‘I’m Bruno,’ he said gruffly. He indicated the driver. ‘That’s Anatole.’
The red-haired immortal nodded amiably.
‘Ashely,’ said my partner from across the way.
‘Adam,’ I murmured.
‘We know who you are,’ said Bruno. ‘The immortal who can kill other immortals.’
An awkward hush followed.
Ashely frowned. ‘He wouldn’t have to if you people just left him alone.’
I remained quiet while I tried to gauge the two immortals’ moods. We would need their help if we were going to get out of there.
Anatole chuckled. ‘Give him a break, will you?’ he told the bodyguard. ‘He could’ve finished you off if he’d wanted to. And quite frankly, with that shitty attitude of yours, I wouldn’t blame him.’
Bruno grunted and lapsed into silence.
I came to a decision.
The door to the cellblock opened half an hour later. Several armed officers appeared. They were led by the Austrian investigator who had been in the interview room with Lacroix.
‘You are being transferred to the Staatspolizei headquarters,’ the man stated while we were handcuffed and removed from the cells. ‘The orders have just come through.’
The lines around the Austrian investigator’s mouth were strained. He avoided meeting my eyes.
I looked at Ashely and the two Schwatz immortals. They acknowledged my stare with brief nods. This was going to be our one and only chance to escape.
We were escorted out of the detention center and marched through the building. We passed an evidence room and an armory before reaching the security door to the station’s main reception.
A familiar voice greeted me across the floor. ‘Hello, Adam.’
I stopped and stared at the man who had spoken.
Mikolo Chapman had hardly changed in the decade since I had last seen him. Steely gray eyes studied me coolly from beneath a familiar fringe of dark hair. His tall and lanky frame was more muscular than I recalled.
A group of men crowded silently behind him, hooded eyes calmly observing the officers around them.
‘You know this guy?’ murmured Ashely.
A muscle twitched in my jaw. ‘Yes. That’s Chapman.’
Ashely stiffened.
The Austrian investigator was speaking to the sergeant at the desk when a door slammed open on the far side of the lobby. Lacroix stormed out of the passage beyond and marched up to the desk.
‘What’s going on here? Why are the prisoners being moved?’ barked the French detective.
The Austrian investigator’s expression grew shuttered. ‘I have received orders from my superiors. These men are to be placed in the custody of the State Police.’
‘Why?’ said Lacroix. ‘And by whose authority, exactly?’ The Frenchman had gone red in the face.
Chapman took a step forward. ‘I’m afraid that information is on a need-to-know basis.’
Lacroix turned and studied him from head to toe. ‘Who the hell are you?’
Chapman smiled and held up a badge. ‘Like he said, we are Staatspolizei.’
‘These men are not from the State Police.’ My voice resonated across the marble floor. I looked at Lacroix. ‘They are the ones who tried to kill us.’
A strained silence fell across the lobby. Frowns appeared on the faces of some of the uniformed Austrian officers.
Chapman chuckled. ‘Come now, these men are desperate. They’re obviously lying.’ The laughter did not quite reach his eyes.
The handcuffs at my wrists jangled as I pointed out three men behind him. ‘Check their guns. The one on the right should match ballistics from Gif-sur-Yvette. The other two were at the Hauptbahnhof yesterday.’
Chapman’s smile faded. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘We have a letter here from the Federal Ministry of Interior with instructions for you to transfer these men into our custody. Just hand them over.’
It was the wrong tone to take. The Austrian investigator frowned.
Lacroix straightened. ‘What’s the rush?’
Chapman sighed.
I tensed and rose slightly on the balls of my feet.
‘Oh, there’s no rush,’ my former partner said calmly. He reached inside his coat and whipped out a gun.
I threw myself against Lacroix and carried him to the floor just as the first shot rang out.
The bullet from Chapman’s semi-automatic missed the Frenchman’s head by inches and thudded into the oak counter above us.
I grabbed Lacroix’s weapon from his shoulder holster, twisted, and fired a volley of rounds at Chapman. He grunted and jerked backward.
I was behind the desk a second later, Lacroix’s gun still gripped in my hands. Ashely and the two Schwatz immortals dropped down beside me.
The crack of bullets rose around the lobby as the Crovirs engaged the Austrian policemen. Distant crashes rose elsewhere in the building as officers converged on the noise of the gunfight.
‘We need to get to the evidence room!’ I said urgently. ‘My swords are in there!’
Ashely grabbed a paperclip from a table and started to work his way through our handcuffs.
The desk sergeant had been shot in the chest. A young man in uniform cowered next to him, hands clamped over the bubbling wound.
‘If you want to live, give me your gun!’ I ordered harshly in German.
The officer stared at me, petrified. I extended my hand brusquely. He gulped and passed his firearm across with a shaking hand.
I grabbed the weapon and tossed it to Ashely. ‘On the count of three?’
Ashely and the Schwatzs nodded.
We rose from behind the desk and raced for the door to our right. Half a dozen Austrian officers lay dead or wounded around the reception. The Crovirs had fared better in terms of casualties, although I suspected they wore bulletproof vests under their suits.
I gritted my teeth, rage surging afresh through my veins.
Rounds scored the floor behind us. Anatole grunted and stumbled.
The security door slammed open a second before we reached it. A dozen officers in combat gear spilled out from the corridor beyond. We flattened ourselves against the wall and slipped inside a second after the last man crossed the threshold.
The hallway was blessedly empty. I headed for the evidence room and shot through the security lock on the door.
The katana and the wakizashi were on a shelf in the second aisle. Our guns, holsters, and Bruno’s cell were in a box next to them.
‘We could escape through the back,’ said the bodyguard as he pocketed the phone.
Anatole looked up from tying a strip of cloth he had torn from his sleeve around the bullet wound on his thigh. Blood was already seeping through it.
I frowned. ‘The Crovirs will slaughter everyone in this building if they don’t find us in the next few minutes.’
Ashely came back in the room. ‘Armory door was wide open.’ He threw us a Kevlar vest each and magazines for our guns. ‘Look what else I found.’ He grinned and held up a couple of Steyr AUG assault rifles.
‘Nice.’ Bruno caught the one Ashely tossed at him.
‘It’s like Christmas come early,’ said Anatole with a weak grin.
I finished loading fresh magazines into my guns and hesitated, my gaze swinging between the bodyguard and the driver.
‘There’s no need for all of us to stay. The two of you could—’
‘Stop right there.’ Bruno held a hand up. ‘Dvorsky will have our heads if we abandon you now.’
Anatole nodded. ‘He’s right. The boss gave us strict orders to look after your sorry asses. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve seen this much action.’ He snorted. ‘We can’t let you guys have all the fun!’
I returned his smile darkly. ‘Just try and keep up.’
The gunfight was in full swing when we emerged in the lobby seconds later. I
spotted Lacroix behind a concrete pillar to the left. Blood dripped down the Frenchman’s arm; he had found a gun from somewhere and was shooting at the Crovirs.
Four of them lay on the floor, apparently dead from shots to the head. I knew better.
I left the guns in the holsters on my thighs and drew my swords. The stutter of the Steyr AUGs filled the room behind me.
Two of the fallen Hunters groaned and pushed themselves up. Horrified shouts erupted from the Austrian officers when the pair slowly climbed to their feet. There was a gasped ‘Nom de Dieu!’ from Lacroix.
By then, I was already halfway across the floor.
The katana carved the air with a silken sound. The first Hunter fell again. I twisted on my heels and drove the wakizashi into the heart of the second Hunter. He folded silently at my feet, a puzzled look on his face.
‘Adam!’ Ashely shouted.
There was movement behind me. I ducked.
The tip of Chapman’s longsword missed my neck by inches. He swore when the katana carved a deep cut on the underside of his arm.
‘I didn’t know you were a swordsman.’ I straightened. Blood dripped from the edges of my blades. I moved and blocked a bullet with the katana.
‘There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me,’ said Chapman with a twisted smile.
‘You’re right.’ The sword shuddered in my hands as further slugs struck it. I had to know. ‘Why, Mikolo?’
Chapman hesitated, guilt flashing across his face. It was replaced by a sneer. ‘Because you’re the only one who stands in our way! And because the man who killed my father holds you dear to his heart!’
He brought his sword around in an arc.
My eyes widened. I broke his move with the daisho, my mind reeling from his words. Chapman grunted. His knuckles whitened as he pressed down with his blade.
Bullets struck my left flank. Though they hit the vest, I still hissed at the stinging pain. My knee gave way beneath me. Chapman grinned as I was slowly forced to the floor.
There was a flash at the edge of my vision. By the time Chapman turned, he was already too late.
Ashely leveled the Glock and shot him point-blank in the neck.
The longsword clattered onto the polished floor. Chapman’s eyes flared in shocked surprise, his hands grappling desperately at the wound in his throat. Crimson spurts escaped between his fingers. He dropped to his knees and thudded face down on the floor. A dark pool spread out beneath him.
‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’ Bruno shouted from the exit.
He held a bleeding Anatole under the shoulders. The Schwatz driver had acquired a second gunshot wound to his lower abdomen.
I scanned the lobby. The Crovirs were down. A crow flew through the open doors, its shrill screech shattering the deadly silence. Another appeared near the ceiling and spiraled down to the marble floor, before skipping onto the body of a dead Hunter.
The Austrian officers hesitated, eyes swinging nervously from us to the black birds. Ashely and I moved toward the exit.
‘Stop!’ Lacroix yelled behind us. A warning shot went off above our heads.
The crows screeched and flapped their wings. A third bird materialized through the doors.
I stopped and turned. ‘I suggest you let us leave. They’ll come after us again. If we stay, all of you will die.’
Lacroix scowled, the gun in his hand aimed unwaveringly at us. Blood oozed from a cut on his face and the wound on his shoulder.
One of the fallen Hunters coughed and blinked. A second man groaned.
Lacroix and the Austrian officers were still gaping at them when we headed out of the building.
‘You could have finished him off,’ Ashely observed as we bolted down the steps of the police headquarters.
I knew he was referring to Chapman.
‘Yes, I could have. But first, I need answers.’
I still didn’t understand what Chapman had meant, nor did I know to whom he had alluded. I had already dismissed Pierre Vauquois as a possibility. To my knowledge, that left no one else.
We followed the bodyguard and the wounded driver across the road to the gloomy interior of a parking garage under the university building. Gunshots erupted behind us just as we entered the shadows. We started to run.
Some fifty feet ahead and to the left, an elderly gentleman was locking the door of his Volvo estate. He looked up at our footsteps. His eyes grew wide when Ashely lifted the Glock and leveled it at his face.
‘The keys, please!’ my partner snapped.
Confusion washed across the old man’s face.
Bruno repeated the order in German. Anatole leaned heavily against the bodyguard; the immortal had turned an ashen color and was bleeding profusely from his wounds.
The Volvo owner’s hand shook as he passed the keys across. They dropped from his grasp. Ashely cursed and leaned down to pick them.
The bullet missed him by a foot and thudded into the old man’s shoulder. He cried out and staggered to the ground.
I turned and fired at the dim figures some hundred feet away. A panicked scream rose from elsewhere in the underground car park.
Ashely finished unlocking the estate and threw the keys at me. ‘You’re the better driver!’ he shouted.
I helped Bruno load Anatole in the back seat while he propped the injured car owner against a concrete pillar. A young woman cowered behind a van a few yards away.
‘You, come here!’ Ashely beckoned.
She blanched, her eyes dropping to the gun in his hand. She hesitated before crawling across the narrow gap between the vehicles.
‘Here, apply firm pressure!’ Ashely grabbed her hand and pressed it against the old man’s wound. The young woman nodded tremulously, tears spilling over and coursing down her face.
Shots pinged on the hood of the Volvo. I started the engine and engaged the transmission. ‘Ashely!’
He turned and dove inside the car. I stepped on the gas.
The wheels spun madly before gripping the asphalt. The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the car shot forward.
A Crovir Hunter stepped in our path. Flashes erupted from the muzzle of his gun.
‘Hang on!’ I jerked the wheel sharply.
The Volvo’s bumper caught the immortal across the legs. He landed on the hood with a sickening crunch and rolled off to the side. Further shots thudded into the car. The passenger window cracked.
‘Get us out of here!’ shouted Ashely.
‘I’m trying,’ I retorted between gritted teeth.
The Volvo skidded around a corner and grazed a row of cars in a shower of sparks before barreling down an empty lane. The exit appeared in a flood of daylight at the opposite end.
Four figures emerged from the shadows on either side.
I floored the accelerator.
We crashed through the security barrier in a hail of gunfire. Bullets slammed into the boot of the car. Spider web cracks appeared in the rear window.
A tortured squeal of brakes suddenly rose from the left. I looked around. My stomach dropped.
A tram was coming up the road; we were directly in its path.
I spun the steering wheel to the right. Metal shrieked as the Volvo made contact with the flank of the carriage and scraped alongside it for some fifteen feet. The left wing mirror crumpled and disappeared under the tramcar. Half a dozen shocked passengers gaped through the windows while I pulled away.
I swerved around a fire hydrant and sent the car juddering back onto the road.
A trio of black sedans appeared in the rearview mirror.
‘Ashely,’ I said urgently, my gaze shifting to the busy traffic ahead.
He glanced in his side mirror. ‘Gotcha.’
He rolled the cracked window down, leaned out of the estate, and fired a series of shots.
The front right tire of the leading car went out in a burst of fragmented rubber. It pitched sideways
, flipped onto its roof, and careened toward the center line in an explosion of sparks. The second vehicle swung around it and crashed into a truck in the other lane.
The third sedan drove past the wrecks, clipped the bumper of a van, and kept on coming. Police sirens tore the air in the far distance.
A bridge appeared up ahead. The lights were red at the end of a queue of stationary vehicles.
Ashely slid back in his seat. His eyes widened when he saw what lay in front. He glanced at me. ‘Tell me you’re not thinking of—’
‘Hang on!’ I yelled.
I ignored Ashely’s and Bruno’s shouts, swerved onto the verge, accelerated, and shot across the junction between the contra flow. A blare of horns erupted around us. It was followed by irate yells and the ricochet of bullets bouncing off the back of the Volvo.
I angled the car into the right lane and overtook a truck.
The black sedan stayed on our tail. Seconds later, the rear window acquired another crack from a bullet.
‘Goddamnit!’ yelled Bruno.
He pushed Anatole down on the seat, twisted around, smashed the tempered glass clear with the butt of the Steyr AUG, levered the rifle through the gap, and fired.
I glanced at the rearview mirror at the sound of an explosion.
The rounds had penetrated the front grille of the sedan and ignited something under the hood. The car braked and slewed to a stop in the emergency lane. Figures staggered out of the vehicle in a billow of black smoke.
I wondered whether Chapman was among them.
The bridge disappeared behind us. I looked over my shoulder at Anatole.
‘How’s he doing?’ I asked anxiously.
Though I had known the Schwatz for only a short time, I liked him. Besides, I did not wish to be responsible for the death of yet another person. I had enough blood on my conscience as it was.
‘Not so good,’ said Bruno. He observed the buildings flashing outside the window with a troubled expression. ‘Head north. I know a place where we can hide.’
Chapter Twelve
The Schwatz safe house was a hunting lodge deep in the woods around Hollabrunn, some twenty-five miles outside Vienna. We drove to the hotel in Landstrasse and swapped the Volvo for our Audi before setting off.
Chased Down Page 14
