“This way.” He didn’t wait to see if Ethan followed him.
A valiant staff member dodged into his path. “Sir. Sirs! You can’t—”
Jack flashed his ISO badge at the woman as he whipped past. “Official business. Ethan!” He opened the door beside the concierge desk, spinning through it so he could scan the foyer even as he left it.
Ethan was seconds behind him.
The office space behind the door only had a couple of occupied desks. Jack thrust his badge in their direction, claiming “official business” again.
“You’re here with ISO?” Ethan asked as they turned down a short corridor.
“Sort of. This way.” He hit the release bar on the door at the end of the hallway.
Dim light greeted them as they came out onto a loading dock. It was empty of vehicles, but they had to dodge around a couple of staff who were unpacking a palette of stock. Jack hurdled a box of bottled water and dodged around a man with a carton of booze while fishing in his jacket pocket for a key. Ahead, the deadly looking Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R was where he’d left it, parked at the top of the ramp.
“A Ninja, Jack?” Ethan asked as he caught up.
Throwing his leg over it, Jack inserted the key. “Go steal your own bike, if you don’t like it.”
Another twitch of his lips, then Ethan was on the bike, arms around Jack’s waist. The engine awoke with a healthy roar before settling into a satisfying rumble. Jack kicked up the stand and eased the bike around until it faced the ramp.
Somewhat smugly, he yelled, “Hold on,” to Ethan, then shot them down the ramp and into the alley behind the hotel. Ethan’s arms did tighten at the first burst of power, but then loosened when they turned out of the alleyway and onto the road so he could move with the motion of the bike. Then he let go completely and sat up, most likely looking for the Lambo.
“There.” He tapped Jack’s shoulder and pointed.
A flash of orange disappeared around a corner ahead of them.
Taking a gamble, Jack swerved the other way, leaning the bike over as he took the opposite corner. Behind him, Ethan tensed, then relaxed when it became clear where Jack was heading.
Another turn later, they exploded out onto the main road that followed the curve of the bay. Jack cut across the southbound lane and swung into the northbound one, several cars behind the racing Lambo. The road wasn’t so crowded that either they or the supercar couldn’t weave in and out of the traffic. Jack, however, could move through smaller gaps and they gained on the orange Lambo quickly. Seeing this, the driver planted his foot and the car leaped ahead, crossing over to the opposite lane to get around slower moving vehicles.
Instead of facing oncoming traffic, Jack went to the left and onto Marine Drive. It was thankfully empty of pedestrians at this time of night, so he throttled up to high speed and quickly drew even with the Lambo.
The passenger side window rolled down and the shadowed figure inside raised a gun. Jack barely touched the brake and the bullet missed wide in front of them. He felt Ethan reach down between them and retrieve Jack’s USP from the back of his jeans. Throttling up, he caught back up to the Lambo and Ethan returned fire.
Neither had much of a chance of hitting the other, as the Lambo cut in and out of the traffic at a second’s notice. Jack swung back onto the main road and came in tight behind the low profile car. Ethan leaned around him and aimed for the rear tyres. Bullets sparked off the rear fender.
Then one blew off the right wing mirror of the Ninja.
Jack threw the bike into a sharp sweep left. Ethan locked one arm around Jack’s waist and twisted, firing at the new threat coming up behind. Glancing in his remaining mirror, Jack saw two bikes rapidly gaining on them. One of them had a handgun trained on Jack and Ethan, while the other concentrated on catching up to them.
Stopping the Lambo now a lower priority, Jack took them back onto the boulevard and opened up the bike again. As they roared past the supercar, it braked suddenly and turned onto a side road, heading into the city. For a few precious seconds he felt Ethan lean that way, yearning after it and whatever intelligence the driver had. Then he shifted back into alignment with Jack and the bike.
They were rapidly running out of Marine Drive. Ahead was the beach and a decision about how to deal with the pursuit still hot on their arses. Ethan kept sending bullets back at them but had no hope of hitting anything substantial as they all kept up evasive manoeuvres. When the dark water of the bay was replaced with yellow sand, Ethan stopped firing, tapped at Jack’s shoulder and gestured.
“Move over,” Ethan shouted over the engine noise.
“What’s the plan?” Jack nevertheless followed the direction of Ethan’s hand and swerved closer to the sand.
“Distraction. Please slow just a tad.”
Trusting him, Jack did so.
Ethan threw himself off the back of the bike. Tucking into a ball, he hit the sand and rolled. Jack couldn’t risk watching what he did next, having to focus on the way ahead. He did hear several gunshots in fast succession, followed by a smash and a protracted screech.
Goddamn Ethan and his reckless moves. He’d only just got Ethan back within grasping range and he was already throwing himself away from Jack. Anger warred with concern. What the fuck did Ethan think he was doing?
An intersection was coming up and Jack braked sharply going into the U-turn, planting his foot and skidding the rear tyre around. Cars honked and people yelled in surprise, then he was heading south again. Except that he was on the wrong side of a tall barrier between the two sets of lanes.
He caught a quick view of Ethan as he went past. One of the enemy bikes was down and Ethan was crouched behind it, firing on the other rider, who had stopped and was also using their bike as cover. There was no sign of the police yet but they couldn’t be too far away. The 2008 terror attacks were still fresh in city’s memory and Jack couldn’t let them be caught up in the sort of response open gunfire would—rightly—instigate.
He didn’t go too far in the wrong direction before he found a solution to his problem. Hitting the horn on the bike hard and repeatedly, Jack slowed and left the road, getting onto the footpath. The smallish number of pedestrians ran out of his way, and when he lifted the front wheel of the bike onto the stairs leading to an elevated walkway over the road, they flattened themselves against the railings. Jack revved the Ninja and powered it up the stairs. At the top, he slid it around and rode along the covered bridge, the engine roar echoing through the tight space. Out the other side, he bumped down the next set of stairs, swung around and got back onto the road.
He weaved through the traffic, using it for cover as he approached the scene of Ethan’s stand against the enemy. Not much had changed, and at the last possible moment, Jack swerved sharply onto the boulevard and rode the bike into the back of the helmeted gunman firing on Ethan.
The man went down with a cut off yelp as the Ninja went over his legs, then launched off the angle of the downed bike’s body. Air borne for a second, the Ninja landed heavily, wobbling. Jack braked hard, foot down for balance, boot tread skidding over the cement. In a curl of black smoke from the back tyre, Jack came to a shaky stop just in front of the second bike, heart racketing in his chest from excitement and sheer shit-scaredness.
“Very timely.” Ethan popped up from his cover, ejected the mag from the USP and peered into it. “I just ran out of ammunition.”
“Get on,” Jack growled, on a hair trigger from the dump of adrenaline and Ethan’s reckless actions. “We have to leave before the cops get here.”
“I thought you were here officially.” Ethan didn’t waste time getting back on the Ninja however.
“As I said, sort of. Things are rough, politically speaking, right now.”
Any questions Ethan had were lost as Jack took off so fast the front wheel lifted off the ground. It thumped back down as he got control of both his anger and the bike and moved them back onto the road. Thankfully, Ethan was a cooperati
ve pillion rider this time, pressed to Jack’s back and not throwing himself off at stupidly high speeds.
A police car swung in behind them as Jack took a corner too fast. Lights and siren going, it wasn’t long before it was joined by another one.
Jack took them down a random selection of streets, alternating between wanting traffic they could slip through while hindering the police cars, and open stretches where he could race away. The call had gone out, however, and there was law enforcement closing in on the area in a great mass. Every corner they went around was a gamble as to how many flashing lights they would find. Finally, they seemed to lose their closest pursuers and Jack reduced his speed to the posted limits.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Ethan asked after nearly twenty minutes free of lights and sirens. They were stopped at an intersection, playing the part of road rule abiding folks.
“Vaguely,” Jack muttered. “It’s just getting there.”
There was a speculative pause, then, “Are you lost, Jack?”
Jack scowled. “It’s been a very, very, long since I was last in Mumbai, all right? And we never came here much. How about you plot our course with your implant, if you want to be helpful instead of just the reason why we have cops crawling up our arse?” Now wasn’t the time for an argument but he couldn’t stop the growl in his words.
Ethan stiffened against his back. “That won’t be possible. My implant is dead.”
“What? Why? How?”
A blurt of a siren cut off any chance at an answer, even if Jack hadn’t sensed Ethan closing down. Ignoring the red light, Jack shot them around a corner to a chorus of horns, and the chase was on again. It never quite gained the same urgency as the first pursuit had, and whether by pure luck or divine design they were free of tails when Jack saw his goal as they roared up an overpass across some railway tracks.
“Is that where we’re going?” Ethan yelled over the engine.
“Yeah.” Jack cut across a lane of traffic to make the turn. “We should be able to hide pretty well in there.”
“Yes. I imagine so.”
At Ethan’s best guess, they were in central Mumbai and ahead of them was a large slum area. The mass of tightly packed ramshackle huts pressed up against rows of old, dilapidated buildings like lake waters lapping at the shore. The road they followed between the buildings was narrow and rough and they shared it with a few other bikes and cars as desperate looking as the scenery.
This was a good place to lay low. Ethan didn’t think there would be much police presence here, and perhaps what there was wasn’t altogether welcomed. The law was not often on the side of most impoverished and oppressed peoples.
Jack slowed the bike and Ethan kept an eye out for tails, but also noted their surroundings, needing to ensure he had a path out of this place, if required.
The buildings were old and bedraggled, weighed down by history and neglect due to poverty, covered in grime and patchwork repairs. It looked despondent and downtrodden but there were signs of a thriving community as well. Canvas awnings over now-empty market stalls, closed for the night, locked grills over windows to hole-in-the-wall eateries, an occasional old motorbike parked on the side of the road. It looked cleaner than Ethan would have expected but every now and then a waft of damp rot reminded him that sanitation wasn’t a high priority of the city here.
There were a few people on the street, most of whom watched them pass on the sleek, expensive bike with narrowed eyes and thin lips. Even with a lack of an authoritative presence, he and Jack needed to be careful, and they were leaving clear memories of themselves with these people.
Jack seemed to have the same thought because he pulled over not long later. They got off and Jack lifted the seat. From the compartment underneath he removed another HK USP, spare mags, which he shared between them, and a roll of knives he tucked into the inside of his leather jacket. Lastly, he pulled out a peak cap and shoved it on Ethan’s head, tugging it down low over his forehead.
“Keep that on. A white guy here is going to stand out.”
Adjusting the cap so it didn’t hurt his ears, Ethan eyed Jack carefully. His scowl was deep and the angry growl in his voice hadn’t lessened since they lost the police. Which meant he was mad at Ethan as well. In moments of weakness, when he had let himself dream about reuniting with Jack, he’d imagined surviving his plan to kill the Cabal and then finding Jack to finally tell him exactly how he felt. In those dreams, there hadn’t been near-death experiences or highspeed chases—or Jack’s entirely justified anger with him.
Jack wheeled the bike into a narrow gap between buildings and started throwing trash on it. Ethan helped silently and when it was as hidden as it was ever going to be, Jack led the way to the far end of the gap and onto another street. There were a few more people moving around here and Ethan hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, hoping they didn’t immediately notice his ethnicity. Even Jack stood out despite being half Indian. His skin wasn’t as dark, his jeans and leather jacket too new and spotless.
They picked up a tail not long later. A skinny youth in ragged clothes who slinked along behind them, probably thinking they—non-locals—were easy marks for pickpocketing. Jack noticed him half a minute after Ethan did and with a few discreet gestures they agreed on a plan.
It took the kid another five minutes to get close enough, and the instant his nimble fingers dipped into Jack’s pocket, Jack whipped around and caught his arm. The thief was young but he wasn’t stupid. He twisted his arm out of Jack’s hold and turned, ready to sprint, and ran straight into Ethan, who grabbed his wrist, spun him around and brought his captured arm up behind his back. The kid gave a startled cry, then another when Ethan’s other arm wrapped around his chest and lifted him off the ground. He struggled and tried to kick out at Jack, who went for his legs, but didn’t connect before Jack caught his calves. Ethan shifted his hand to over the boy’s mouth and they got him off the street into the dark shadows between two buildings.
The youth went still, eyes widening in fear. Under Ethan’s palm, he was still trying to speak, the muffled sounds desperate now, not alarmed.
“What’s he saying?” Ethan asked softly.
“Not sure. He’s speaking in Marathi and I don’t know it.” Jack let the kid’s legs go but moved closer so he was pinned between them. He spoke quiet but fast in Hindi and after a moment, the kid shut up, eyes still wide and scared. “I let him know we’re not going to hurt him,” Jack explained. “That we just need some information.” From a back pocket, he pulled a wad of purple notes. The kid stared at them, fear turning into desperate want.
Jack and the youth exchanged a rapid conversation in Hindi and after a minute, Jack motioned for Ethan to let him go. The kid shook out his wrist, then thrust out his hand to Jack. Peeling off two notes, Jack held them up, his tone firm, and when the kid nodded frantically in agreement, handed them over.
The money disappeared into the boy’s clothes faster than Ethan could follow, and a moment later, the kid was gone as well.
“He’ll be back,” Jack whispered.
“Are you sure?” Over the general stink of their surroundings, Ethan could smell Jack. Sweat, leather, and soap that combined in Ethan’s senses into an urge to touch and hold Jack. The sun in the emptiness of his chest burned brighter with the new fuel.
Watching the street with a frown, Jack shrugged. “I promised him twice again what I already gave him. That’s more money than he’d see in a year here. I guess we hope that’s incentive enough.” His black brows pinched even further together and his lips got thin. “I hadn’t exactly planned for this, you know. Hadn’t planned on having to haul you back from a thirty storey drop, either.”
The growling rumble in his words echoed in Ethan’s guts, half memory of the deadly fall he’d almost taken, half an awakening of that part of him that only Jack had ever been able to touch.
All those months of training himself to not want to run to Jack, all of it ruined in one insta
nt. The moment he’d seen the hand appear over the balcony he had known who it was. Just as he’d known the hand in the suite hadn’t been Jack’s. The moment Jack had caught him, every mote of that discipline had fled and all he’d wanted to do was stay in his arms forever.
This was why it would be better if he left now. He could get back to where they’d left the bike. Ten was still alive, and he knew where Jäger was, and where Jäger was, the Cabal bosses were.
The kid returned before Ethan could work out how to get away. He spoke to Jack, then gestured for them to follow him.
“He’s got a place for us to stay,” Jack told Ethan, then went after the boy.
Now. Ethan could leave now. Simply turn in the other direction and get away before Jack could stop him. But his feet automatically moved after Jack. He would make sure Jack was secure, then strike out on his own again.
The youth darted barefoot along the tight streets and ducked under low hanging laundry, occasionally pausing to make sure they hadn’t gotten lost. Eventually, he came to a stop before a crumbling white-bricked building five storeys high. There was what had once been red trim but had faded to a pale pink, arched windows and a portico supported by chipped and slightly crooked columns. Material of all types and shades fluttered in the windows and there was a row of old, empty chairs out the front.
A knock on the door was answered promptly, the boy switching back to Marathi to talk to the woman who peered out him, then up at Jack and Ethan. When Jack produced the money she finally nodded and opened the door wider.
While Jack stopped to hand over the promised rupees to the kid, Ethan went inside—and caught his breath.
What had once been a foyer had been transformed into someone’s home, but that wasn’t the most astonishing thing.
The floor was covered in vibrant rugs in rich colours of red and gold. Hindu idols were placed in positions of pride on a carved oak sideboard. A plush sofa divided the room in two, facing a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. On the other side of the room was a formal dining table with eight chairs around it. Through a door next to the table, the aroma of cooking unchallenged by the smell of dirt and detritus made Ethan’s mouth water. The whole place was lit by electric lights. A boy of about sixteen sat in front of the TV, turned away from the Bollywood action movie to stare at Ethan with wide eyes. Then, dismissing him, the boy focused on the show again.
When Death Frees the Devil Page 18
