No escape. And Baxter had fired not at the car, but its occupants. He had been given clear instructions.
Kill the fugitives.
A section of the video wall had been switched to the live feed from the UAV’s camera. The drone was still several blocks from its target, the view partially obscured by buildings—but enough of the street was visible to show flashes of fire coming from one of the Suburbans. “Whoa!” exclaimed Kyle. “Are Baxter’s guys shooting at them?”
Tony rounded on Morgan. “Martin, what’s John doing?” he demanded. “If he kills Adam and Bianca, we’ll never find out what the hell all this is about!”
Morgan hesitated uncomfortably before replying. “Orders from Harper. Use whatever force is necessary to take Adam down.”
“Take him down—or take him out?” Tony turned to Kiddrick. “What’s on that disk that’s worth killing him for?”
“The contents of the disk are classified,” Kiddrick said stiffly.
“Even from Adam? How the hell can somebody’s own memories be kept a secret from him?”
“We have our orders,” said Morgan, face grim. “If Adam had surrendered immediately, it wouldn’t be necessary.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
Tony made a disgusted sound and looked back at the screens. All three Suburbans had rejoined the pursuit, panthers bearing down upon their smaller and weaker prey.
Bianca risked lifting her head enough to peer into the wing mirror. “Oh God! They’re catching up!”
“Stay down,” Adam warned her. But he couldn’t follow his own advice, needing to see the street ahead through the damaged windshield.
And that was not the only part of the Elantra that had suffered injury. He heard a piercing hiss from the engine compartment—steam escaping from the bullet-punctured radiator. The Hyundai was dying.
But he couldn’t stop. That would spell death for more than just the car.
Sirens ahead—several of them. Getting closer.
He looked in the mirror. The Suburbans were about two hundred yards behind, but quickly gaining. Without Holly Jo’s guidance he no longer knew which way to turn to evade the approaching cops—although if they beat him to the next intersection it wouldn’t make any difference.
He willed the car to go faster, but the stench of boiling coolant and oil told him that the hope was futile. The speedometer needle, which had been pinned at seventy, started to fall.
Wisps of steam blew back along the hood. The engine was overheating, strained beyond its limits.
Sixty-five. Sixty. The chase was almost over …
The Elantra shot through the intersection just ahead of three charging police vehicles off to the right.
Adam checked the mirror. The lead cruiser appeared—
But it didn’t follow him. Instead it screeched to a stop, the two other cars following suit to form a ragged barricade across the intersection. Cops jumped out, raising weapons—but not at the Hyundai.
They were aiming at Baxter’s team.
“What the fuck?” yelled Baxter as the MPD vehicles blocked his path. Cops took up position behind them, aiming pistols and shotguns over the hoods and trunks. “What are these assholes doing?”
“Stop your vehicles!” boomed an amplified voice. “Stop or we open fire!”
The driver looked at Baxter in alarm. “What do I do?”
There was not enough room to get past without ramming the cars aside—injuring or killing the cops behind them. “Stop,” Baxter reluctantly ordered, the cold thrill of the pursuit replaced by anger. The driver braked hard, the Suburban halting ten meters short of the roadblock. The other two SUVs pulled up behind it. “I’m gonna rip someone a new one for this …”
Morgan blinked in surprise as he watched the aerial view of unfolding events. The cops advanced on the stationary Suburbans, weapons drawn. “What the—What are they doing? Why are they stopping Baxter’s team? Get me the Metro commander, now!” he barked at Holly Jo’s replacement. “And keep track of Adam!”
Kyle zoomed out, catching the Hyundai just before it made a turn and was lost to view behind buildings. “Get him back in sight!” Kiddrick demanded.
“Let me just switch to X-ray mode,” Kyle said sarcastically. “Patience, brah. Another thirty seconds and the drone’ll catch up.”
Morgan was connected to the police commander. “What the hell’s going on? Your guys just stopped my pursuit team!”
“The hell are you talkin’ about?” was the truculent response. “We’re doin’ what you told us to do!”
“What do you mean?”
“I got your APB right here! ‘Highest national security priority, stop and detain armed and dangerous suspects in three stolen black US government Suburbans.’ That’s what you asked for, and that’s what we’re doin’, right now!”
“That’s not what we told you!” Morgan said, bewildered. On the screen, the cops were making the SUVs’ occupants get out at gunpoint. “Our suspects are in a Hyundai station wagon—you’re arresting the agents who were chasing them!”
“Look, I’m just goin’ by what you gave us,” the commander complained. “First you told us it was the Hyundai, then you sent an update about the Suburbans.”
“We didn’t send—” Morgan broke off, casting an accusing glare over the Bullpen’s occupants. “All right. I guess Holly Jo isn’t the only person trying to help Adam. So who else has a good reason to feel loyal to him?” His gaze fell upon Kyle. “Someone he saved from being shot down by a Russian jet, maybe?”
“I’m just flying the UAV!” the young man protested. “I don’t even have access to that kind of stuff.”
Kiddrick moved to Morgan’s side, sour-faced. “But I can think of someone who does.”
“So can I,” said Morgan. “Levon? Did you change the APB?”
Levon looked up at him with a guilty expression. “If I say yes, do I get some leniency?”
Exasperated, Morgan waved to another pair of guards. “Put him in with Voss.” Levon held up his hands in surrender and stood as they approached.
“We’re gonna need more security guys in here,” said Kyle as the two men took Levon away.
“We’d better not,” Morgan rumbled. He turned back to the screens. “Where’s Adam now?”
“I’m on him,” Kyle assured him. “Okay, got a fix with the auto-tracking.” A blue outline was overlaid on one particular vehicle as it reached an intersection. “He’s going west—no, wait, he’s turning again.”
The Hyundai pulled onto an access road running behind a large office building of dull red brick. It headed down a ramp beneath the structure. “We’ve got him,” said Kiddrick. “If he tries to hide, the police can just sweep the place floor by floor until they find him.”
“That’s not why he’s gone in there,” said Tony. As if in response, the green square began to jitter, before vanishing entirely. “He’s blocking the tracker!”
“Will this work?” asked Bianca as Adam brought the car into the underground garage.
“Hopefully. They’ll know we’re in here, but they won’t be able to pinpoint exactly where,” he replied.
“Our car’s fairly easy to spot, though.” With its mangled back end and bullet-pocked nose and windshield, the Elantra was no longer anonymous.
“That’s why we’re not staying with it.”
“Oh, so we’re going to steal some other poor sod’s car?”
“I’ll pick something that looks like the owner can afford theft insurance.” He drove along the garage until he spotted a space and slewed the steaming vehicle into it. “Follow me.”
“Like I have much of a choice,” she said as she got out, fumbling with her baggage.
Adam pulled the other case from the backseat, then hurried along the row of cars until he reached the end wall. “This’ll have to do,” he said, crouching behind the last parked vehicle. “Give me the bag.”
Bianca handed it to him, looking fearfully b
ack toward the ramp. “How long do you think we’ll have before they get here?”
“Not long. You’ll have to work fast.” He opened the carryall, extracting an emergency surgical kit he had taken from STS. “Okay, here’s what I need you to do,” he said, handing it to her and then untucking his clothing to expose his lower back. “Just above the base of my spine there’s a thing like a large coin under my skin. That’s the kinetic power pack. You’ll have to find it by feel.”
“So—so you actually want me to do this?” she said. “You want me to cut you open?”
“It’s the only way. Find the power pack.”
Bianca hesitantly touched him, fingertips moving down his backbone. She felt something under the skin, hard and unnatural, a circular object about four centimeters in diameter. “Okay, got it. What now?”
“You’re going to cut through the skin just above it. Use a sterile wipe to clean it.” She found one in the surgical kit and did so. “Now take the scalpel and make a horizontal incision across the top.”
There was a scalpel inside a plastic tube. She took the instrument out. Even in the gloomy half-light of the parking garage, the razor edge of the stainless-steel blade glinted. “Oh God, I can’t stop my hands from shaking,” she warned him.
“You’ll be okay,” Adam replied. He knelt down, leaning forward. “Find the pack again—use your left hand.”
She tried to control her breathing as she relocated the disk beneath his skin. “Okay.”
“Now put the tip of the scalpel just above it, about half an inch to the left of its top.”
Bianca brought the blade into position, but hesitated before the metal touched him, her hand trembling more than ever. “Adam, I’m scared. If I do something wrong …”
“You won’t. I know you can do it. I trust you, Doctor Childs.”
That didn’t stop her from shaking, but at least it gave her the courage to press the scalpel’s tip against his flesh. “What about anesthetic?”
“There isn’t time.” He tensed, taking a deep breath. “Make the incision.”
Another hesitation—then, wincing, she pressed the blade down.
Adam flinched at the pain, drawing in air sharply through his nostrils. Blood swelled from the cut, rising like a tar bubble before trickling down his back in a crimson stream.
Bianca gasped. It was not so much the sight itself that caused her alarm, rather that she was responsible for it. “Oh God. The blood’s coming out really fast!”
“You’ll have to be fast too,” said Adam through gritted teeth. “Make the cut—left to right, about an inch.”
She tried to slide the scalpel sideways, but the blade refused to move. “I can’t, it’s stuck!”
“You have to—push harder. Like cutting a steak.”
“Is this a bad time to tell you I’m a vegetarian?” But she applied more pressure—and the scalpel shifted, slicing through the skin and the thin layer of fat beneath. A sudden gush of blood made her jerk in shock. “It’s bleeding, a lot!”
“Keep cutting,” Adam told her, voice strained. “You’re almost done.”
Wincing, Bianca edged the scalpel across until the incision was the size he had demanded. “Okay, okay! Now what do I do?”
“Don’t put down the scalpel, you’ll still need it—but you’re going to have to use your other hand to open the incision. There’s a wire coming out of the top of the pack—the earwig’s power line and antenna. Use the scalpel to cut it.”
“Oh God, oh my God …,” Bianca whispered as she moved her quivering left hand to the gory opening. Blood oozed out as she touched it. She probed deeper, feeling the curved edge of the implant against her fingertips. “I’ve found the power pack—but I can’t feel the wire.” Desperation rose as she kept searching without result. Another bloody rivulet rushed down Adam’s back. “Oh God, I can’t find it!”
“Stay calm,” Adam rasped, muscles and tendons drawn tight. “It’s there. Right at the top. Just keep feeling …”
Her right hand was shaking so much she almost dropped the scalpel. She clamped her hand tightly around its handle, then slid her fingertips deeper into the incision. Still nothing but the smooth plastic curve of the power pack and the awful warm softness under his skin—then suddenly she felt something else that did not belong. It was much thinner than she had expected, more like a hair drawn taut than an electrical wire. “I’ve got it!”
“Okay,” said Adam. “Now put the scalpel blade under it, and pull outward.”
She did so. There was resistance, the edges of the cut rising upward as the wire pulled against them—then with an almost musical tink it broke. Bianca gasped. “It’s gone!”
Adam’s own relief was less vocal, but just as heartfelt. “Okay,” he said, exhaling sharply. “There’s some gauze in the kit. Put a piece over the cut, then stick a bandage over it.”
“What about cleaning it?”
“No time. We need to get out of here.” As she covered the wound, he rummaged in the bag, producing something the size of a smartphone.
“What’s that?” Bianca asked.
“Something that would have every auto manufacturer in the world suing STS if they ever found out about it.” He tapped at the buttons on the device’s face. A line of tiny LEDs along the top of the gadget flickered—then the garage echoed with the chirps of dozens of remote locking systems, indicators flashing.
Bianca looked up from her nursing work in amazement. “How did you do that?”
“It’s an override—it’s got the lock and alarm codes for just about every car on the market.” He pocketed the remote. “Are you done?”
She finished pressing the bandage into place. “Yes. Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, but there isn’t time to worry about it. Get the gear, we need to find a car.” He stood, pulling his clothing back into place as he turned to survey the garage. “Something fast, but not too showy …” He managed a smile. “There we go.”
Bianca collected the PERSONA, then turned to see what he was looking at. Not knowing anything about American automobiles, all she could tell was that the vehicle in question was some sort of glossy black muscle car. “Is that good?”
“Hell yes, it’s good,” Adam replied. “And I guess I just found out something else about myself.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m a Ford man.” Suppressing a wince at the pain in his lower back, he picked up the other case and the bag and hurried down the row to the waiting Mustang.
Bianca followed. “I used to have a Ford Ka. One-point-two liter. I’m guessing this is a bit more powerful.”
“Just a bit. Get in.” He opened the driver’s door, dropping the case onto the backseat, then took out the override and climbed inside.
She saw his face twist with pain as he sat, putting pressure on the wound. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’ll live. Assuming we actually get out of this alive.” He flipped the remote around in his hand, thumbing open a panel in its base. “Okay, let’s see. Ford, Ford …” He turned a small knurled wheel, then pushed it. A sliver of metal sprang out of the remote with a click. He slid it into the ignition slot and turned it. The Mustang’s five-liter V8 started up with a rumble that echoed through the garage. “All right!”
“That’s the happiest I’ve seen you since we ran out of that pub,” Bianca said, almost teasing.
“Apparently I like my wheels. You ready?” She nodded, and he pulled out of the space, turning back toward the ramp. He accelerated up it, the exhaust note booming in his wake.
“There!” said Morgan, pointing at the screens. A dark shape emerged from the bowels of the office building the drone was observing. “Someone’s leaving. Kyle, follow it.”
“We don’t have his tracker,” said Kyle. “It could just be some dude going home early.”
“He went in there to disable the tracker. We can’t risk losing them.” He glanced at the map. Baxter and his men had been released, the three STS
Suburbans now racing with the police vehicles toward Adam’s last known location—but they were still two blocks distant.
“It could be a decoy,” Tony cautioned. “They might be splitting up.”
Morgan shook his head. “Adam somehow persuaded Dr. Childs to help him do this, even though she must have known the consequences. They’ll stick together.” He looked back at the view from the UAV’s camera. “Kyle, why isn’t the auto-tracking on that car yet? And zoom in closer—we can’t even tell the model from this height!”
“There’s, uh, some sort of glitch in the system,” Kyle replied unconvincingly. “I can’t get a lock on it—uh-oh.” The image rocked as the drone slewed around. The black car swept off the edge of the screen. “Must be turbulence or something! A jet stream, maybe.”
“Over Washington?” spluttered Kiddrick.
“Air’s a weird thing, brah.” He waggled the controls, putting the UAV into a spin.
“I see we do need some more security guys in here,” growled Morgan. “Hamilton, take over from him. Kyle—”
“I know, I know,” said Kyle, standing. “I’m busted.”
“Just stand over there and wait for the SPOs. Hamilton! Where’s that car?”
Kyle’s replacement took over the controls, stabilizing the drone. The office building came back into view—but there was no sign of the target vehicle. “I can’t see it, sir.”
“Search wider. We’ve got to find it.”
“I don’t even know which way it was heading, sir. It could have gone in any direction from the nearest intersection.”
“We can’t exactly tell Metro to put out an APB on ‘a black car,’ ” said Tony. The camera panned across another block—revealing at least half a dozen vehicles that would fit the description.
Morgan simmered, glaring at the wall screens. “Okay. Tell them to search that building, just in case they’re still inside. It’s a long shot, but we have to check. Then get MPD to set up roadblocks—ten-block radius.”
Tony looked at the capital’s expansive grid on the map. “That’s a hell of a lot of streets. They’ll never be able to close them all off.”
The Shadow Protocol Page 40
