by JT Brannan
‘Just keep driving and you’ll be fine,’ Cole said calmly, looking out of the windscreen. The weather had improved, but visibility was still poor. Even so, Cole could make out what looked like a large concrete structure just up ahead.
‘Where are we?’ he asked the driver, although he feared he knew the answer.
‘We’re here, we’re here. The hospital. Just let me out, okay? Please?’
Cole was silent. He recognized the building as the American Hospital of Paris, on the Boulevard Victor Hugo less than a mile northwest of the Arc de Triomphe. It had been set up in 1906 by a group of expatriate Americans who wanted American care within the French capital. He had used it before in fact, after sustaining an injury whilst operating in France, and knew the staff there were like Swiss bankers, never revealing anything about their patients. The CIA often sent agents there for surgery, and it was also widely used by the American military. It was the perfect place for Hansard to have him killed.
As they cruised up to the entrance, he could see the two men standing to one side, motionless. Truro and Vinh. Cole recognized them instantly, having worked with them on a couple of ops in the long and distant past. Because of his plastic surgery, they would not recognize him, of course; but Cole knew that it would not matter to them even if they did recognize him. They were bad news, ruthless professionals that could be trusted to get the job done.
‘Get out,’ Cole ordered the driver. ‘Now!’
The ambulance was slowing down to a halt anyway, so the driver gladly opened the door and jumped out, running for freedom even as Cole slipped into the driver’s seat and gunned the accelerator.
46
Neither Truro nor Vinh could believe their eyes. They had seen the ambulance coming from a distance, its headlights illuminating its path through the thick snowfall. They were gearing up to retrieve the target from the back of the vehicle when it got close enough to see clearly. And what they saw inside the cab made them immediately sick. A man matching the description of their target, holding a gun to the driver’s head. And then the driver was jumping out of the vehicle, the target was taking the wheel and –
Both men left it too late to react, one darting left and one right. Vinh narrowly missed the front bumper, but Truro took the full force of the ambulance as it smashed into him, lifting him clear off the floor as the vehicle mounted the kerb at the front entrance, his body flying off as the ambulance came to a stop, the limp form crashing straight through the large glass double entry doors.
Vinh watched wide-eyed as the ambulance reversed backwards off the kerb, pulled a one-eighty, and sped off back the way it had come.
His eyes went reluctantly to the mess over in the foyer. Andy. He sprinted over to check on him, but it was too late. The impact would have broken every bone in his body, and the shattered glass had left him a bloody pulp. He checked for a pulse nevertheless, even as an army of doctors and nurses rushed towards them. There was none.
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he ran back out into the frozen night, watching the receding tail-lights getting away from him.
Vinh ran to get his own car, vowing to do whatever it took to destroy the man who had killed his only friend.
47
Cole could see the approaching lights in his wing mirrors. He knew Truro must be dead, so it would be Vinh trying to catch him. He was sure their vehicle would be fast, and would certainly handle better than the big ambulance he was driving, but Cole nevertheless tried to pick up the pace, increasing speed as he raced south back down Victor Hugo towards Boulevard Bineau, grip next to nonexistent on the icy streets.
The road was, however, mercifully quiet due to the late hour and the atrocious weather, and so Cole didn’t have to use the siren, which would have made it too easy for Vinh behind him. As it was, it was even possible that he might lose his pursuer in the urban mass of the city, if he could keep sufficiently ahead.
He crossed straight over Bineau, seeing headlights just behind him. Cole strained to identify the vehicle from the unclear image in his mirrors. A Range Rover? He heard the supercharged V8 accelerating behind him, and confirmed the ID. Perfect for the weather, and fast too. It was going to take some creative driving, Cole decided even as he ignored the instruction to follow the road to the right, instead ploughing straight ahead onto the lower half of Boulevard d’Aurelle de Paladines the wrong way, two vehicles coming towards him forced to swerve off to the side, the icy surface causing their cars to spin out, freewheeling across the street.
Cole carried on through the Place du General Koenig, still driving against the traffic, and straight through an intersection onto Avenue des Ternes, vehicles coming from either side just missing him, one by mere inches.
Cole risked another glance in his wing mirrors. Surely he would have lost Vinh by now?
But there it was, the ominous black 4 × 4 still surging towards him, a killer at the wheel.
48
Vinh had seen Cole’s trick early, and had therefore had time to manoeuvre his car around the vehicles on the one-way street as they span out of control.
The Range Rover didn’t just have an uprated engine, giving an output of over seven hundred horsepower, it also had much improved suspension and brakes; even the chassis had been strengthened to deal with the extra torque.
As Vinh followed Cole’s suicide dash across the intersection, he was in no doubt whatsoever that he was going to catch the slow, heavy ambulance.
It was just a question of how long it would take.
49
Cole had now passed the seventies lump of the Palais des Congres convention centre, and had gone the wrong way around the Place de la Porte Maillot, clipping a small Citroen and forcing the rider of a small scooter off the road, before joining the Avenue de la Grand Armee.
The illuminated beauty of the Arc de Triomphe lay ahead of him, just visible through the snow that still fell, but now only lightly. He accelerated the ambulance down the wide avenue, checking his wing mirrors constantly.
Nothing … Nothing … There it was, turning onto the same road and accelerating once more towards him.
Cole had hoped taking the wrong direction at the roundabout might have lost his pursuer, but it had merely gained him some time.
Gritting his teeth, Cole decided he would have to use it wisely.
Ahead of him, Vinh could see Cole’s ridiculous ambulance as it raced in and out of the light traffic towards the Arc de Triomphe.
Vinh heard the whine of the twin superchargers as he pressed his right foot down, feeling a kick in his lower back as he was thrust forwards down the street at a tremendous pace, gaining distance with Cole rapidly.
His quarry’s driving had enabled him to string the pursuit out, but as soon as he slowed for the main roundabout, Vinh would be right in top of him. He would ram him straight off the road, run around and shoot the bastard straight in the face.
The ambulance was there, Vinh could see, right at the arch; Vinh was behind, still surging forwards. Cole would have to slow soon, and Vinh could –
His eyes opened wide as the ambulance ploughed straight on, snaking in and out of the vehicles travelling around the arch, mounted the pavement and drove directly underneath it.
Son of a bitch!
50
Cole came crashing down off the other side, through the massive arch, down off the pavement and once more through the traffic circulating around it.
There were only one or two vehicles though, and Cole easily avoided them as he charged forwards onto the Avenue des Champs Elysees.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he glanced again in the wing mirrors, only to see the big Range Rover following him through the arch, across the circular road, and onto the Champs Elysees right behind him. The man might have been trying to kill him, but Cole had to admire his nerve.
Cole drove on, leaving it until the last possible second, Vinh’s 4 × 4 just feet from his rear bumper now, the sound of the big V8 filling the cabin, until he pulled a
sharp right onto Avenue George V. It was simply too late for Vinh to react, and the man sailed past, still on the Champs Elysee.
Cole smiled to himself as he carried on towards the river, happy to have finally lost the man.
His pleasure was short lived though, as he heard the big V8 off to his left. He stamped on the accelerator even as he turned his head to see Vinh piloting the big car the wrong way down the Rue Marbeouf.
The heavy black vehicle missed the rear side of Cole’s ambulance by under a foot, and Cole was gratified to see that Vinh was having difficulty controlling the car back into line after its high speed attack.
Cole used the opportunity to make it onto the Avenue de New York, following it west along the Seine. Cole glanced at the river, the black icy waters reflecting back the lights filtering in from the city of love around him, the illuminated mass of the Eiffel Tower looming over to his left, a symbol of the city itself.
Cole thought quickly. Even at this late hour, and even with the bad weather, surely there would still be tourists and sightseers at the Tower, maybe a bit of extra traffic he could use to shake Vinh off for good.
In the distance he could hear sirens, and he put his right foot further down in a reflexive action, burying the accelerator pedal into the cabin floor as he surged forwards along the riverside avenue.
Vinh had finally gained control of his car, at the same time still managing to monitor the direction of Cole’s travel.
Once on the Avenue de New York, Cole’s intentions were clear – he was going to try and lose him in the traffic he hoped would surround Paris’s most famous tourist attraction.
Racing along the snow-covered street, Vinh was determined to not let that happen. He owed it to his brother to kill the man.
51
Cole turned again sharply left onto the Pont d’Iena, fully aware that Vinh was back in the chase, again closing down fast behind him.
He careened over the bridge, struggling to find grip, surprised to see no other vehicles ahead of him. Where was everyone? Cole finally found the digital clock on the dashboard and risked a quick glance. Almost three o’clock in the morning. He sighed. He had thought it was late evening, not early morning.
He wasn’t going to be able to rely on the traffic, that was for sure; there simply wasn’t going to be any.
It left only one option, and Cole adjusted immediately, gunning the ambulance’s diesel engine and accelerating himself down the Avenue Anatole France towards the incredible tower, even as he reached underneath the dashboard to disconnect the fuse responsible for powering the brake lights.
The sirens sounded closer now, and he knew time had almost run out.
He then stamped hard on his brakes, bracing himself for the impact.
52
You’ve got nowhere to go, Vinh silently told the driver ahead. His car was always going to beat an ambulance, no question about it. The only question now was whether he would be able to nudge the ambulance off the road and kill this guy before the police descended on the scene. He could hear the sirens less than a mile away.
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw the back of the ambulance suddenly approaching him at an unbelievable speed. The target must have braked, but there was no warning, nothing at all, no time to stop –
Cole felt the Range Rover smash into the back of the ambulance with a mixture of satisfaction and trepidation. He was glad it had worked, but he was aware that he now had to finish things hand to hand.
The vehicles had come to a stop with the ambulance bonnet resting at the colossal left leg of the giant tower, the Range Rover buried halfway into the back end.
Cole wasted no time, and instead of jumping out of the driver’s side door he pushed straight through into the rear compartment. The Range Rover’s bonnet was almost touching the compartment wall, the whole front of the car ensconced within the rear of the ambulance. Cole leapt onto the bonnet, pistol aimed through the shattered windscreen. He scanned the interior. Nothing.
A sound to his left made him turn his head, and he saw Vinh rising up from behind the front wheel arch, his own pistol raised. Cole instinctively kicked out, knocking the weapon out of the man’s hand and bringing his own to bear.
Vinh was quick though, and rushed him, pulling a knife from a concealed sheath. Cole couldn’t get the handgun round fast enough to take a shot and so converted the movement into a clubbing attack, striking Vinh around the side of the head as the knife came straight at him.
Cole parried the blow, but Vinh came back through, slicing through Cole’s arm, forcing him to drop the gun. Cole grabbed the knife arm, pushing Vinh back against the interior wall of the ambulance, knocking the air out of him. He pulled him back round and smashed the man’s arm onto the bonnet of the Range Rover, forcing him to drop the knife.
Vinh used Cole’s distraction with the knife to grab hold of Cole himself, pulling him close in and aiming his teeth at Cole’s neck. Cole’s shoulder came up reflexively to protect himself, and Vinh’s teeth buried themselves deep into the muscle tissue there instead. Cole felt a terrible pain as Vinh’s head whipped back and forth, trying to tear the flesh.
Vinh’s concentration on the bite, however, opened him up to someone who could keep their head clear despite incredible pain, and Cole took the opportunity provided.
Two marma adi nerve strikes to the unprotected parts of Vinh’s body and neck were all it took for the bite to be released, and the life to flicker out of the man’s eyes. Cole could see that Vinh genuinely had no idea what had happened to him as he collapsed dead onto the floor of the ambulance, head coming to rest against the polished alloy wheel of his Range Rover.
Cole climbed over the car and out of the ruined back end of the ambulance, into the street. Despite the late hour, there were tourists here, and all eyes turned to Cole as he emerged from the ravaged vehicles.
There was professional interest as well, and he saw two members of the Eiffel Tower’s security detail racing from the control point towards him, hands going to the guns on their belt holsters.
The sirens were also louder now, and then he saw the flashing lights make the turn onto the street.
He turned again, back to the huge iron girders of the tower’s leg. He ran straight forwards, underneath the leg and through to the other side, even as the tower security guards shouted a warning, stopped, took aim and fired their 10mm rounds after him.
The shots ricocheted off the iron leg of the tower, and then Cole was out the other side, hurdling a low hedge into the darkness and relative safety of the Parc du Champ de Mars.
He was pretty sure he had not been seen, but that was the least of his worries; he still had to evade capture and make his way to Austria, so he could get to the rendezvous point and make sure his family were safe.
53
Sarah stared out of the window at the people milling about the platform. Who was friendly?, she wondered. And who, more to the point, was not?
Four businessmen chatting over coffees, steam billowing out from the hot liquid into the cold air as they laughed at some unknown comment; young lovers, hand in hand, with rucksacks on their backs, gazing at one another almost without blinking; a homeless man begging near to the long queue of a cash machine, two armed station security guards hustling over to move him on; a school party, two dozen excited children and two distinctly stressed adult chaperones; these, and a hundred more besides.
Sarah sighed inwardly. It was just impossible to tell. Impossible!
She knew the people who were after them would be trained not to stand out, would blend easily into such a crowd. So what am I even looking for?, she asked herself. She turned her head, and saw her two children, both sleeping peacefully next to one another in their big seats. She smiled warmly, smoothing their hair with her hand. They’d had a long, tiring day and were doing the only sensible thing.
They’re so sweet … So innocent. A tear welled at the corner of one eye.
Sarah glanced down at Ben and Amy again, ch
ildren sleeping peacefully in the safety provided by adults, then turned once more to stare out of the window at the crowded platform.
She could sleep later. When they were safe.
54
Hansard could not quite believe his ears. The news that was coming from France was just too much to reconcile. Cole had escaped again!
He had been strapped up helpless, under armed guard, travelling straight into the hands of two of Hansard’s best assassins! How could it possibly have gone wrong?
But Cole wasn’t the best for no reason, and the outcome shouldn’t really have surprised him, Hansard eventually realized. The problem was, what to do now? It seemed that they had lost all of their leads, and now Cole was free to meet up with his family in whatever safe location they had chosen.
He would be free to study the situation in detail, follow the events that would occur over the next few days, and possibly come to an understanding of what was happening, what Hansard’s overall plan was. Cole was certainly clever enough to piece everything together. The only thing was, would he do it in time to make a difference? Or would things have got to the stage where the truth no longer mattered?
55
The train pulled out at 2.34 precisely. Albright smiled into the bathroom mirror as he adjusted his hair. German precision.
He had made the train with only moments to spare, but he was confident that he had done it unseen by the targets.
He paused, looking into his own eyes in the mirror. He looked drawn, tired. But it was worth it; they’d tracked down their prey, and had closed the noose. There were two men in Carriage D, two more in F, whilst the four targets were ensconced in the cabin between them.
Albright had officially taken charge, and was seated in the same cabin as two of the other agents. He knew Sarah would recognize him instantly if their paths were to cross – the scars on his face would give him away. He also knew he should have taken the helicopter to Innsbruck to meet the train when it arrived and to organize the agents waiting there to pick up the tail. But he felt an urge – inexplicable, but there all the same, as an almost tangible, physical sensation – to keep close to the targets. Especially Sarah.
