The fog was lighter on the hill’s eastern side, the lights of the Bay Bridge dimly visible in the distance. The road forked, to the right making a ninety-degree turn, the left route continuing a short way downhill before doing the same.
No sign of the Nemesis. Which way had it gone?
Eddie could still hear the raw snarl of its engine somewhere below. He went left. Lights blinked ahead, warning of construction and remodelling work on a house built on the steep hillside. He turned the corner—
And rode into a storm of gunfire.
Bullets blazed from an MP5K, a biker stationary in front of a smashed fence at the road’s end. Eddie glimpsed the Nemesis disappearing down the steep wooded hill beyond it - but the only thing on his mind was staying alive. No time to turn and retreat.
He twisted the throttle - and crashed the bike through a barrier, flashing lights scattering as he ripped through plastic sheeting into the house.
The raider tracked him, plaster and lath no obstacle for 9mm sub-machine gun rounds. Debris stabbed at his face and hands, tools and paint cans scattering under his wheels.
The bullets got closer. As did the far wall—
He didn’t stop.
Another sheet of plastic burst apart as he ploughed the Honda through it into open air, the hillside whirling below him . . .
He landed with a painful slam on the roof of another house, the next in a steeply stepped terrace running down the hillside. But he knew even as he clenched the brake levers that he was going too fast to stop before the edge.
Falling—
A hard landing on another house. The tyres tore at the roofing felt, skidding, but he still couldn’t stop . . .
‘Shiiiiiit—’
Eddie hit the last roof, finally halting less than a foot from the edge. He looked down at the treetops below, suppressing a shudder.
Noise to his right, glimpses of lights bouncing down the hill through more trees. He projected their course to a street at the foot of the hillside. Above, police sirens wailed in useless confusion as the cops arrived and once more found themselves with nowhere to go.
Eddie surveyed the rooftop. Where could he go?
A balcony jutted from the wall below, giving the house’s occupants a panoramic view of the bay. Steeling himself, he blipped the throttle and rode the bike off the edge of the roof, dropping on to the balcony with a bang that shook the extension so hard he was afraid it would tear from the wall.
But it held. Relieved, he turned his head to see that the house was occupied, a man and woman goggling at him from an expensive sofa.
He knocked on the glass. The couple looked at each other, then the man hesitantly slid open the door. ‘Hello?’
‘Evening,’ said Eddie. ‘Can I come through?’
Another uncertain exchange of glances, then the man stood back. Eddie guided the bike inside. ‘If you need to get the carpet cleaned,’ he said, noticing he was leaving a dirty track, ‘bill the International Heritage Agency. Tell ’em Eddie said it was okay.’
‘I’ll . . . I’ll do that,’ the man said. The woman opened a door, guiding him into a hall. A second door led outside. Steps headed back up to the road above, but Eddie realised he could cut across the steep hillside to reach the path the robbers had followed.
He looked down the hill. The lights were almost at its foot. Thanking his hosts, he hauled the Honda round and started after them.
The bikes reached the bottom of the slope. A tall chain-link fence separated the rough ground from Sansome Street, but Fernandez had prepared the way by cutting the padlock securing a gate. The lead Honda bashed it with its front wheel and the gate flew open. The other bikes streamed through. The Nemesis’s exit was less subtle, Zec simply smashing down the entire fence.
Fernandez glanced back up the hill. No sign of the pest. He smiled, checking the street to the north. They had a clear run to the marina, and the police would have to go many blocks out of their way to round the natural barrier of Telegraph Hill.
‘Almost there,’ he told Zec triumphantly as the Bosnian sent the Nemesis surging up the street after the bikes. ‘A nice easy end to your last job, eh?’
‘We’re not clear yet,’ Zec pointed out.
Fernandez smirked. ‘You always were a pessimist, Braco. Smile! You’ll be home with your wife and boy soon enough. And rich!’ Over the engine noise he heard a siren, but it was some way behind them. ‘Who can stop us?’
Nina turned north. The fog was thinning, letting her speed up as she cut through the traffic, siren blaring.
Boyce was on the radio again. ‘This is the mayor. We’re on Sansome - where are those officers?’
‘Units on Calhoun Terrace have lost contact, repeat, lost contact,’ the dispatcher reported.
‘Where’s that?’ Nina asked.
Boyce pointed up and to her left. ‘Top of the hill. There’s a six-block stretch without any streets; it’s too steep.’
‘Not if you’re driving an off-roader. How far to this marina?’
‘Nine or ten blocks.’
No way of knowing how far the robbers were ahead. All Nina could do was go even faster.
Eddie’s Honda slithered down the last few feet of the slope, weeds crunching under its wheels. The headlight picked out a mangled chain-link fence. He rode over the flattened barrier, getting his bearings. A siren was coming from the south . . . and a familiar V8 growl fading to the north.
Revving the engine, he set off in pursuit.
The Nemesis reached the Embarcadero, the long, broad road running along the edge of San Francisco Bay. The marina was just a few hundred metres away. The bikes were already there, pulling on to the boardwalk. Fernandez pointed for Zec to follow.
Two powerful speedboats waited at a jetty. All they had to do was unload the Codex, get aboard, then make a fast escape across the bay, one boat heading eastwards for Oakland while the other made for Marin Country to the north. The fog was an unplanned bonus - it would make the vessels even harder to follow, the treacherous conditions grounding the SFPD’s helicopters. No need to use any expensive missiles tonight.
Zec swerved the Nemesis on to the boardwalk and skidded to a stop. Fernandez jumped out. Most of his men had already run to the boats; one hung back, waiting for him. ‘Braco and I will unload the case,’ he said, flipping up his visor. ‘Make sure nobody interferes.’ He gestured at the biker’s MP5K; the man’s helmet bobbed in acknowledgement. ‘Braco, come on.’
The Spaniard and his second in command ran to the back of the Nemesis. The case containing their prize lay inside, scuffed but otherwise undamaged by its roller coaster ride across the city. They lifted it out—
Engine noise, approaching fast. The strident rasp of a Honda XR650R.
‘I don’t believe it!’ said Fernandez, exasperated. An all too familiar single headlight was racing straight for them. He called to the remaining man as he and Zec carried the case to the jetty. ‘Kill that bastard!’
The biker took up position between the Nemesis and the approaching motorbike, readying his gun.
Eddie spotted the lights of the stationary Nemesis by the waterfront. Figures faded into view through the murk as he approached.
One was in a firing stance—
Another burst of bullets seared at him.
He dropped as low as he could as a round cracked against the Honda’s front fairing, blowing out the headlight and spitting fragments into his face - and another shot tore into the front wheel. The tyre exploded, rubber flapping as it sheared off the steel rim. The handlebars were wrenched from his grip as the bike went into an uncontrollable slide.
Eddie threw himself off. He yelled in pain as he hit the boardwalk and skidded across the wet wood, clothes ripping. The Honda tumbled onwards . . .
Straight at the Nemesis.
The gunman tried to jump out of the way—
Too late. The bike slammed him into the parked 4x4 with back-breaking force. The Honda’s fuel tank ripped open on the Nemesis�
�s rear bullbar, metal sparking against metal.
The bike exploded, the blast kicking the Nemesis’s back end up into the air - just as the off-roader’s own far larger fuel tank detonated. A fireball surged across the boardwalk, the blazing Nemesis flipping end over end over the waterfront railings to smash down on top of one of the speedboats, crushing the men inside it down into the marina’s dark waters.
The explosion knocked Zec off his feet and sent Fernandez reeling. The case fell. It landed on the jetty’s edge, wobbling precariously on the brink. Fernandez lunged for it—
It dropped off the edge, hitting the water with a flat splash. For a moment it seemed it would float . . . then the sea swallowed it.
Fernandez looked down at the ripples in horror. So close to success, literally seconds from escape - and now the treasure was lost! Jaw set in anger, he spun to find the man who had ruined everything.
Roaring like a charging bull, Eddie tackled him to the dock.
Aching from his hard landing, suit and skin torn, singed by the fireball, the Englishman was driven by fury. His opponent was still wearing his crash helmet, but there were plenty of other places he could land a painful blow - as Fernandez discovered an instant later when he was punched hard in the groin.
‘You fucker!’ Eddie snarled, slamming him down hard on the planks. ‘Teach you to fucking shoot at me, you gimp-suited bast—’
Zec’s boot smashed into his side, knocking him off the fallen raider. Eddie landed on his back, winded. Zec kicked him again, then pulled Fernandez to his feet—
A shotgun blast boomed from the street.
Searing lead shot ripped through Fernandez’s leathers and burned into his upper back. The Spaniard howled, falling again, convulsing in agony. He had shielded Zec from most of the blast, but the Bosnian still took several pellets to one arm. Zec staggered backwards, clutching the wounds.
Nina’s police car crashed on to the boardwalk, Boyce leaning from the window with the shotgun in his hands. ‘Eat that, you cocksuckers!’ he howled, racking the slide.
‘Aim higher!’ Nina told him. ‘Don’t hit my husband!’ The mayor fired again. ‘Higher! Aim higher, idiot!’
Zec hesitated, looking at Fernandez, then dived into the remaining speedboat as another burst of red-hot buckshot seared through the mist. ‘Go!’ he bellowed at the man at the controls.
‘But Urbano—’
‘There’s nothing we can do! Get out of here!’
The boat surged away, huge plumes of froth spraying up from its twin outboards. ‘Yee-hah!’ whooped Boyce, firing again. ‘Yeah! Run, you bastards! Get the fuck out of my city!’
‘Is this what you’re like at city council meetings?’ Nina braked hard, stopping the police car at the end of the jetty. She jumped out and ran to Eddie. Boyce leapt from the car and kept firing after the departing boat until the shotgun was empty. ‘Eddie! Are you okay? Eddie!’
He painfully raised his head, trying to smile but managing only a grimace. ‘Yeah, I’m okay . . . but I’ve got a fucking huge case of road rash.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ She knelt to support him. ‘What happened to the Codex? Did they get away with it?’
‘No.’
She surveyed the jetty, seeing no sign of the case. ‘Then where is it?’
He held out a shaking hand and pointed down into the water. ‘Hope it’s rustproof.’
Boyce came over, looking at once flustered and exhilarated. ‘Damn. That was . . . wow. I’ve never fired a gun before.’
‘Fun, was it?’ Eddie asked.
‘Ye—I mean, no, of course not! Guns are a menace to a safe and civil society. Obviously.’ His expression became sheepish as he forced himself back on-message.
More sirens approached, other police cars finally catching up. Officers hurried across the boardwalk, guns drawn. ‘Mr Mayor!’ one of them shouted. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, pointing at the wounded Fernandez. ‘Arrest this man - he’s one of the gang who just robbed the Atlantis exhibition and killed several people, including two police officers. And his associates just left this dock in a speedboat - get units after them immediately.’ He indicated Eddie. ‘This man also needs medical attention. No, don’t arrest him!’ he added as the cop took out a set of handcuffs.
‘Do I look like a bad guy or something?’ Eddie complained.
‘You’ve looked better,’ Nina told him, before addressing Boyce. ‘Mr Mayor, we need divers here as soon as possible. The artefact they stole is in the water.’
‘You heard her,’ said Boyce, nodding.
‘Yes, sir.’ The cop raised his radio, then gave him a questioning look. ‘Uh, Mr Mayor?’
‘What?’
‘The shotgun, sir?’
‘Oh. Right.’ Boyce hurriedly handed him the empty weapon. The cop took it and barked instructions into his radio. Nearby, Fernandez let out a choked moan as two other officers roughly pulled him to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back; a suspected cop-killer would not get kid glove treatment in even the most liberal city.
Another siren sounded in the distance, a different wail - an ambulance. ‘Okay, let’s get you to a hospital,’ Nina said to Eddie, standing. ‘And then I can see how Rowan’s doing.’
‘Typical,’ Eddie snorted, forcing himself to his feet. ‘You’re more worried about your ex-boyfriend.’
‘Hey, I did mention you first . . .’
He managed a half-smile, then became more serious. ‘How is he? I didn’t see what happened after he got shot.’
‘One of the guests was a doctor. He thought Rowan might have a punctured lung, but seemed to think he’d be okay.’
‘Good.’ The ambulance came into sight, strobe lights pulsing. Eddie watched it approach, gingerly feeling the torn backside of his trousers. ‘Hope they’ve got a pair of tweezers, ’cause I’ve got an arse full of splinters!’
Nina grinned and patted him lightly on the butt, getting an annoyed grunt in response, then helped him to the ambulance.
Eddie’s injuries fortunately turned out to be comparatively minor, a collection of cuts, grazes and bruises that looked far worse than they actually were. Once assured that he would be all right, Nina left him to be patched up in the emergency room while she went in search of Rowan Sharpe.
He had been taken to an operating theatre so his gunshot wound could be treated. She couldn’t help but be worried, but the nurse’s assurance that he had been stable and conscious when he was moved out of the ER assuaged her concerns a little.
The route from the ER to the surgical waiting area took her past the hospital’s main entrance - and its gift shop. Remembering her promise to Rowan, she smiled and popped in to make a purchase before continuing on her way.
A familiar face was already in the waiting area: the doctor who had provided first aid at the exhibition centre. ‘What’s happening with Rowan?’ asked Nina after they had exchanged brief greetings. ‘How long has he been in there?’
‘About thirty minutes,’ said the doctor. ‘The bullet wound was a through-and-through, fortunately - clean entry and exit. He was very lucky, actually. It only scraped his lung. Another inch to the side . . .’
Nina shuddered, not wanting to think about it. ‘But he’ll be okay?’
‘His chances are good, I’d say. There was a fair amount of muscle damage, though, so he’ll be in pain for some time.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Nina, absently touching her right thigh, where she had once received a bullet wound of her own. The doctor continued describing Rowan’s good fortune at having avoided significant damage to any major organs, but she was now only half listening. The main thing was that he would be all right.
After twenty minutes, the doors to the operating theatre opened and Rowan, lying on a gurney, was wheeled out. At first Nina thought he was unconscious, but as he passed his eyes flickered open and met hers. One eye closed again . . . in a wink. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
About ten
minutes later, a nurse came to find her. ‘Dr Wilde? Dr Sharpe is asking for you.’
Nina jumped up and followed the woman to a recovery room. Rowan lay in a bed, a pale, fragile figure hooked up to wires and tubes. A monitor beside the bed silently recorded the slow pulses of his heartbeat. ‘Rowan? How are you feeling?’ She felt almost embarrassed at asking such a dumb question, but it was all she could think of.
‘Hey, Nina.’ His voice was little more than a whisper behind a transparent oxygen mask. ‘So that’s what getting shot feels like? You didn’t tell me it hurt so much.’
‘Can I touch him?’ Nina asked the nurse, getting a nod in reply. ‘Jerk,’ she said, rapping his knuckles. ‘God, I was so worried about you.’
‘So was I!’ He tried to laugh, which turned into a cough. The nurse gave them both a scolding look, and checked the monitor before leaving the room. ‘What about the Codex?’
‘They didn’t take it,’ Nina said, tactfully deciding not to concern him with the news that it was currently on the bottom of San Francisco Bay. ‘Eddie stopped them.’
‘Great. I think you’ve . . . found quite a good husband. Obviously not the best you could have done, but . . .’
‘Oh, stop it.’
He smiled, then turned his head slightly to look down at her neck, weakly raising one hand to indicate her pendant. ‘Just goes to show that thing . . . really does bring you good luck.’
‘Seems like I need a lot of it.’
‘I’m just glad some of . . . your luck rubbed off on me tonight.’ His gaze moved down to her hands. ‘Did you . . . bring me something?’
Nina held up a bag of chocolates. ‘Dark. I remembered. Wouldn’t want to give you hives.’
‘Yeah, as if I don’t . . . have enough to worry about!’ Another smile - then he frowned sharply.
‘Are you okay?’ Nina asked. ‘Shall I get the nurse?’
‘No, I’m fine, just . . . a headache. Think I took a knock when I fell down. Didn’t notice at the time because of the whole . . . getting shot thing . . .’ Another twinge, more pronounced. ‘Ow, jeez. That really is . . . one hell of a headache. Got any Tylenol?’
The Sacred Vault Page 8
