by Rob Jones
“Impossible. We killed Devlin.”
Lefevre leaned forward and peered into his own wing mirror. He cursed loudly and smashed his hand down on the dashboard. He narrowed his eyes as he stared once again at the approaching headlight of the pursuing motorcycle and pulled a Heckler & Koch USP from inside his jacket. He checked the semi-automatic pistol’s magazine and pushed down the electric window. A burst of rain blasted into the car but Lefevre didn’t notice. He simply released his seatbelt and turned to Devos. “Keep driving.”
Devos nodded as Lefevre swivelled in the seat and climbed halfway out the speeding car. To stop himself flying out, he anchored himself with his left hand on the grab handle while he calmly raised the USP and aimed it at the headlight of the pursuing bike.
He fired, and missed.
He cursed and wiped the rain from his face with his forearm.
He aimed again and fired a second time, but the bike was still behind them, and now it was swerving from side to side in an attempt to evade the bullets.
Romain Lefevre wiped the rain from his eyes again and aimed his pistol at Danny Devlin a third time. He wasn’t the kind who believed in giving up.
*
And now the bastards are shooting at you, Danny! he screamed into the howling wind.
Devlin blinked and rubbed the rainwater from his eyes as the Commando powered forward closer to the Audi. As if things weren’t dangerous enough he now had to swerve the bike violently to the left and right to avoid getting hit by their bullets. The risk was skidding on a patch of smooth asphalt and going for a short flight to an early death over the cliff-edge to his right, but he had no choice. It was that or take a bullet in the chest at sixty miles an hour.
Either side of him, the hedgerows raced by in a blur as he pursued his quarry. He wanted to return fire on the bastards with the shotgun – that would sort the wheat from the chaff – but he knew Lea was in the car and couldn’t risk hitting her with such an inaccurate weapon. His only play was to give pursuit until they got wherever they were going and then wing it. The Danny Devlin Masterplan.
The fact Lefevre hadn’t simply stopped the car and had it out with him right here meant that he was more interested in getting away with his prize than killing him, and that meant he’d decided not to take any risks tonight.
Whatever was in Harry Donovan’s research files was obviously of enormous importance to Lefevre – or more likely – to the person Lefevre was working for. In Devlin’s estimation, Lefevre didn’t seem the type to have either the inclination or funding to raid Irish cottages in the dead of night in search of decades-old medical research papers. No, he was definitely working for someone else, and that was why the killer was in such a rush to get to Connemara Airport.
Devlin revved the 750cc engine and increased to seventy miles per hour, storm, wind, rain and bullets be damned.
Lea Donovan was in that car.
CHAPTER FORTY
Devos changed down to third to get more torque as he powered the Audi into a sharp bend on the coast road. The engine growled deeply and the Belgian contract killer slammed his foot down on the throttle to gain speed as they hit the next straight.
To his right he saw a brief flash of moonlight on the surface of Galway Bay before it was smothered but yet more storm clouds. The wipers, set on maximum speed to clear the heavy deluge from the windshield, flashed back and forth in a mesmerizing blur. He flicked his eyes to the rear-view and saw the damned headlight was still behind them.
“You want me to slow down?” he called out to Lefevre.
“Non!” The other man shouted. He was still outside the car and firing shots at the motorcycle. He climbed back inside and pushed the window up. “We are being paid to deliver the files, not take unnecessary risks with Irish fools. We’ll kill him at the airport.”
Devos nodded in agreement but his grin was sort-lived.
“What is it?” Lefevre asked.
“He’s right behind us!” Devos said.
*
When Danny Devlin saw Lefevre climb back inside the car, he knew he had only once chance left. He increased the speed to over eighty and raced the bike until it was almost on the rear fender of the Audi. He knew he’d only have seconds to act before they took evasive action, so he killed the light and offered another prayer. He was about to do the most insane thing of his life. Almost…
With no light, and under cover of the storm, he was invisible for a few seconds. He put his head down low and accelerated alongside the fleeing car. The bike had stable and powerful acceleration, and a second later he was almost past the Audi.
Then they saw him, as he knew they would, and immediately swerved their car into his path.
He knew what he had to do, and he knew he had to act fast. As the car’s front wing struck the Commando he leaped into the air and slammed down on the Audi’s hood. The Norton spun off out of control and careered to a stop at the side of the road.
Devlin clung to the air vent ridge at the top of the hood. The Audi began to swerve in an attempt to fling him off and share the same fate as the Norton Commando, but he held on for his life – a task made easier by the strength in his fingers he had built up over so many years of free-climbing.
He knew what had to happen next – and it did. A few seconds after he landed on the car the side window came down and Lefevre climbed halfway out with his USP, grinning at him.
He gave the Irishman a c’est la vie shrug and aimed the pistol at his face.
Devlin had anticipated the move, and using the forward momentum of the speeding car to keep him in place, he snatched the shotgun from his shoulder and fired twice at Lefevre.
The shot shredded through the Belgian’s chest and throat. The top of his dead body now slumped out of the car, his hands scraping along the road.
Devlin watched Devos through the windshield as he saw what had happened, his panicky face lit a ghostly blue by the A7’s dash. In desperation to get rid of the Irish devil now clinging to his car, he swerved more violently than ever.
As the car skidded over to the left, Lefevre’s body was rammed into a hedge and got snagged in the twisted branches, pulling him from the car. The corpse landed with a wet smack on the asphalt as the others raced forward.
Devlin had no time left. He knew Devos had only one play left and was about to do it. If he hit the brakes he would go flying like an Iceland Gull and hit the road at speed where he would stay for a few seconds with every bone in his body broken before Devos ran him down with the Audi.
Devlin raised the shotgun and fired it at the glass, shattering it totally. He then fired a second shot through the smashed glass at Devos, filling his chest full of lead and killing the man instantly. The Belgian killer convulsed for a few seconds and the car began to swerve uncontrollably.
Devlin crawled on to the roof and slipped down inside the vehicle through Lefevre’s open window. He immediately grabbed the wheel and kept the speeding Audi on the road while at the same time forcing his right leg down in between Devos’s legs and hitting the brakes.
The Audi came to a juddering halt in the middle of the lane.
The race was over.
Devlin breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a second. So this is what happens if you take a phone call from Lea Donovan, he thought.
Talking of whom, he looked around the car for her but saw nothing.
Then he heard a deep thumping from the trunk.
He flicked the release catch and it sprung gently open as he ran around to the rear and cut the cable-ties from her wrists and ankles. Finally he pulled the duct tape and oily rag from her mouth.
Lea looked at him and frowned. “Well, you took your fucking time, Danny Devlin – don’t tell me… we drove past a pub on the way and you nipped in for a swift half of the bloody black stuff!”
“You wouldn’t begrudge me that though – not a pint o’ plain, would ya?”
She rolled her eyes, pulled herself out of the boot and dusted herself do
wn before giving the man a hug. “Thanks Danny, I owe you more than a pint of plain.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Lea leaned against the car and put her hands on her head in shock as she watched her childhood holiday home burning in the low light of the Irish summer morning. Around her, life continued as normal – a marsh harrier’s piercing shriek filled the air and she looked up to see it banking hard to the right and flying over the ocean, and the eternal sound of the Atlantic as it folded over in waves of surf all along the coast.
Her stretch of coast, where she had played as a child…
And now part of that childhood was ablaze and burning to cinders and ash right before her eyes. She wiped away a tear and opened the Audi’s rear door. She took back the box-file of research papers that Lefevre had taken from her and they began to walk slowly back along the road to the Norton Commando.
She picked it up with tremendous effort and sat on it.
“What’s going on here then?” Devlin said.
Lea gave him an innocent look. “What?”
“I’m driving the bike, not you!”
“Like hell you are Danny Devlin. This is my Dad’s bike and I’m getting it somewhere safe. You can come if you want, ya silly horse.”
Devlin pulled up the collars of his jacket and shivered. He looked out at sea for a long time and said nothing.
“You look very serious, Danny. You’re not going to start quoting Yeats or anything, are ya?”
“Me? Nah. I was just thinking - is it too early to get properly langered, young Lea?”
She looked at him expressionless for a few seconds and then smiled. “Get on the bike, Danny… pub’s this way.”
Devlin rubbed his hands together and climbed aboard, putting his arms around her waist to hang on as she turned the key in the ignition. “You know I could quote Yeats If you’d like me to.”
“Yeah… not so much,” she said. “And put this in your jacket.” She handed him the precious box-file. “I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s coming with me.”
“Sure thing.”
Devlin took the file and slid it inside his jacket before zipping it up.
Lea turned the accelerator and the old engine revved to life. She smiled when she heard it – the sound reminded her of her father and all the hours he spent working on it in the garage. The old man only ever rode the thing when he was here on the coast, and if she closed her eyes she could still hear him telling her all about how it worked…
“It’s different from today – back in my day the left side of a bike was about the brakes, Lea, look…” he showed her the brake on the left side of the handlebars. “The right side was all about speed and gears…” She watched as he tapped the right handlebar to show her the accelerator and then moved his hand down to the clutch pedal operated by the right foot. She smiled at the memory – memories were the only place her father lived now. At least there she could keep him safe.
“So are we getting a drink or not?” Devlin said. “I haven’t had a night like that since me honeymoon…”
“It’s sunrise, Danny,” she said. “Of course we bloody are!”
She’d ridden the bike enough times, with and without her father’s blessing, to know well enough where the clutch engaged so she let it out with confidence and the bike began to roll forward.
The Norton Commando shot away into the rising sun with a beautiful, old-fashioned roar.
EPILOGUE
The Isle of Elysium nestles in the bright, turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea, an isolated utopia far from the rest of the world. It offers the perfect balance of white sandy beaches, dramatic waterfalls and gentle rolling hills of untouched rainforest. Previously owned by the French Government and used as a tropical naval training facility, the island was bought by a consortium led by Sir Richard Eden. Not long after that it all but dropped off the map.
Now, a lone woman stood on its northern shore and shaded her eyes as she watched a Gulfstream IV in its silent approach to the island. The strong sun glinted off the bright, white paint of the jet as it turned and lined up with the runway for its final approach. Behind her, cicadas chirped loudly in the palm trees which ran along the beach, and less than a hundred yards out to sea she saw a pod of dolphins breach the blue surface of the ocean on their way west.
And she was nervous.
She had made a similar flight to the island less than a week ago, saying goodbye to Danny Devlin at Dublin Airport and flying away from home for the thousandth time. She too had been on one of the three ECHO Gulfstreams as she brought her late father’s mysterious research notes back to her new home, and her new family. Maybe she would show them to Ryan to see what he could make of them, or maybe not. She knew in her heart everyone had a right to know her father had known something about the Athanatoi, but she was frightened to dig any further.
In the deep blue sky, she watched the jet slow down as the pilot extended the flaps to full and lowered the main gear. Now, almost close enough to touch, her sense of anxiety seemed to subside.
The jet landed with the sharp squeal of rubber on asphalt as the wheels touched down, and moments later it was trundling toward the tiny airport. As it passed her, she tried to look inside and see him, but it went by too fast, and she was distracted by the mechanical whine of hydraulics as the flaps and airbrakes retracted in readiness for parking and the engine shutdown sequence.
Then, the door opened and there he was, standing tall with his bag over his shoulder. An old army-surplus boonie hat on his head obscured his face and a pair of aviator shades covered his eyes. He looked like he’d been sleeping, but he was here at last.
Lea met Hawke on the landing strip and for a moment they were unsure what to do – unsure if they were still together or not. It ended when Hawke took her in his arms and kissed her, and the ice was broken.
Before she could say anything, Alex Brooke stepped off the plane and walked over to join them. For a second, Lea thought she looked like she was in pain, but then the moment passed.
Lea tried to conceal her disappointment. She didn’t know Alex well enough to hate her, and she knew she’d been a good friend to Hawke after the hell back in Egypt, but she was suspicious that the former CIA agent had tried to make a move on Hawke while he was staying with her in America.
The three of them barely spoke as they crossed the asphalt and headed toward the low, modern glass-and-steel entrance of the Elysium HQ. Each of them had their own problems. She knew what they had been through in America in their attempt to hunt down Klaus Kiefel.
As for Lea, her mind was still buzzing with everything that had happened in Ireland. She was pleased she had rescued her father’s life’s work, even if she had no idea what any of it meant. It was enough to know she had saved it from falling into the hands of Lefevre and Devos. Even if she didn’t know who they were working for, she had won, and all thanks to Danny Devlin. She looked at her watch and saw it was well into opening time back at Flynn’s. She smiled when she pictured her old CO propping up the bar once again, gripping a pint of Guinness among the wreckage of the fire-fight.
“I’ll leave you two to it, I think,” Alex said, and walked ahead.
Hawke turned to Lea and took off his shades. He scanned the area, looking beyond the heat shimmer on the airfield. He was looking at a tropical island maybe ten square miles in size, with elevated ground to the west and east and a lower sea-level dip in the middle which seemed to house some kind of metallic compound. It was partially obscured behind a low line of macaúba palms and the sun flashed brightly on its roof.
Behind the airfield, to the north, a strip of white sandy beach cut between two different shades of blue – the deep azure of the tropical sky, and a bright cerulean strip of ocean, warm and inviting. He watched someone – Scarlet maybe? – windsurfing a few hundred yards out, the bright red sail cutting into the calmer colors. The ubiquitous sun flashed on the boom of the windsurf board and he looked away. He could see the attraction of
the place, it had to be said.
“So this is the mysterious mission control?” he said quietly.
“Sure is…” Lea’s words drifted into the heat shimmer. “Joe, listen… about the island and ECHO – I really wanted to tell you about it but…”
“Forget about it,” he said, a tone of finality in his voice.
She pulled her head back and gave him a look. “Forget about what?”
“About your apology – there’s no need.”
“About my apology?” She felt the fury rising in her as she looked at him. “I was going to say I really wanted to tell you about it… but… you shouldn’t have been such a bastard when you finally heard about it from Eden!”
“An apology’s not on the cards then?”
Lea screamed. “No, you’re not getting a sodding apology because I never did anything to apologize for!”
Hawke turned to her. “So we’re going to have a row about this, are we?”
Lea looked defiant. “You bet your arse, Joe Hawke!”
Hawke smiled. It felt like he was home at last.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novel put both Hawke and me a little out of our comfort zones, as we both prefer a good old-fashioned international hunt for ancient relics and treasures. While I felt that thanks to the presence of Medusa this was still in that ball park, the murky world of Washington politics put a different slant on things. As regular readers will know by now, I like a good helping of humor in my adventure novels and I hope I managed to achieve that in this story.
As it happens, Joe will return in VALHALLA GOLD (Joe Hawke #5), which is a return to his regular world of hunting down ancient lost treasures and taking out super-villains in the process... and he also gets a chance to visit some exciting international locations as well as build some bridges with old friends and play in the Caribbean on jet skis for a while... I just thought he deserved a holiday. I hope you can join us for that. It should be released in the Spring of 2016 (or the Autumn of 2016 if you’re reading this Down Under).
