by Rob Jones
In their wake, the men tumbled and turned and rolled over the cobblestones. They came to a stop at the end of long streaks of blood stretching all over the road. Off to their left and right, the riderless Ducatis howled and swerved out of control. The one on their left smashed into a café window and set off an alarm. Now, flashing lights and sirens filled the night as the second one crunched into a parked BMW. The Ducati crumpled the front wing, rotated over on its front wheel axis and revved wildly before coming down in a smoking, buckled heap on the car’s hood.
“Nice work, Jodie.”
“Thanks, but the others are getting way!”
She hit the gas and spun the wheels, leaving the chaos of blood-soaked streets and smashed glass behind them. Swerving around the corner, the other riders were in sight again now, driving down the middle of a broader road lined with cars. Jodie pulled the Biro out into the center and gave chase as fast as she could.
Hunter leaned out of the car and fired on the riders just as they swerved across the Piazza D’Aracoeli and headed across a park in the middle of a busy roundabout. The shot missed, and now there were too many other cars to fire again safely.
“Nice shooting, Hunter. Maybe I should have brought Quinn instead.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks, and it might be a tad easier if you could get this ridiculous roller skate within a thousand yards of them.”
“Whatever.”
Hunter saw an enormous white marble monument looming ahead of them.
“What the hell is that?” Jodie said. “It’s amazing.”
“It’s the Vittoriano,” he said. “A monument dedicated to the first King of Italy when it unified in the nineteenth century.”
“Monument would have sufficed.”
“Eh?”
“Just remember for next time. Less is more.”
“What the…”
Another burst of rounds from the rear rider. Hunter instinctively ducked and Jodie swerved to avoid the bullets. It worked. They chewed into the roundabout’s asphalt but missed the Biro, giving Jodie just enough time to straighten the wheel.
Ahead, Neverov was ahead of Gubenko as they ripped out of the park and crossed the far lane of the roundabout. To the Englishman’s disbelief, the Russian colonel drove the Ducati toward the massive marble steps on the monument’s famous front terrace.
“What does he think he’s doing?” he asked. “There’s an iron fence blocking vehicles from getting into the Vittoriano!”
Gubenko didn’t see the problem, and now pulled a tiny olive green tube from his backpack.
“What’s that?” Jodie said, seeing it instantly.
Hunter squinted. “Looked like a Bur.”
“A what?”
“It’s one of the smallest grenade launchers in the world,” he said. “Made for and used by the Russian special forces.”
“Dangerous, huh?”
He gave a look. “What do you think?”
“What’s it fire?”
“One of three projectiles. There’s a thermobaric warhead for soft targets, a smoke grenade and an incendiary. We’ll find out what Neverov’s packing in about five seconds.”
Gubenko fired the launcher and sent the rocket-propelled grenade across the road and into the metal barrier fence. The fireball exploded in an instant, blasting a good section of the iron barrier into a thousand pieces of burnt, bent metal shards.
Black smoke bloomed up into the night sky, lit by orange street lights. A man who had been selling chestnuts from a small cart not far from the bottom of the steps was knocked off his feet and sent flying into the air. He landed with a smack on the asphalt and only just managed to scramble out of the way of his cart as it crashed down two seconds after him.
“Holy crap, this is chaos, Hunter!”
“And they still have the lion statue.”
Neverov ripped his Ducati through the smoke and rammed it up the giant marble steps. Gubenko followed in his wake on the other bike and headed up to the colonnade at the top.
“He seems pretty keen on getting away, Hunter. You going to take another shot, or what?”
“There are tourists here,” he said. “You want me to blow one of their heads off by accident?”
She spun the wheel, stamped on the throttle and aimed the Biro for the steps. “With your aim, I’d say it’s better to take the cautious approach.”
“You’re not planning on driving up there after them?” he asked.
“Sure, why not?”
“I’ll give you a list by next Thursday, starting with it’s one of the most famous monuments in the country and we’ll attract the attention of about half the city’s police force!”
“That’s right – I forgot about your morbid fear of getting arrested.”
“Believe it or not, not everyone has a long list of arrests behind them, Jodie.”
“Stop, you’re embarrassing me with all these compliments.”
“Reason two,” he said, ignoring her, “is how is this roller skate getting up those steps? I doubt it could climb a kerb, let alone…”
“Watch and learn, Dr Hunter.”
An improvement on plain old Hunter, he thought.
She hit the bottom step and powered the tiny car up toward the colonnade. The suspension crunched up and down as she ploughed the vehicle up the steps with merciless determination in her eyes.
Neverov was already at the top and was turning his bike to drive along the back of the monument just in front of the colonnade. He crossed the seventy meter wide terrace of the Altar of the Fatherland and turned his bike up more steps leading inside it. Gubenko followed his leader inside the colonnade.
“He’s going inside!” Hunter yelled.
Jodie reached the top of the steps, spun the wheel to the left and aimed in the same direction.
“Brace for impact, Hunter! We’re going in.”
The Wolves had other ideas. The same man who had fired on them back at the Pantheon turned and opened fire a second time with his Steyr. This time his aim was better. Rounds raked up the Biro’s rear panel and shattered the glass roof. Jodie screamed and turned away from the gunfire, sending the electric car into a violent, uncontrolled skid toward the stone balustrade running around the top of the terrace.
“Hold on!” she yelled.
The engine growled as she turned into the skid and hit the brakes. The car spun around one-eighty degrees but was a second too late to avoid an impact, and now the back end of the Biro smashed through the stone balustrade. Coming to a stop with its rear-end hanging over the top of the terrace, Jodie peered outside the roll cage and looked over the side.
“You’re not going to like this, Hunter.”
The angle at which the car had come to a halt meant Hunter’s side was facing in toward the terrace and he was unable to see what she had seen.
“What am I not going to like?”
“Right now, half this vehicle is hanging over the edge of the terrace and it’s a sixty foot drop to the ground.”
Then, Hunter heard engines revving. “And you’re not going to like my news, either. Gubenko and his Steyr-wielding pillion rider are on their way back to finish the job off and put us over the side.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hunter didn’t wait for a response. Above him at the top of the steps, the black Ducati burst through the portico and shot out into the air before crashing back to earth halfway down the marble steps. Bouncing up and down on the suspension, Gubenko struggled to control the bike while his pillion rider raised the Steyr and tried to get some more shots off.
Hunter leaped out of the Biro and saw only one of the rear tires was hanging over the edge of the terrace. “Hit the gas!” he yelled out, grabbing hold of the front of the roll cage bar and pulling on it with all his might.
“That’s never going to work!”
“Yes, it will,” he called back, ducking his head as bullets chewed into the marble all around him. “It’s lightweight to start with and rear-wheel
drive, so just do it!”
Jodie hit the pedal and the rear wheels spun around fast. The one hanging in the air raced and whined but could do nothing else. The one on the marble screeched and sent thick, bubbling plumes of rubber smoke up into the air all around them. The car surged forward like a bolt of lightning leaving Hunter coughing and spluttering in the smoke.
Jodie checked her mirror and saw him running to the car. Ahead of her just off to the right, Gubenko’s bike skidded off the bottom step and crunched down on the terrace. He pulled the handlebars hard to the left and turned the bike in a tight arc. Both riders extended their legs for balance and the pillion rider raised the Steyr and unleashed another burst of fire.
Jodie saw the muzzle flashing in the smoke and slammed the car into reverse. The last few rounds nipped up off the marble terrace and ricocheted into the car’s windshield punching three neat spider-web fractures in the glass inches from her face. She screamed but carried on reversing, screeching to a smoky halt beside Hunter who was now less than twenty meters behind her.
The Englishman aimed his weapon at Gubenko and loosed a few rounds across the night, striking the pillion rider in the chest. He grunted in shock and tumbled off the back of the Ducati, dying in the fall before he hit the deck. Hunter fired another burst at Gubenko and then jumped inside the Biro.
Jodie stamped on the throttle. “What happened to the shooter?”
“He came to a dead stop, now go!”
“Huh?”
“Neverov is getting away!” he said. “I saw him leave when I was back at the balustrade. Gubenko was a diversion.”
Jodie got it loud and clear and spun the wheel hard to the right cutting across Gubenko’s path and clipping him on the rear tire. The Russian lost control of the bike and after a few seconds of uncontrolled swerving, the Ducati crashed over on its side and slid across the marble terrace in a shower of sparks.
She checked her mirror. “It won’t take him long to get back up and running.”
“Pull up!”
“Are you crazy?”
“Do it!”
She hit the brakes and the Biro juddered to a violent stop in another screech of tires and smoke. Hunter leapt out and ran over to the dead pillion rider. Snatching up his Steyr, he clambered back inside the Biro, making it rock heavily up and down on its suspension.
“If Gubenko’s going to be behind us, I’d rather he didn’t have this. Now go.”
She dipped her head and hit the gas. “I can’t argue with that.”
At the eastern end of the terrace, they once again passed the portico where Neverov had driven inside the monument.
“I see them!” she said. “Looks like they’re trying to get off the monument.”
Following them, she drove past the portico steps and swung a tight left, skidding the car around a tight corner. Straightening the wheel, she drove along a narrow side terrace before smashing through another balustrade in a shower of marble splinters and dust. With Hunter swearing loudly to her right, she swerved down another long flight of marble steps in front of the Museo Centrale and got off the monument.
“Probably only a million euros’ worth of damage,” Hunter said. “Not bad for you.”
She said nothing. Eyes fixed on Neverov, she turned another tight left and almost tipped the car over. Hunter held on to the roll cage and gasped in horror as she turned into the swerve and brought the other two wheels crashing down onto the ground.
“What?” she said.
“At least you brought it back under control.”
She grinned. “It was never out of control, Hunter.”
“Just get me close enough for another shot,” he said, checking the Steyr’s mag. “There’s still enough hell in this thing to ruin their night.”
Then they heard the sirens.
“Cops,” she said with a sigh. “Now there’s a way to ruin a good night.”
Hunter darted his head outside the Biro and Jodie rammed the tiny electric car up the smooth flagstone slope leading up to Michelangelo’s famous hilltop square, the Campidoglio. Ahead of them, the Neverov was skidding into a sharp left turn in front of the Palazzo Senatorio, a large renaissance-style building used as Rome’s City Hall. Hunter knew from previous trips to the city that the building had been constructed on the site of the Tabularium, inside which the ancient Romans had stored all of their archives, but somehow he didn’t think Jodie would be all that interested to know.
They reached the palazzo and swung left after the Ducati just in time to see it burning around the back of the building. The pillion rider fired a short round of warning shots from his machine pistol as they turned out of sight once again, and in her rear view mirror, Jodie saw Gubenko reach the end of the Campidoglio behind them.
“Look who’s back in the saddle,” she said.
Hunter turned and peered over his shoulder through the Biro’s trashed rear window. “And even more angry than usual, I’d bet.”
Neverov made a sharp turn away from a brick wall and raced around a hairpin bend on the Via Monte Tarpeo to their left.
“What’s he doing now?” Jodie said.
“Heading into the Forum!”
“But it’s all walled off!”
“Not to Colonel Vladimir Neverov.”
They watched in astonishment as the Russian pillion rider fired another RPG at the wall surrounding the famous center of everyday life in ancient Rome. Seconds later, Neverov ripped his Ducati through the freshly blasted hole and disappeared inside among the ruins.
“This dude really is serious about shaking us off, Hunter! I’ve never been in a chase anything like this before.”
“And it’s about to get a whole lot worse,” he said, pointing the barrel of the Steyr at the top of the windshield. “Judging by those flashing blue lights bouncing off the Temple of Saturn’s portico columns, I’d say the cops are almost on top of us.”
“Damn it.” She smacked the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “And just when I was having fun, too.”
“Fun? Are you insane?”
The car rocked up and down on the rocky ground as she weaved in and out of broken temples and crumbling pillars. “I’m going to pretend I never heard that.”
“Look out!” he yelled as they flashed past three giant Corinthian columns. “That was all that remains of the Temple of Castor and Pollux!”
“Are you for real? We’re trying to get the statue back, Hunter. We don’t care about the architecture.”
“But Canaletto painted it!”
She glanced in her mirror. “Looks like it needs a second coat.”
He rolled his eyes. “I give up, and by the way, something that looked important just flew off the back of this car.”
She glanced at him and then back to the ruins. “Hunter, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I think this car is toast.”
Another round of fire from the rear pillion rider missed them but tore into the temple’s marble columns behind them. Jodie swerved and by the time the car was back under control, Neverov was heading toward the eastern end of the Forum. Now, Gubenko flashed past them and pulled up alongside his leader ahead of them. The Wolves were reunited.
Hunter scanned either side of the speeding Biro and saw police cars swerving to a halt all around the ancient Roman site, but none were coming inside. “They figure we have to come out eventually, I guess.”
Jodie gasped. “Yeah, but not like that!”
Hunter looked ahead and saw what she had seen. Neverov and Gubenko had driven under the archway of the famous first century Arco di Tito and were bearing down on a metal security barrier. Neverov’s pillion rider fired another RPG and obliterated the fence in seconds, leaving a clear path for the Wolves. The Russians raced out of the Forum and made their escape from both HARPA and the local carabinieri now racing toward them from stations all over the city.
“Oh, no…” Hunter said.
“What?” said Jodie. “We can get this through that hole th
ey just blasted, so just relax.”
“No, look where they’re going! We’re all going to die.”
Jodie watched the Ducatis steering out of view inside a large darkened archway, but she was typically relaxed. “We can do that.”
“No, we’re going to die. There are cops everywhere and they’re going in there!”
“Nah, just watch and learn, Hunter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hunter said a silent prayer as Jodie ripped past Constantine’s Arch and followed the Wolf Pack into the Colosseum. As soon as he had seen the Russians heading inside the two thousand year-old amphitheatre, he knew his evening was about to take a turn for the worse. Seconds later, this was confirmed when Jodie skidded around a narrow stone archway and burst out into the open part of the iconic monument.
Here, Hunter’s nightmares became real. Instantly, Neverov and Gubenko peeled off in two directions. Gubenko drove anti-clockwise around the first tier while Neverov was already driving up a flight of the cramped stone steps and was moving clockwise around the third tier high above them.
Jodie hit the brakes and the Biro screeched to a halt. “Who’s got the goodies, Hunter? They’re all wearing backpacks.”
“Neverov. He wouldn’t trust the lion ágalma in anyone else’s hands.”
“Statue.” She turned the wheel, but he stopped her.
“Wait, he’d know I’d think that and give it to Gubenko.”
She sighed and turned the wheel the other way, but he stopped her again.
“What now?” she asked.
“No, he’d know I’d think that, too, so he’d keep it on himself. We need to get up to the third tier.”
“Damn it, Hunter!”
He ignored her and peered up at the bikes as they roared and revved around the ancient building. “Can we get up there?”
“Not in this,” she said. “The bikes could get up there but the ancient Romans overlooked the need for electric cars to get around inside here, even one as narrow and small as this.”