“She’s still inside,” Bianca kept coming back to the indicator for Jessica, frighteningly still in the midst of what had, almost instantly, become a full-on panic down below.
“What just went on in there?”
Bodies were rushing everywhere. There was no sense to be made of the confusion. Bianca shook her head as she reviewed the scans and screens for which she was responsible. “I don’t know.” She’d expected some kind of reaction from the people in the club when Zac moved, if for no other reason than it was a blatant kidnapping, and if he had to use any of his super strength then that would only add to the chaos, but this …
It was like the whole place had lost it.
“Where’s Zac?” Nani wanted to know. She was scanning her own information. Tons of it. “Why aren’t they moving?”
Bianca was at a loss. “Not sure.”
“They’re not answering.”
“Shit,” Nani was growing frustrated. “I knew I should’ve laid in more contingencies. Shit!”
They’d hung it all on Zac. They couldn’t get a decent scan into the club and so had been monitoring the signal from the Kel tablet, the marker for Jessica’s location. It wasn’t moving. Outside the club all hell had broken loose and hordes of people were in a state of chaos, the ones closest to the building rushing from it, bodies fleeing in all directions. Once started the rush only seemed to multiply. There were smaller groups congregated further away, watching things unfold with a rising sense of curiosity, but the panic was spreading. Even at the best resolution Bianca couldn’t make out expressions from overhead, only the larger details. Already she’d spotted a dozen dark-haired girls in little black dresses running this way and that, cursing her own lack of foresight for not giving Jess something more unique to identify herself by. Wouldn’t have mattered, she realized. The madness on the ground was proving impossible to follow.
It was obvious the planned action had gone down; they could hear the Project agents on their channel franticly trying to get a response from their inside man, Drake, to no avail. Jess appeared immobilized too. Where was Zac? How was he immobilized?
What’s going on in there?!
Then the Bok sports cars began taking off—along with several others. Many cars were suddenly fleeing the scene, including the half-dozen exotics parked directly outside the VIP entrance. Those had gone hot and began streaking away through the crowds—actually running people over in their haste, or knocking them out of the way, no regard for human life—ripping into the night and heading off in seemingly random directions.
“It’s too much!” Bianca was suddenly frustrated, almost to the point of tears, as she failed to zero in on what mattered—watch the Bok? Keep looking for Jess?—the whole thing unfolding faster than she could track. Should she follow one of the Bok cars? All of them? Which one was Lorenzo?
It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
Why aren’t they answering?!
The impacts of the cars with a dozen or so fleeing people in the parking lot sent the panic to whole new levels. Bianca found herself frozen for an instant in morbid fascination, zeroed in on the fallen bodies, wondering if they were dead. Like some kind of sick, voyeuristic internet video, with drama you just couldn’t look away from. She snapped herself back to the task at hand. No time for that.
Nani kept cursing. If the nab had gone down, as it must have, where was Zac? They should be emerging, Lorenzo in hand. Did they come up with a different tactic? If so why didn’t they tell them?
“Should we send Satori?”
Nani shook her head. “Not yet. Let’s make contact.”
Things were clearly moving too fast for Nani as well. Between the both of them they were unable to pin any exact thing on which to focus, anywhere to put their attention. Nani’s hands flew over the controls.
“I’m trying to tag what I can,” she tapped away, cursing each time she made a mistake or thought of something else. Her sudden and obvious frustration when she’d been so competent till then, was disturbing Bianca as much as anything else.
Answer! she willed the motionless blip on the screen. Where her focus kept coming to settle.
Jessica.
Get up!
Down below Bianca caught a few figures moving with purpose against the grain, heading into the club, not away.
The external Project agents.
But her eyes kept coming back to the dot. The little, blinking signal that was her friend. Laying in the middle of the club.
Not moving.
If the Project guys got to her …
Jessica! Answer me!
* *
“There!” Jess ran as fast as she could in the heels, around the rear of the club, out the VIP entrance and through the scattering crowd, pointing after one of the Italian sports cars fleeing the scene. “Is that him?”
Zac flew up behind; stared into the night, taillights of the car dwindling into the distance. The echoing whine of an upshifting V-12 drifted back across the shouts and screams, smell of scorched rubber hanging in the air. Other expensive cars were racing off in all directions.
Zac seemed to determine that wasn’t the one, then turned his attention to another, then another, about as far away, heading up a different route.
“That one,” he pointed. “That’s him.”
For a strained moment he and Jess looked at each other, shouts, screams, movement all around. The panic was spreading fast.
“Can you catch it?” she asked.
Zac started, stopped.
“I can’t leave you,” he said, looking back and forth between her and the rapidly dwindling car with a sense of urgency. “The agents are still here. Other Bok could be—”
“Never mind,” Jess was frantic. The car now seemed impossibly gone.
Her fury spiked. He can’t get away!
He couldn’t. She wanted Zac to try, to just go, but she knew he was right. He wouldn’t. It was too dangerous to leave her. She was the Project’s next target of opportunity.
People were screaming, running; it looked like the Bok hit some pedestrians as they fled. Jess saw bodies laying in the near distance. The club parking lot had become a madhouse.
“Can we take another car?” Zac was casting about, looking for a way to keep up the chase. Jess could almost hear a massive clock ticking louder in her head, Lorenzo disappearing for good with every thundering tock.
They’d never get another chance.
Move.
“There,” she pointed across the lot to a group of Spanish boys gathered around a few fast-looking motorcycles. Jess started for them. In the distance the sing-song of Euro sirens had already begun. She scanned the group of bikes as she ran toward them, cutting through the disorganized crowd, settling on the one that looked the fastest. There were no cars in the lot that would catch Lorenzo but …
Yes! She rushed up on one bike in particular, a street-legal Moto GP. A big one. One of the boys was on it leaning back, hands on the tank, looking cool in a white T-shirt and leather jacket—holding court with his entourage in an animated discussion of the events unfolding all around. He recoiled as Jess and Zac rushed up on him out of nowhere.
“Give me the keys,” she stuck out a hand, Zac right behind. Before the boy could move Zac had him by the collar, lifting him free with one hand, steadying the bike with the other.
So much for pleasantries.
Jess checked the ignition. “Wait,” she told Zac. “They’re here.” She grabbed the handlebars.
At that Zac tossed the boy aside, kicking and screaming. A hundred and fifty pounds, ten feet, one hand, not so much as a grunt of effort. The rest of the crowd stumbled away in the face of this display of superhuman strength. Jess was already throwing a leg over the custom machine. As she did the short black skirt tugged up and she nearly fell, caught herself, reached awkwardly with one hand and ripped the skirt in frustrated impatience. Legs free she straddled the bike, scooched forward on the seat and noticed the badge on the all-black spe
ed demon: NCR M16. A Ducati, a tricked-out version of an already fast road bike and, if memory served, it would smack the shit out of any Italian sports car.
But they were already precious minutes behind.
She turned the key and thumbed the starter. The engine caught with a throaty surge, still hot. She bripped the throttle, feeling the mass of the powerful engine between her legs; turned to Zac …
He was gone. Where the …
She found him on a nearby Vespa. Straddling the baby-blue scooter, one hand on the handlebars, the other holding keys. A boy—the owner, presumably—was in a full sprint away from him, looking back fearfully at the big, dark-haired guy that was stealing his scooter. Zac sat on it, keys in hand, knees nearly to his chest and squashing the tiny scooter with a very serious, very determined look on his face, searching for the ignition.
Ready for action.
“How does it work?” he called urgently.
Though the circumstances were far from funny Jess nearly laughed. It would’ve been a bitter laugh. She nodded to the seat behind her on the Ducati:
“Get on.”
Zac stood from the scooter. “Should I just run?”
She shook her head and nodded again to the small area behind her.
“Get on.”
Zac came to her.
“Yours does look faster,” he said and threw a leg over. As he mounted the bike his full weight pushed it down, hard, and for an instant Jess worried it might be too much. She scooted all the way up against the tank.
It’ll be fine.
The carbon-fiber dream bike weighed barely more than Zac himself, but with upwards of 200 horsepower on tap there was no doubt that, even with both of them, the Ducati would tear up the road like a cheetah with a taser up its ass.
She bripped the throttle, clutched and stabbed it into first. As she did the heel of her fancy shoe caught the engine case. She wriggled it away and it caught something else. Damn! Angrily she kicked that one off, then the other, angry at the shoes, angry at the dress, angry at the delay—angry at everything right then. Why she’d come so unprepared for action, knowing everything always led to action …
Lorenzo was now long gone.
Should they just …
Zac reached an arm around her, holding himself close—it felt more like he was holding her close—grabbed the bike’s frame with his other to steady them and was ready. His feet were flat, firmly on the ground. She took a deep breath. Between her legs was an idling demon with unprecedented power, at her back sat Superman.
How could she fail?
I’m getting that bastard.
She twisted the throttle, fanned the clutch and …
They were away.
Whoa!
Even with that little bit of gas the bike pulled hard, sucking up a hundred feet of parking lot in a second and sending the crowd before them scurrying and leaping to the sides. She stayed on it, aimed toward the exit, let the clutch out all the way and they were off, surging ahead in an alarming rush. Zac dragged his feet the whole way, touching left and right as they launched, the bike leaning back and forth with the uncoordinated take-off—like a set of human training wheels as they shot out onto the road. It must’ve looked frighteningly ridiculous; an angry clown missile, big Zac on the back, holding a girl at the controls, demon bike searing the air with its killer whine and insane acceleration.
But they were off. Jess swerved around a departing car as Zac finally lifted his skidding feet and she held the bike straight, charging ahead in first gear, not daring to shift. As they cleared the car and she saw the open road she grabbed a bigger handful of throttle and was rewarded with an even greater surge. The Ducati was wound tight. As she twisted the throttle the bike’s nose pulled up, effortlessly, front wheel clearing the asphalt as it worked against Zac’s counterweight, pushing ahead with its own unrelenting force as it came over backwards …
She reacted. The unexpectedly high wheelie freaked her out and she rolled the throttle shut, too fast, nosing down hard.
Poompf! the forks stabbed to their bottom stops.
“You got it?” Zac asked from behind. They were still moving fast in first gear.
This is no dirt bike, Jessica’s mind flashed to all those races, all those 85 cc bikes she rode as a kid. The Ducati worked the same, but was so many orders of magnitude beyond its smaller cousins it was nearly unreal. Plus with the heavy Zac on the back …
She had to get control.
“I’ve got it!” she yelled and leaned further forward. Zac got the idea; shifted his weight with her, leaning down as she hit the throttle again. She realized there would be little moderation on this high-strung beast. It chirped and shimmied as the rear tire spun—there was no winning—but the front wheel stayed mostly down this time as she ran it all the way up to redline and, working to keep it at the edge of traction, front wheel hovering, clutched up to second. Unn, it dug in and pulled hard in the fresh gear, tacking on more insane speed. Now they were really moving. Second got them to a hundred and fifty klicks and as she curled her toes under the shifter and snapped it to third—speedshifting this time without the clutch—they lunged again. Unnnh closing on two hundred and she popped it short to fourth, then hard through the next two gears—bang! bang!—sucking up the night road faster than she could process. There was nothing out there this time of morning, no real curves, just one long straightaway, and as she peered ahead over the small fairing, eyes squinting, tearing—the suddenly frigid night air blasting her senses—she began to shake. At that speed her hair whipped about her head, a thrashing halo of insanity, lashing her bare shoulders, painfully stinging her face.
“You got it?” Zac asked again, voice right behind her, strong and at ease but with an edge of real concern.
Of course he was at ease. He was, after all, invincible. Where this was freaking her out—and they hadn’t even spotted Lorenzo’s car yet—he had the luxury of being fearless.
But she knew what he did fear for.
Her.
“I’ve got it!” she yelled and bent to the task, tucking tighter, as tight as she could; gripped the handlebars, forced her muscles to be still, all five senses overloaded.
In turn she felt Zac squeezing her. “If you don’t then I’ve got you,” he said. “I won’t let you get hurt.”
It was a nice sentiment, and she believed him, but there in the open, flying into the pitch, screaming into the night—the feeling of imminent impact was beyond reason. Could he actually save her if she lost control? Maybe. What if something popped out right in front of them? Too fast to react?
“There he is,” Zac pointed. She could barely see anything through her assaulted senses and watering eyes. “I think he slowed a little.” Zac noticed all the things she wasn’t. Couldn’t.
Then: “Can you go faster?”
She could.
“Hold on!” her voice was barely audible, even to herself. She couldn’t see any lights ahead but if Zac saw them …
Time to find out what you can do. She felt the bike; twisted the throttle and, amazingly, it surged in top gear like it was nothing. Massive acceleration even without a downshift. A 300 pound bike with 400 more pounds on it. Gone. Hurtling ahead with a lunge that didn’t stop. Stretching its legs to 270, 280, 290 … 300 …
And she chickened out.
That number was big and the world around her had become nothing more than howling blackness and vertigo—backed by the sphincter-spasming fear of a sudden, violent collision. This was a long, dark stretch of asphalt that could disappear in a flash. Impact would come in an instant. Death … immediate. The lighted gauge before her was a mere measure of the velocity of her doom.
“He may have seen our lights,” Zac noted. He didn’t judge as she rolled it back below 250—still insane. “I think he did. He’s speeding up.”
And she saw it. At last. Red taillights in the distance. Just a glimpse, but it was enough to give her hope.
“He knows we’re back here,”
Zac confirmed. “He’s running.” Then: “Curves.”
The taillights, which Jess had only just brought into focus, whipped away suddenly to the right, out of sight.
Shit!
CHAPTER 33: A SINKING FEELING
“She must be hurt!” Bianca could no longer imagine any reason why Jess wasn’t moving or answering. The dot that was her friend was still stuck. Just laying there. Bianca’s mind raced, unable to draw any conclusions. Nani was also frantic, trying to piece together what went wrong.
Clearly Lorenzo had not been captured.
“I don’t understand,” Nani was checking in vain. “Where’s Zac? Why is he letting her just lie there? Did he leave her? Did he chase one of those cars? Did we miss it?” Again she was cursing herself. “Why! Why did I send them off like that?”
The police had arrived, Guardia Civil, just two cars but more were on the way. People had definitely been killed in the chaotic departure of the sports cars through the densely packed crowd. As yet Bianca and Nani still didn’t know what went down in the club. The Project agents were inside. According to the Project’s own radio traffic they’d just got Drake on his feet and were as confused by the events as Nani and Bianca. However, it was becoming clear the Bok had done something to Drake. Knocked him out somehow. As Bianca listened to their radio chatter she began to worry they’d done the same thing to Jess, and even to Zac, and that both were lying in the club hurt and unconscious.
How did they knock out Zac?
But if Drake was okay maybe Jess was too?
Then Jessica’s signal moved.
* *
The curve fed down to the highway, one of the Spanish Autopistas, and with a gut-wrenching heave to the right—Jess shouting at the heavy Zac to “Lean with me!”—they were flying down the ramp at a radical angle, nearly on their side—Jess holding her feet tight against the hot engine case in fear of dragging bare toes on the obscenely fast-moving asphalt—knee out and praying to live through this night. But the fat racing tires gripped like a tarantula and they were over the crest, rising with a little vertigo-inducing lift, down into the merge, straightening at the last possible second and crunching through the bottom at speeds the onramp was never designed for. Onto the highway, leveled out and blowing past a handful of early-morning commuters—cars that were probably going 70 miles an hour or faster yet looked like they were standing still—on the throttle hitting supersonic speeds and rising.
Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3) Page 34
