Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Aslan reached into his coat and withdrew a nickel-plated handgun which looked as big as a cannon. “Tell Franz to get rid of the staff. Send them home for the day. Activate everyone else. Go!”

  Giorgio nodded and spun away. Before he could take a pace, the door to Noah’s laboratory burst open. Johnson spilled out, breathing hard. “He’s not there! He’s gone.” He came hurrying to Aslan, on the other side of the passage from where Quinn stood.

  Quinn raised her hand and opened her mouth to warn Johnson.

  A third flat crack and the same dull thud sounded. Johnson opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, while a red dot on the center of his forehead grew bigger. His knees buckled. He dropped to the ground.

  The tendons in Aslan’s neck worked hard. “What in hell is going on here?”

  As he spoke, the whole building shifted under Quinn’s feet. The floor tilted and swayed like a boat deck in high seas. A low rumbling swiftly became a deafening roar. Everything shook.

  Quinn put her hand against the wall to keep herself on her feet. She slapped her other hand over her ear to deaden the sound.

  Between the cracks in the picture window, she saw smoke and dust rising into the air, outside. It formed billowing clouds.

  “The warehouse!” Giorgio cried. “That explosion came from the warehouse!” He sprinted down the corridor, turned the corner and was gone.

  Aslan spun again, this time to look at Mitchell’s body. He bent and reached inside Mitchell’s jacket. He felt on both sides, then in his pockets and his pants. He straightened up. “Gone,” he muttered.

  He stepped toward Quinn and raised his gun. He didn’t quite point at her. “Open your jacket and your purse.” His voice was quiet.

  Quinn opened her jacket, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Mitchell’s security pass to the warehouse has gone. Someone took it off his body.” As he spoke, Aslan patted her down. It was impersonal and thorough. He even squeezed her breasts, to determine if anything rigid was nestled inside her bra cup.

  Quinn didn’t feel any embarrassment. She felt nothing at all. “I don’t know where the factory is! I didn’t know a pass was needed to get in. It wasn’t me who took it.”

  Aslan removed the lip gloss from her little front pocket and turned it over. He shoved it back in her pocket to free his hand, then took her clutch and rooted through it. He tossed the bag to the floor and took her arm.

  The trembling of the building was growing worse. The explosion had done some serious structural damage.

  “You seem to know more about what’s going on than I do,” Aslan said. “You and I will have a long talk, somewhere where we won’t be interrupted. Come on.”

  He pulled her along the corridor, his gun hanging in his other hand. He didn’t seem to care who saw it. The grip on her arm was relentless.

  As they crossed the catwalk into the administration building, the sound of guns firing came clearly through the glass. Quinn flinched, although the firing was far away.

  Aslan hauled her back into line and moved forward. “The firing is all on the ground,” he said. “They’re not shooting at us.”

  “Don’t you want to see who it is?” Quinn asked. “They’re attacking your facilities.”

  Aslan didn’t answer.

  They stepped into the administration building. Aslan shoved the gun back inside his coat. “It doesn’t mean I won’t use it if I have to,” he told her.

  The sound of panic was louder in the administration building. Quinn could hear people babbling.

  Aslan walked her through the building. No one paid any notice. They were too busy scrambling to evacuate the building. The explosion and the gunfire were enough to send everyone screaming.

  Quinn was glad it was so. Aslan’s order to empty the building meant all the innocent workers could leave the area and get to safety.

  Aslan didn’t let go of her arm as he pushed open the front doors of the building and moved under the portico to the footpath beyond.

  As he crossed the road, Quinn buttoned her jacket and turned the collar up with her spare hand. She had no coat, although they were walking fast and the jacket had a decent lining. She wouldn’t freeze, not even in this temperature, if they kept moving.

  Behind them, the sound of weapons firing was much louder. Without a building insulating her, Quinn could hear the flat crack of bullets breaking the sound barrier. There were shouts and underneath it all, the sound of flames crackling.

  She turned to look over her shoulder and sucked in a gasp at the billowing clouds above the warehouse. The clouds were thick and fire burned within them.

  “Don’t look back,” Aslan told her. “It will slow us down.”

  “The warehouse!” she cried. “I’m not worth turning your back on this!”

  He hauled on her arm, pulling her around and making her turn her back on the buildings and the chaos there.

  Aslan scrambled down the other side of the road to a narrow alley between the buildings. He pushed her through, keeping a grip on her arm and making her walk. She stopped trying to protest or to suggest he go back.

  Aslan seemed to know the area well. He moved between buildings, crossed streets and dived down alleyways. Every time a door appeared, he tried the handle. Everything was locked and Aslan would continue on. He appeared to have a destination in mind. As Quinn did not know Vienna at all, except for the major shopping areas, she could not guess where he was heading.

  Then suddenly, they were there. After trying more doors with increasing frustration, Aslan led her through a narrow crevice between old buildings barely two feet apart, into green space. It was not just any green space.

  Quinn sucked her breath as she looked up. And up.

  The Ferris wheel was one of the biggest she had ever seen. It looked old, though. It looked as though it had been there for many years. Like the London Eye, it had closed-in cabins hanging from the wheel, not open chairs.

  Aslan pulled out his gun. It hung from his bare hand. He pushed her forward. They crossed the grass toward low-lying buildings surrounding the foot of the Ferris wheel.

  Dusty memory nibbled at the back of Quinn’s mind. She couldn’t say for sure, but she had a feeling that once, this Ferris wheel has been the largest in the world. Then the London Eye had come along. Perhaps there were others by now. Perhaps the Saudis had built one which no one could ever compete with.

  Just ahead were rough buildings which had been slapped together, with no attempt at decoration. As they were sited behind the Ferris wheel, Quinn guessed they were maintenance buildings or work sheds—something to do with the maintenance of the wheel. Perhaps it was where the engine was kept which ran the wheel. She didn’t know anything about Ferris wheels.

  Both of them froze when they heard voices. As they froze, their breath fogging the air, the silhouette of a man crossed the window of the building they stood beside.

  The voices came again. Two men, murmuring to each other. Metal clinked coldly.

  Aslan hurried her forward as if he had made a decision. They moved through the buildings and emerged into a public space which was tidy and paved over.

  It was the base of the Ferris wheel. A neat picket fence surrounded it, preventing the public from walking beneath the wheel.

  Two men stood at the open gate, one of them watching while the other worked on a motor with a ratchet in his hand. The motor casing was folded back. The casing was painted a pretty green, which would help it blend in when closed.

  Aslan walked right up to them. At first, because they were harmless citizens, and not naturally inclined to suspicion, the two men just glanced over their shoulders.

  Aslan gave them no chance to think it through. He raised the gun and fired.

  Quinn screamed. The man who had been supervising clutched at his side, then collapsed as he tried to put weight on the leg. He laid holding his bleeding thigh, groaning. The other man, the mechanic, raised his hands. His eyes were so wide, more white than pupil s
howed. He looked terrified.

  Quinn was back to shaking again.

  Aslan waved the gun. The mechanic did not take his eyes off it. He watched it wave and swallowed.

  “Get it going again,” Aslan said, in German. At least, Quinn thought it was what he said.

  Apparently, so did the mechanic. He glanced at the Ferris wheel cabin which hung directly in front of the concrete steps, ready for people to climb aboard. He looked back at Aslan with amazement. “But…”

  Aslan took a step closer, “I can always shoot you in the knee. You can still use your hands, even if you’re a cripple for the rest of your life.”

  The man reassessed Aslan. He nodded. “Yes, yes! A moment…a moment and I will have it going.” He turned back to the motor and put the case over it, so it was hidden beneath the pretty green. At the back of the case were red and green buttons. The tiny engine was not enough to drive the whole Ferris wheel. There had to be a bigger motor somewhere else, possibly in one of the sheds they had passed.

  This motor was the starter motor, giving control to whoever was standing there. In an emergency, they could hit the red button and shut it down.

  She wondered how many emergencies there had been in the Ferris wheel’s life.

  The motor hummed, then a deeper sound came from farther away. That would be the main motor which drove the wheel. The Ferris wheel itself shuddered.

  Aslan pushed her to the concrete steps, then up them. He pulled open the door of the carriage and nudged her inside. He stepped in after her and shut the door.

  The whole carriage shuddered then gave a little shake as it moved. It crept along, picking up speed. She didn’t imagine the Ferris wheel moved fast even at full speed.

  Aslan had found his place to be alone with her. No one could interrupt them while they were circling around this monstrous great wheel.

  Quinn pressed herself up against the far corner of the carriage. It was wood-paneled and carpet covered the floor. The panels had dull gold flourishes painted in the middle. Polished brass sconces were mounted on the wall, hinting at an elegance of a bygone era. The carriage looked old but well-maintained.

  The glass was spotless and surrounded the carriage on all four sides, designed to give the passengers a full three-sixty view. There were grab rails all around the carriage, made of the same polished brass as the sconces. They ran across the windows, which were framed in black.

  Up at the apex of the peaked roof, running through the gable on both ends, was a metal rod at least eight inches wide. The entire carriage hung on the rod. It swiveled so no matter where it was on the wheel, the carriage was upright. The carriage swung gently as it adjusted to every new angle, as the wheel moved around.

  They were still climbing.

  Quinn hugged herself. Even though they were technically inside, it was colder in here than it had been outside. Now she had stopped moving, too.

  Aslan spread his feet for balance. The gun hung at his side once more. His expression was calm, yet his tense jaw told Quinn his calm was a lie. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  She shuddered. “I’m Quinn Sawyer.”

  He shook his head. “The Quinn Sawyer I knew, the woman from Boston, she could not have killed Mitchell. I ask again, who are you?”

  “Mitchell k-k-killed Denis! When he told me that, I stopped thinking. There was just a noise in my head. And he had his knife out. He even apologized for killing me!”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?” He took a step closer. He didn’t lift the gun. He didn’t need to.

  Quinn’s heart leapt in sickly jerks. “You are right. I’m not the woman you knew in Boston, not anymore. Not after what has happened the last few weeks. Not after what I’ve seen. That pathetic, innocent woman from Boston could never have killed Mitchell. Only, he was going to kill me and he killed Denis.” She shrugged. Then she gave a great shiver.

  Aslan studied her, his eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged out of his coat and held it out to her. “I don’t want you freezing to death before I’m done with you.”

  She would prefer to refuse his gentlemanly gesture, only she was too cold. She took the coat and thrust her arms into it. It was far too large. She folded the first three inches of sleeve up.

  Aslan peered through the window at the spectacular view of Vienna lying before them. Quinn might have been impressed by the view at any other time. She could see for miles and miles. All her attention was on Aslan, though, and the gun which still hung from his fingers.

  He lifted the gun and pointed it at her middle. “You’re lying. You know something about what happened back at the warehouse. What is it? Who is attacking it? Tell me.”

  Scott got to the Ferris wheel first. He raised his gun. The man standing at the gate held up his hands. He looked terrified.

  Dima rushed up to the man. “Stop the Ferris wheel! Turn it off!”

  The man had no problems understanding her, even though she had not spoken German for many years and the Teutonic languages were not her specialty to begin with. He shrugged. “There is a stop button on the other side.” He pointed.

  Scott swore, lunged past the man and bent over the engine casing the man stood beside. He slapped at the back.

  The engine missed a note. Sizzling sparks flared from beneath the green casing. Smoke rose. The acidic smell of burning electronics washed over them.

  Dima glared at the man.

  He shrugged. “I’m just a mechanic.” He pointed to the unconscious man on the ground, bleeding from the leg. “He’s the electrician.”

  Scott swore again.

  “Find the main engine,” Dima told him. “Stick a wrench in it, blow it up, I don’t care what. Just stop this thing.”

  Scott took off.

  “If you’re just a mechanic,” Dima said to the man, “why were you working on an electric engine?”

  “I wasn’t,” the man said. “He was.” He looked at his unconscious buddy.

  “Then what were you working on?”

  He pointed up at the top of the wheel. “That carriage,” he said grimly.

  [27]

  11:46 a.m.

  Quinn held up her hands. She wasn’t aware of doing it. The gun pointing at her made them rise all by themselves.

  Aslan took another pace toward her. As she was already cowering in the corner, there was nowhere for her to go. She couldn’t go out the door. The carriage was close to the top of the wheel.

  “I like you,” Aslan said. “You are different from anyone I have ever met, except Denis. I don’t know if it was the music which you had in common, or your idealistic outlook on life—you shared that quality, too.”

  “If we shared anything at all,” she replied, “it was that we were both hiding from our pasts.” It was the truth. Aslan always responded to the truth, even when it was not what he wanted to hear. Only, she didn’t know what he wanted to hear right now. Would anything make him put down the gun?

  The carriage creaked and groaned as it reached the peak of the wheel. Slowly, it slid down the other side.

  “Was everything a lie?” Aslan asked. His voice was still soft.

  Quinn was shaking despite the coat. It wasn’t cold which made her tremble. She couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. He only needed a little more pressure on the trigger and she would be dead. He didn’t seem to be conscious of what he was doing with it. He was so wrapped up in extracting her secret.

  Someone screamed. Quinn jumped.

  It was a female voice, and it sounded familiar. It seemed to come from above the carriage.

  Aslan looked up just as Quinn did, although neither of them could see through the roof.

  Something landed heavily on the roof, at the far end of the carriage from where Quinn stood. The carriage shuddered. Stressed metal groaned and shifted.

  She clutched at the rail, her breath evaporating as fear leapt in her chest and belly.

  Aslan turned to face the other end of the carriage, his instincts alerted. His gun was sti
ll raised, although there was nothing to aim at.

  Footsteps sounded on the roof. Quinn gasped.

  Aslan spun on one heel to look at her. His expression was accusatory. “You sent for someone! Somehow…” The gun was pointing at her again.

  “No! How could I have? I don’t have my bag anymore.” She remembered with a jolt that the lip gloss was in her fob pocket. The replacement lip gloss which Agata had slipped her.

  “You know something,” Aslan said. “What is it?”

  The footsteps moved toward Quinn’s end of the carriage. Then, shockingly, a gun roared from close by.

  Quinn flinched.

  It was not Aslan’s gun which had fired. A hole appeared in the roof and another in the floor. Daylight showed through both. Aslan grunted and clutched at his back. He threw himself forward and sprawled on the floor.

  There was a great wound on his back. Blood spread across his beautiful suit jacket.

  Quinn looked through the windows at the spectacular view, trying to spot who had shot Aslan.

  The gun roared again. Two more holes appeared in the roof and the floor, this time closer to Quinn. Whoever it was, they were trying to shoot her, too!

  Aslan groaned and rolled onto his back. His face was white. His eyes were open and alert.

  Quinn was more worried about the gunman on the roof. They seem to know where she was in the carriage. She had to move without them spotting her.

  She didn’t want to go near Aslan. She eased herself sideways, toward the other corner.

  The gun roared again and two more holes appeared in the corner where she had been standing.

  Her new position gave Quinn a wider view of the rest of the amusement park. She could see the top peaks of a roller coaster ride, the wooden structure painted in gay red and white.

  And clinging to the top of the wooden beams, just beneath the rail itself, was Noah. He had a rifle in his hand and peered through the sight.

  As Quinn drew in a shaky breath of shock, he fired.

  She heard the bullet sing. A grunt sounded. The gunman on the roof fell heavily. Metal clattered and scraped over the roof. Another rifle, this one long and large, slithered over the edge of the roof and fell to the ground.