She shoved the old car into a reluctant third gear. Another engine could be heard above theirs. A guttural, angry vehicle sound screamed from behind. Eva looked in the mirror and glimpsed a blur of colour splattered across black. The Skoda shunted violently forward from the impact of the Humvee. They mounted the sidewalk and she grappled with the wheel to keep the car on the road.
She dropped a gear and hit the accelerator. The little car jerked to attention and darted to the left to avoid another collision. The Skoda sped off with the Hummer looming large in the rear-view mirror.
At the far end of the square lights flashed. Police cars sped in their direction. Apparently their little parade of carnage had been noticed. The Humvee backed off and turned onto a side street. Eva sped on, heading back towards the Vltava.
She had tried to outrun cops before and it hadn’t ended well. The previous pursuit had been brief and ended in the front window of a discount vitamin store. It was the beginning of the end for her car-thieving ways. Within months she’d distanced herself from her worst influences and had enrolled in university again.
After a couple of blocks the police car either didn’t have a handle on where they were or wasn’t interested in them.
“Can we head west now?” Bishop asked.
“Sure.”
Eva made a series of quick turns to confuse the police just in case. They’d have to ditch the car at the earliest opportunity.
They entered a wide street parallel to the Vltava. The river was choppy and carried with it the debris from further up the river. She felt a wave of nausea wondering how the occupants of the Humvee had fared.
She turned onto Palacky Bridge and was about to bring it up with Bishop when he cried, “Look out!”
The paint-splattered Humvee crashed into the side of the tiny Skoda causing it to spin. She lost control. Nothing she did changed their direction. They careened towards an oncoming tram and they braced for impact.
The collision was vicious. The tram screeched against its track and the front of the Skoda disappeared, disintegrating on impact. The tram was knocked from its tracks and the two vehicles became one. Eva was thrown violently against her seatbelt. Bishop, who wasn’t wearing one, bounced against the dash horribly. The windscreen exploded and they sprang backwards into their seats.
The world blurred and her ears rang. She was grateful to see that Bishop was still conscious. Bloody, but conscious.
The valiant car was dead. It had done its part bravely. Steam poured from under the Humvee’s hood. Its motor spluttered and died. The driver attempted to restart it.
Eva frantically removed her seatbelt and slapped Bishop’s arm. “We need to get out of here, now!”
He gave a vacant stare. She tried the door but the impact of the crash had fused it shut. She threw the backpack out onto the road. She crawled through the shattered windscreen and grasped Bishop under his arms. He tried to help her but appeared half-concussed. He was conscious enough to have grabbed Angelis’ gun from the footwell. Finally free, they rolled onto the road.
She threw Bishop’s arm around her shoulder and they limped around the derailed tram. The Humvee’s engine roared to life. It had survived far better than the Skoda. There was a screech of tyres and a thunderous boom as the Humvee collided with the tram. It flipped on its side and careened towards them. The roof of the tram lurched towards them, threatening to pin them between the tram and the bridge railing. There was no way for them to outrun it. They’d be crushed.
The roof of the tram hit her square in the chest and the overhead wires from the tram struck her like a whip. She launched into the air and over the railing. The world toppled end on end. She saw water, sky, bridge. Water, sky, bridge.
Abruptly, painfully, she came to a halt, halfway between the bridge and the river. She was tangled in the tram wires, suspended precariously above the raging Vltava. Eva unleashed a primal scream. Her foot was painfully wedged in the mangled tram cables. Bishop was below her, his wrist caught amongst the tangled mass of wires. His hand had to be broken. He hung by one arm, his foot weighed down by the tram’s large metal contact strip. He gazed up at her with panic-stricken eyes.
Every time he tried to unhook his wrist she screamed. The wire Bishop was bound to was wrapped around her foot. Every move he made wrenched it tighter and shot excruciating pain to her foot.
Above them, the whole structure shrieked and shuddered. They both slid another metre closer to the raging waters. The descent stopped abruptly and she screamed in agony. Eva’s vision blurred around the edges and she was close to blacking out.
She looked at the ferocious river and had no doubt they’d fall and be enveloped in seconds. She could swim, but even an Olympic swimmer couldn’t beat that current or avoid the mass of debris hurtling along its vicious flow.
Bishop cried out in his own pain. She was amazed he was still conscious. He was bloodied and damaged, his hand jammed amongst the wires. He swung one-handed, suspended above the river.
She did her best to sound hopeful. “Hang on, Bishop. We’ll make it.”
“No.” Bishop looked at her dejectedly. “We won’t.”
He raised Angelis’ gun and aimed it at Eva. She gulped.
Bishop’s lips parted in a bloody, humourless grin. “Take care, Princess.”
Bishop lowered the gun to just below her, above his head. She realised what he was about to do.
“No!”
He fired one shot, severing the wire that held them together, that held him above the chaos below. Bishop fell into the fiercely surging river, weighed down by the mass of wires and tangled metal.
He hit the water and disappeared from view instantly. Eva tried to keep up with where he would be in the fast flow, but he never emerged from the river.
Bishop was gone, forever.
The man she had saved and had been saved by, despised and desired was lost somewhere in the chaos of the Vltava River. There was no hope. He was too injured, the river too violent and all encompassing. She’d never again hear one of his lame double entendres.
Weak and with little left, an image flashed before her about sharing Bishop’s fate. She hoped death would be quick. Apparently drowning was like going to sleep. She doubted it would be that peaceful.
Never one to give up, it took all of Eva’s might to try to lift herself up. She was upright, but she didn’t know for how long. Without Bishop pulling her down, she managed to unhook her ankle but had no energy to climb the metres of slippery cable. Her grip slipped and she clung desperately to the wire that cut into her hands. There was commotion above, odd shouting and noises she couldn’t identify. Suddenly there was a tug on the wire and she ascended.
As she reached the edge of the bridge, a figure leaned over and reached for her.
“Looks like you could use a hand.”
His strong arms pulled her to safety. Thankfully she planted her one good foot on the bridge. Her vision blurred and Eva collapsed into Harry’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
The pina colada made it better. And Eva didn’t even like pina coladas. All she could ever think of was that horrific song.
The tropical sun caressed her bruised body. As she lay on the sunlounge overlooking the calm cobalt sea the gentle lapping of the waves lulled her into a dreamlike state.
The drugs also helped.
“You know, you shouldn’t be drinking on that medication.”
Harry hadn’t left her side since Prague. She waved a floppy dismissive hand in his direction. He ran a reassuring hand over her leg. He always had a gentle touch.
She took another sip and closed her eyes. In reality, she wanted to forget.
The image of Bishop falling into the surging river had meant she’d been unable to sleep on the flight out of Prague. She didn’t know if Paul was still alive and couldn’t ask Harry to check.
Oh god, Paul. Her friend. Her best friend’s husband. Was she the cause of his death? Had he died saving her like Bishop had? Why had
she lived? Did she even want to any more?
Harry had anxiously brought her to see his personal physician when they’d arrived on the island. He’d prescribed Valium to help her sleep. After forty-eight hours of consciousness she’d fallen into more of a coma than sleep.
When she’d awoken Harry had suggested they relax on the beach. It was Eva who’d requested the cocktails. Her skin was so used to the English climate it was probably already burnt. She didn’t care. She’d been numb since Prague.
It was like all her feelings had been turned off. She was a zombie. She was an emotionless husk. The whole spy thing had all been a bit of fun for a while, then people died. People she cared for. She wondered if she’d ever feel again. Everything since Prague had just kind of happened, she’d paid little interest.
Harry had told her how he’d found her dangling from the bridge. When he’d been waiting for her at the Old Town Square he’d seen the Humvee smash into the Skoda. He said he’d instinctively known it was Eva. Carnage tended to follow her. Even in her traumatised state she could see the sense of his conclusion. He’d called his people and they’d tried to track her. When they’d heard over the police radio about the accident on Palacky Bridge they’d sped there. When Harry found the wreckage of the Skoda he’d feared the worst. He was the one who’d found her hanging from the tram wires.
Everything else she’d managed to piece together from fragments of her sluggish memory. Harry had hoisted her into the back of his limo, the same type he always used. They’d driven to a private airfield and had taken off in his personal jet. There were a couple of minor stops along the way. The airfields were makeshift, or near enough. The refuelling was done via commercial trucks instead of official-looking airport vehicles. She assumed the airfields were abandoned and only used because Harry had arranged it. Off the books.
MI6 must think she was dead. Perhaps they’d recovered Bishop’s body to emphasise the point. Maybe MI6 blamed the assassins, maybe they thought it was a terrible road accident, Eva didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she even cared.
The only thing she was sure of was that she was on her own. There was no help on the way.
MI6 had blown its one chance of capturing Harry and all because she’d failed. There was no possibility of tracking him either. There would be no cavalry. There would be no knight in shining armour. It was just as well. Chainmail in this heat would be a bitch.
Eva sipped her cocktail and thought about her options. Or rather, lack thereof.
She could try and find a computer and send a clandestine message, but what would she tell them? She was stuck on an island somewhere, she didn’t know exactly where, but it was picturesque and they had lovely pina coladas.
Eva felt broken. The thought of moving from her sunlounge seemed impossible. She wondered if they should have left her to die in Prague. Would that have been better? Did she have any strength to go on living? She honestly didn’t know. If it hadn’t been for Harry scooping her up and tending to her wounds, would Eva have let herself fade away?
All this doubt and confusion because of Harry. Bloody Harry. She was meant to hate him. She’d sworn revenge. But there he was saving her life. Eva was out at sea and the only buoy was Harry Lancing.
Everyone had an ex in their past, someone whom logic seemed to bounce off, that you couldn’t say no to. You knew you should, but there was something magnetic, something inescapable about them. They were like a piece of popcorn stuck in your teeth you can never dislodge. Harry Lancing was that kind of ex blown up to gigantic proportions.
In many ways, Harry was Eva’s nemesis. The harder she fought him, the stronger her feelings became. It was illogical. But since when did the heart ever listen to the head?
Since he’d found her in Prague Harry had been so attentive, so loving. It was just like it had been. It was hard to forget the love she’d experienced with this man. It was too much like before. For a man supposedly hell-bent on destroying the world, he was spending a lot of time by the side of an ex-girlfriend. Eva was sure she hadn’t earned that kind of care.
If MI6 really thought she was dead maybe she could simply disappear. Her mother was dead. Anchor could have the coffee shop. She’d miss Nancy terribly. But if she’d been the cause of her husband’s death Eva was certain she’d never be able to look her best friend in the eye again.
Ever since Harry had left her for dead in his penthouse she’d been furious with him. Livid. In the weeks at MI6 she’d focused on that hate. Then why had it all fallen by the wayside in Prague when he’d held out his hand for her? He was still the same man who’d spied on her. Who’d sent armed goons into her bedroom. Why did that not seem to matter? What was wrong with her?
Was she really contemplating giving up? Everything? There was no way this was Eva. She was a warrior queen. She was a fighter. She never gave up. And yet…
It had to be a passing moment of weakness. She’d get back to hating Harry momentarily, surely. Maybe it was the drugs. Then again, what if it wasn’t?
She closed her eyes and let sleep envelop her.
“Better?” Harry asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.
“Oh baby.”
Eva licked her lips and let the ecstasy overwhelm her. It had been too long. Far too long.
Her hands clasped either side of his face. “How…?” She hesitated, “How much more have you got?”
Harry smiled down at her. “I can give you as much as you want.”
Eva wasn’t sure, but she may have let out a breathless squee.
Her breathing became shallow. She was determined to enjoy the blissful sensation while it lasted.
Harry slid his hand along her sweaty cheek. “More nuts?”
“More everything!”
He scooped another pile of crushed peanuts over her chocolate sundae followed by more whipped cream. The small private kitchen overlooking the beach had suddenly become her favourite place on Earth. After weeks of calorie-controlled uber-healthy MI6 foods, a simple dessert had permitted a brief moment where the rest of the world had fallen away.
Sitting there in her pyjamas, Eva knew she should feel guilty for it but couldn’t muster the energy. Next she’d ask for pizza. Her mouth watered at the thought of it.
For the first time since Prague, she sensed tiny tendrils of normality creeping back. Her head was still clouded. Everything was out of sync, but she was beginning to feel human again.
Harry’s guest house was amazing, jaw-dropping even. All sides opened to allow the sea breeze to flow through. The décor was dark wood, bohemian-like furnishings and all the finest fixtures. The gourmet kitchen had a fully-stocked walk-in pantry. There was a sunken lounge to hide in, as well as a bath into which you could invite six of your closest friends. The overall effect was luxurious, manly and everything you could ever want. Harry all over.
She was thankful Harry hadn’t assumed she’d be staying with him immediately. He seemed to be taking it slow, never assuming. She’d agreed to come with him to the island, but he knew her well enough not to expect she’d be sharing his bed on the first night.
Eva wondered how long she could put it off. A full night’s sleep had revived her body and cleared her muddled head. It had taken time, but she’d overcome the shattered thoughts she’d had on the beach. Giving up was not an option. Eva had a mission.
It was ridiculous to think she could live on the island, to be happy. It was naïve and she knew the initial feelings she’d had when she’d arrived were ludicrous. The logical part of her brain had come in screaming and ruined the party.
She determined her softened feelings for Harry were temporary. Regardless of her thoughts for the man, he was still hell-bent on destroying the world and rebuilding it as he saw fit. Paul had been right, it didn’t matter about his aims, Harry shouldn’t be allowed to succeed. If the governments of the world capitulated this time, what next? Where would it end? Would Harry become a tyrant dictating which governments fell, which ones survived because t
hey defied or obeyed him? Despite her misgivings about democracy, it was the best system they had. One man’s will should not be allowed to override the will of the people, despite his intent.
Eva was reminded of the Lord Acton quote: ‘Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely’.
Although he had made her sundaes. Beautiful beautiful sundaes.
Eva was in a defiant mood. In other words, more like herself. Giving up and lying on the beach wasn’t her. Would never be her. She was stronger than that. The momentary doubt when she’d first arrived had been just that, momentary. A mere blip. She had a mission. Even without Bishop or Paul she had to succeed.
The thought of Paul made her nauseous. She stomped it down. She had to.
To complete her assignment she had to become the actress. She’d never been a great one, even in the bedroom. Her brief time as a stripper taught her she could act when needed but she had no desire to be on stage and much preferred to be in the shadows. The limelight never suited her and she shunned it like an albino vampire.
She could do this. The alternative was failure and that was an option she’d never accept. Perhaps pretending to be Harry’s girlfriend was the role she’d been born to play. Eva hoped she wouldn’t become typecast.
She glanced up. Harry was watching her with a weird expression. She hoped he hadn’t learned to read minds. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Harry grinned. Oh how she’d missed that face of his. “No. Well, actually you do, but that’s not it. I’m glad you’re happy. I haven’t seen you this way since… I haven’t seen it in a long time. It’s nice to see.”
“Thanks,” she said wiping every inch of her face.
How did he do it? Make her so at ease so quickly? She’d woken in his ridiculously huge guest bed and there he was at the door, offering to make her breakfast. Anything she wanted. He had probably been expecting to cook a batch of his famous pancakes, but she had reminded him he’d offered her anything. So chocolate sundaes it was.
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 21
