighty. It was not smooth or elegant, but it got him pointed in the right direction in a car all in one piece, and it let him catch up to the others around the next curve.
Jack cursed. There was a drop off to the left, hillside to the right. The sports car was right behind the dirt bike, which had no chance of outrunning the high-powered vehicle. You didn’t need a gun to kill someone on a bike when you were in a car. Even as Jack tried to catch them, the red car nudged the back of the bike. Jack planted his foot as the bike took another hit.
The bike wobbled, then cut sharply right. It hit the dirt verge at top speed and launched off the slight ramp there and flew into the scrub. Two seconds later, Victoria’s nose punched the rear fender of the red car. Both vehicles shuddered at the highspeed impact and Jack instinctively braked. Red car rocketing ahead, Jack let the black Vanquish slow right down. His hands were impossibly tight on the steering wheel and his stomach was trembling in a mix of adrenaline and anxiety.
“Well,” he muttered, “that went better than last time.”
Clear of the assassin for the time being, Jack put the car in reverse and shot back to where the bike had left the road. Leaving Victoria idling, he got out, USP in hand.
The air was warm and dry and smelt of exhaust, hot rubber, wattles and eucalyptus—nothing burning, thankfully. Moving cautiously on the rocky ground, Jack followed the short track of the bike’s wheels up the slight rise. It disappeared very quickly, but the bike wasn’t far away. It lay on its side just inside the scrub, the front wheel bent from impact. There was no sign of the kids, but it had barely been a minute since they crashed. They couldn’t have gotten far.
“Matilda,” Jack shout-whispered, side stepping past the bike, gun at the ready.
A rustle in the dry foliage came from his right, just over the edge of a rise.
“Tilly,” Jack tried again. “It’s me, uncle Jack.”
It had been thirteen years since he’d last seen his niece. He felt confident he’d recognise her, but would she recognise him? She’d only been four the last time they were together and he doubted Meera kept a current photo of him around to remind her about the uncle Meera was keeping her from.
“Mati.” Maybe using the name Meera had would inspire some trust.
Furious whispering started up. Jack let out a relieved breath. Both of them were still alive.
“Come on, guys,” Jack hissed. “Let’s go before she comes back. Hurry up now.”
The leaves on a scrub parted and a soft brown face appeared, still encased in the helmet. “Uncle Jack?”
Transferring his gun to his left hand, Jack scrambled over to where the kids were hiding. He crouched and held his hand out for Matilda. “Yeah, it’s me. Come on, we have to get out of here.”
“Tate’s hurt,” she said, breathing hard. “He can’t walk.”
“Shit. Okay.” Jack tucked the gun into the holster. “Let’s get him out of there.”
Matilda slithered out of the bush. She was slender but strong, reaching back into the bush and helping haul out her friend. The guy was probably the same age as her, thicker and browner of skin, probably South Pacific origins. He whimpered as Jack and Matilda got him free of the scrub. His left shoulder was dislocated and there was a freely bleeding gash on his left calf, his jeans torn from the knee down to the ankle.
“Let’s wrap this up quickly, then we have to get going.” Jack searched for something to wrap the kid’s leg in. “Tilly, are you wearing anything under the flannel?”
In the midst of pulling off her helmet, Matilda scowled at him. “Yes, and it’s Mati. Not Tilly.”
Christ. She was exactly like Meera. Thankfully, Jack didn’t need to prompt her any more. Once free of the helmet, she pulled the red and white plaid flannel off and handed it over, leaving herself in a white singlet top.
Jack wound the flannel around the kid’s calf, making sure he bound the entire wound. Between pants, the kid asked, “Mati, you know this guy?”
“I think he’s my uncle,” she said.
“You think?” It came from both Jack and the kid, in exactly the same incredulous tone.
She glared at them both.
Jack couldn’t help it. He chuckled and tied off the arms of the impromptu bandage. “Good enough for the moment. Let’s get going.”
Between him and Mati, they got the kid to his feet and back to the car. They’d just got him settled into the passenger seat and Mati was about to squeeze in beside him when the red car roared back around the corner and aimed right for the idling Vanquish.
From this angle, Jack clearly saw the distinctive V shape of the grill. Some sort of sporty little Alfa Romeo was about to smash into him and the kids—and Ethan’s precious Aston Martin.
“Get in.” Jack shoved Mati down into the car on top of the boy. Using the open door as a shield, he drew his gun and fired at the charging vehicle.
Mati and the kid squealed in shock and huddled as far down as they could. The red car kept heading for them, bullets pinging off the grill and bonnet. Jack counted down the seconds, pacing his shots, hoping to distract and divert before it became desperate. When the assassin failed to respond, he settled his arms against the top of the door and took very careful aim.
Jack put a bullet into the windscreen right in front of the driver. Only the craziest of crazies didn’t flinch in that situation. The red car swerved and missed them, screaming past without slowing. Jack sent his last bullet after it, then slammed the passenger door, threw himself across the low bonnet of the Vanquish and got in behind the wheel.
Two pairs of big, dark eyes, completely rimmed in white, stared at him practically from under the dash.
“Sit up,” Jack commanded. “And belt in as best you can. This could get scary.”
He slammed Victoria into gear and, tyres smoking, got them going. In the passenger seat, the kids scrambled to do as he said, long arms tangling, bodies slipping sideways as they took a curve at speed. The kids were just clipping the seatbelt into place around both of them when the Alfa reappeared in the rear vision mirror. It roared right up behind them and smashed into the back of the black car.
Victoria lurched sharply forward. Mati screamed and the guy cried out in pain. Jack got the car back under control quickly and considered his one option—straight up running away. He had the kids with him now, all that mattered was getting them away from danger as quickly as possible. Surely he could do that in this car.
Decided, he relaxed into the seat, adjusted his hands on the steering wheel, and said, “Hold on.”
“What are you going—” Mati cut off with a startled yelp when Jack stamped on the accelerator.
Victoria’s big engine roared and they left the red car behind very quickly. They also left behind definable scenery and any guarantee of surviving every curve in the road. But they were coming down out of the hills and back onto mostly flat land so the road straightened out. Which was good, and bad. The Alfa might not have had the instant get up and go the Aston Martin did, but the driver was probably more skilled than Jack and the little red car started creeping up on their rear again.
“Shit.” Jack coaxed even more ludicrous speed out of the Vanquish. At this rate, they were going to run out of road far too soon.
“What?” Mati asked, then looked in the side mirror. “Fuck.”
“Language,” Jack snapped at her. He lifted his left arm. “Grab my gun and switch mags.”
“What?” Mati sounded horrified. “I can’t do that. I don’t know how.”
“It’s very easy. You won’t shoot anyone. Please.”
Muttering under her breath, Mati leaned across her friend, making him grunt in pain, and w
restled the USP out of the holster.
“Spare mag there.” Jack pointed to the black plastic case sitting in the centre console cup holder.
He talked Mati through changing the mag while he focused on not killing them all in a fiery crash. When it was done, he lowered his window and then put the gun in the pocket on his door, grip up. Over the sudden rush of wind, he said, “Okay, everyone. Really hold onto something this time.”
“What are you—” Mati didn’t even bother trying to finish. She just clamped her jaw shut, put a bracing arm across her friend’s chest, and the other against the dash.
Satisfied, Jack took a deep breath and before he could chicken out, whipped the car into a stupidly fast handbrake turn. The tyres smoked against the bitumen and the engine squealed when Jack slammed the handbrake back down and then shifted into reverse.
Nose pointed toward their pursuer and speeding backwards—again—Jack grabbed his gun and, hand resting on the side mirror, fired at the Alfa as it took advantage of Victoria’s slower rate and caught up. The Alfa swerved to the side and the assassin’s arm appeared, gun in hand. They exchanged shot after shot.
Then suddenly, the Alfa slowed dramatically. About to yell in victory, Jack choked to a stop as a large, dark shape swept in over the top of the Vanquish. His foot lifted automatically off the accelerator as he recognised the sleek, deadly Kamov Ka-52 Hokum B.
The Ka-52 had once belonged to a wannabe domestic terrorist, Samuel Valadian, who’d hidden out in the Great Sandy Desert. Jack had used the Russian built attack helicopter to escape Valadian’s compound, giving Ethan some air support on his one-man, no-camel assault before hightailing it out of there due to damage done to the bird’s engines. When Jack had returned to the Office, they’d picked up the damaged helicopter and, of course, fixed it up for their own use.
The Ka-52 arrowed over the top of the Vanquish, pointed right at the Alfa and unleashed two streams of tracer fire on it as it rapidly reversed.
While the kids cheered, Jack brought Victoria to a stop. The Alfa was on the run, weaving backwards as the Ka-52 swept around it. The pilot wasn’t trying to hit the car, just to keep it off Jack and from running too far. Which meant backup had to be on the way.
When Death Frees the Devil Page 11
