“What the hell is—” CRASH! A body smashed through the fourth-story window and tumbled to the cobblestone below. The man landed with a sickening crunch. I don’t know if he’d jumped or been pushed, but that landing was all ribs and skull.
I ran up, saw who it was, lowered my revolver, and sighed. “That, right there, is Stefan Varga.”
Skunky knelt next the target whom we had hoped to take alive, probably to take his pulse, but when he saw the brains sliding out, that wasn’t really necessary. He looked at the dead man, then at me, then back at the dead man. “Well, crap. What now?”
“Come on,” I said, moving past the newcomer’s still running motorcycle. “Maybe we can still get some intel from this place.”
“It is on the scanner. The police are on the way,” Antoine warned. From the tire squealing noise over the radio, he was headed our way fast.
I hesitated. I was still wanted by a shadowy arm of the U.S. government, and they had a long reach. Any involvement with the police would end up with me either being renditioned to a black site or shot in the back of the head. They wouldn’t risk letting me escape again. I’d had more close calls than I liked already.
Skunky noticed my hesitation. “Maybe we should just split? He hasn’t seen us. We can back off and tail the assassin.”
“Unless he’s bleeding to death inside.” After all, it had only been one man, and he’d shot it out with at least four of them. With Varga dead, our only hope of this operation not being a total bust was to get some answers from somebody. I spoke into my radio. “We’re going in.”
“Understood,” Antoine said. “We’ll be there momentarily. Faster, Shen.”
Decision made, I raised my gun, pushed forward, and made it halfway up the house’s front stairs when someone flew out the front door and kicked me in the face. Off balance, I lurched backward, crashing into Skunky, and we both tumbled down the stairs. A boot stomped on my chest as the interloper ran right over the top of us. Dazed and still rolling, I saw the shooter running for his motorcycle.
Ling’s team came blazing around the corner in their Range Rover, but without slowing the shooter extended a pistol in both hands and cranked off several fast shots. Shen swerved to the side and hit the brakes. The shooter got on his bike, revved the engine, and took off.
I rolled over onto the cobblestone, brought my gun to bear, but it was too late. I didn’t have a shot without putting a round into some poor Austrian’s house. I pushed myself off the ground, pulled Skunky to his feet, and we sprinted for our car. If we lost sight of him there’d be no way we’d catch up with that bike.
As I buckled myself into the BMW, Shen came back over the radio. “I tried to ram him. I missed. He’s headed down Nonnberggasse. I’ll try to go around. Hurry.”
I started the engine, put it in drive, and stepped on it. My face hurt. Blood was trickling from my nose, making a wet spot in the ski mask. Our car was fast, but that bike was faster. And he could fit through things that we couldn’t. This would take a miracle, but I intended to catch this son of a bitch.
The rider killed his headlight so it would be harder for us to spot him, but Skunky had a night vision device he couldn’t hide from.
“Left, left, left!” Skunky said excitedly. I saw him, but he was still leaving us behind. The motorcycle took a sharp turn, tires squealing, and for a moment I thought he was going to lay it down on the cobblestone street. He recovered and hit the accelerator, having cut a hairpin turn off of Nonnberggasse and onto a street that joined it in a Y-shaped intersection. I nearly spun the BMW out trying to keep up.
“Shit,” I snarled, “he’s going downtown!” In the heart of the city there would be more lights, but even at this time of night there would still be a lot more traffic. Which he could go through, which I couldn’t.
“Do you still have eyes on?” Ling asked.
“Roger, but he’s making distance. I’m going to lose him unless he screws up!”
“Do not lose him!” Ling ordered. “Shen found a shortcut through someone’s garden. We’re going to try to cut him off.”
I wished I could have seen Shen drive the Range Rover through somebody’s garden. An angry motorist in a little hatchback laid on his horn as I swerved around him. I was just trying not to kill anybody.
The short switchback road ended in a T-intersection, which was clogged with traffic. The rider easily picked his way through, probably confident that he was getting away. Suddenly, the Range Rover appeared from the left, speeding out of a narrow alley between buildings. Shen turned hard and flew right in front of the bike. Narrowly avoiding the impact, the rider turned to the side and laid his bike down, hard. One of its mirrors snapped off as it hit the pavement, sliding into the side of a parked Volvo with a crunch. It looked like it hurt. Shen could have had him then, but apparently the Range Rover’s brakes weren’t that good, and he smashed their front bumper through a plaster planter and killed some shrubbery.
Reaching the intersection, I threw the Beemer into park and jumped out, drawing my gun. Skunky bailed out too. Shen was trying to back up. Motorists honked and cursed at the crazy Range Rover, but the ones who saw two men in ski masks with guns shut their mouths and ducked. The rider had already gotten to his feet. The assassin was small, but he must have been really strong as he dragged the heavy bike upright, mounted up, and took off before any of us was even close to grabbing him. I almost fired, but stopped myself, but there were too many bystanders behind him. I swore aloud and ran back to my car as the motorcycle rider maneuvered through the stopped traffic.
“I didn’t have a shot,” Skunky grumbled.
“Me either. Get back on the radio, keep telling Shen where he’s going.”
“Roger! He’s turning right onto, uh . . . Erhardg . . . Erhard . . .” Before Skunky could pronounce the name of the street, I jumped the curb, laying on the horn as I sped down the sidewalk, clearing the intersection and keeping eyes on him.
“The police scanner is going crazy. Someone called in the gunshots and the police are en route. Most of them are pulling traffic duty for the festival, but they’re being redirected this way.”
“Understood.” They’d also be calling in our high speed chase now. “We need that diversion!”
“Roger that,” Ling said. Our diversion was simple enough: call in emergencies all over the city, spoofing the police. They would have to respond to them all, and it would tie up their resources.
He was still blazing along, getting away from us, but the motorcycle appeared to be wobbling badly. I really hoped he’d damaged it somehow when he’d laid it down. We followed the bike through a roundabout and across a bridge over the Salzach River.
With just that brief straightaway, he nearly lost us, but across the bridge, the motorcycle screeched to a halt. There were two lanes in each direction, but another roundabout on the far side was also jammed with traffic. Just as I was closing in, the bike moved through the tightly packed traffic, and sped off to the northwest. I couldn’t afford to lose sight of the faster vehicle for very long, so I cut the wheel to the left, laid on the horn, and Skunky gasped as I drove the BMW onto the sidewalk, sending pedestrians running for their lives, hoping to God I didn’t clip somebody. There were police sirens in the distance. A car on the sidewalk would draw attention. I had to get back on the street, blend in, but still keep up with the bike.
The street we were on followed the river northwest. The bike was still a lot faster than my car, and far nimbler, but the rider looked like he was really struggling with it. I was right, it had gotten damaged somehow. I kept him in sight, driving in the margins and on the sidewalk when I had to.
“I think his bike’s dying. Get ready for him to bail on foot. Where are you guys?”
“Behind you. We got cut off.”
As the river curved to the north, the motorcycle made a hard right, wobbling, nearly wrecking again. The road dipped down and ran under railroad tracks here, but he turned onto a perpendicular street that ran pa
rallel to the tracks. I nearly collided with another car, barely maintaining control, but managed to make the turn and stay with him. The street was separated from the railroad tracks by concrete barriers.
“Where did you go?” Ling called.
“He turned east along Humboldtstrasse! Parallel to the tracks! He’s . . . oh, shit!” Riding up an earth berm, the bike jumped the barriers and disappeared on the other side. “He just fucking jumped the fence!”
“What?”
“Val, I lost him!” Skunky said.
“No we didn’t!” There. There was an access gate in the barriers blocked by a chain link fence a couple hundred yards up the road. “Hang on!” I said, gritting my teeth, and stepped on the accelerator. The car groaned and made a sickening crunching sound as we smashed through the fence. The window cracked. I nearly spun out, but we were through, and I was relieved with the airbag didn’t deploy in my face. I stomped on the brakes and launched the chain link gate, which was still on the top of my car, forward onto the tracks.
“Are you okay?”
“There he is!” Skunky pointed. The rider was a short way up the tracks, picking up the bike. He must have lost it on landing. He’d probably been thinking he could get out of sight for a second, and ditch us in here. Wrong, asshole. He looked up, saw me, and gunned his accelerator. For a second I thought he was going to crash right into us, but he swerved at the last second, accelerating down the tracks. I cut the wheel to the right, stomped on the gas, and followed.
The car rattled and bounced as we followed the tracks, weaving around parked sets of train cars. It felt like we were going to vibrate our car to death. The bike was producing smoke, and making a lot of noise, but not a lot of speed. His ride was toast.
“I think I can get a shot,” Skunky said, Beretta 9mm in hand.
“Hold your fire. Just hang on, I got this.”
“Dude, you’re going to get us killed trying to catch this asshole and we don’t even know if it’s worth it!” We flew past a railroad station, under a highway overpass, and the tracks curved to the right. They made a wide loop, turning back to the south. “If we lose sight of him he’s gone.”
“I know!” I pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The rattling increased so much that I thought the doors were going to fly off. Each bump threatened to send the Beemer out of control as I tried to navigate the tracks by my one remaining headlight. “Okay. Shoot him.”
“About time!” Skunky said.
“Try not to make it fatal.” Or at least immediately fatal, because we really needed to interrogate this guy.
He leaned out the window a bit, pistol extended in his hand, and popped off shot after shot. “Damn it,” he snarled. The car was rattling so badly from driving on the tracks that he couldn’t hold his gun steady.
“Holy shit, man, just shoot him!”
“I’m trying! Drive better!” He leaned out the window again, further this time, holding his gun in both hands, and fired again, then again and again. The motorcycle suddenly cut its wheel to the side and fell over, sliding to a stop. “I got him!”
More like Skunky had finally put the bike out of its misery. The rider was on his feet and running away. I cranked the wheel and hit the gas, the BMW bucking over row after row of tracks. The rider sprinted as fast as he could, though obviously hurt. He had nowhere to go. At the edge of the tracks was a metal security fence. Got him. Wait, what?
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I snarled. The rider scrambled up the eight-foot fence like a monkey and vaulted himself over.
“Dude’s got some mad parkour skills,” Skunky observed. “Stop the car, you can’t crash through that fence. We gotta go on foot!”
I threw the car into park and opened the door. Skunky was already out of the car. He hit the fence, sturdily constructed from steel, and started to climb. “I see him!” he said, at the top. “Come on, hurry!”
“Jesus,” I wheezed, hitting the fence as Skunky dropped to the other side. “I’m hurrying!”
Now we were having a foot chase. This really wasn’t how I planned my evening to go. The assassin was fast, but Skunky was a damned good runner. I just tried to keep up.
Ling’s voice was in my ear as I climbed. “Where are you?”
“He wrecked. We’re off the tracks now,” pant pant. “On foot.” pant pant. I looked at a street sign affixed to a lamp post. “Robinigstrasse, I think.” The street was short and ended at what looked like a yard for parking trucks. At least the place was closed down for the night and there weren’t any witnesses.
“Come on!” Skunk yelled from down the street. “This way! He went into that building!” Two small warehouses marked the end of the street, which was lit only by a couple amber streetlights.
“He went . . .” pant pant “. . . into one of the buildings,” I said, relaying it all to Ling. “You got my location?”
“Affirmative.” She could track me by GPS, but there was lag when I was moving. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t enter that building alone!”
I acknowledged Ling and slowed to a fast walk, breathing hard. Damn, I’m out of shape. The warehouse was butted up against some trees. If there was a back door, the rider could get away and I’d never see him.
Skunky was waiting for me at the door. “About time,” he whispered.
I flipped him off, still breathing hard. The door of the small warehouse was still open. I took a quick peek around the corner, into the darkness. I didn’t see anything, but was immediately answered by shots. I flung myself out of the doorway and pushed Skunky to the ground as a hail of gunfire peppered the corrugated metal behind where I’d been standing. I rolled back over and came to my feet. I transferred my revolver to my right hand, stuck it around the corner, and blindly fired off all six shots.
The gun roared and echoed in the metal building and throughout the neighborhood. I hoped to hell our police diversion was working. I could hear sirens in the distance, but none seemed to be closing in as I twisted a speedloader into my gun’s cylinder. I keyed my radio. “Ling, I think I got him cornered in the warehouse. He’s armed. Shots fired. What’s your ETA?”
“Less than a minute.”
“Roger. I’ll stall him.” I pulled off the ski mask so I could speak more clearly, and so my face could breathe. The sweat was stinging my eyes, making it hard to see, and my face still hurt from him feeding me a shoe on the stairs. “Listen, asshole,” I said, shouting into the doorway. “You’re trapped. I’m not alone out here, and I’ve got more backup coming. The cops are coming too. We don’t work for the owners of that house. We were doing surveillance. We don’t have to be enemies. We just want to talk to you.”
There was no response.
I tried to hide the frustration in my voice. “Do you speak English? Can you understand me? I’m not a cop. I just want to talk to you, figure out what the hell is going on. You killed Stefan Varga. We were looking for him. Just come out. I’ll put my gun away.”
After a long pause, the rider finally spoke. “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“What?” I moved away from the doorway when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked over at Skunky and signaled that our guy was coming out.
A moment later the rider stepped out of the shadows. I kept my gun on him, but he came out with his hands up and empty. He ditched his helmet. The face looked familiar, but it still took me a second before I recognized him. Then my heart dropped into my stomach. I knew this man, but he was the last person in the world I’d expected to see here, mostly because he was supposed to be dead.
“Lorenzo?”
Chapter 2: Whispers in the Dark
LORENZO
Sala Jihan’s Fortress
Date Unknown
The shackles bit into my wrists as the soldiers pulled on my chains. I stumbled through the dim hall, pain tearing through me with each halting step, trying to keep up. If I fell, they’d just drag me. I knew from experience that would probably reop
en my wounds, but my legs were too weak. When I fell my captors didn’t even bother to slow down, and my arms wrenched in their sockets as the chains snapped tight. My stitches pulled, scabs broke and wept blood, but the slave soldiers didn’t care. They dragged me until stone turned to soft dirt, and out into the searing daylight.
It really wasn’t much light, just a hole in the roof above. I’d been kept in the dark for so long that my eyes were having a hard time adjusting. I couldn’t see where I was, but the slaughterhouse smell gave it away.
We were back in the pit.
Time didn’t mean anything here, but it had probably been weeks since my last fight. I told time by how healed my wounds were. What would I have to fight today? Slave soldiers? Other prisoners? More vicious dogs?
The soldiers hauled me roughly to my feet and began unlocking my shackles. I didn’t struggle. I’d need the energy for whatever was going to come next. My abraded wrists throbbed. My ankles burned where the irons had rubbed off my skin. The soldiers’ cheeks had been branded with Sala Jihan’s mark. Their eyes were emotionless and vacant as they took the chains away.
There was one other door into the pit, but it was still closed. My opponent hadn’t arrived yet. Blinking against the sun, I looked up and tried to see him.
As usual, I could see nothing but shadows inside the observers’ alcove above. Was the Pale Man here? That was the worst part. Each time I was tortured or made to fight something for Sala Jihan’s amusement, I didn’t even know if he bothered to watch.
The other heavy door creaked open. More slave soldiers dragged in another prisoner. His tattered rags had once been a North Chinese uniform, but he was fighting the guards, and appeared healthy, so he hadn’t been here long. A deserter? A border guard who’d crossed the Pale Man somehow? It didn’t matter. Nobody here retained their identity or their sanity for long.
I had nothing against this man. I didn’t know him or anything about him, but if I wanted to survive one more day I’d have to kill him.
Alliance of Shadows (Dead Six Series Book 3) Page 2
