by J. D. Weston
“Good,” said Kane. “You keep dreaming of it. But let me tell you something. If you and your boys don’t get me that vial, and if you and your boys don’t pull this mission off tomorrow morning, it’ll only be a dream. Nothing more. We’ll all be downtrodden, disgraced scum for the rest of our lives.”
“Understood, sir,” said Jones.
“Stand to attention when I’m talking to you, Jones.”
Snapping into life, Jones’ right leg came up, bending at ninety degrees. His right boot stamped down beside the left. His chest stood out with pride. His back held ramrod straight and his arms fixed to his sides with his thumbs pointing down the seams of his pants.
“Do you understand the mission, soldier?” said Kane.
“Yes, sir,” barked Jones.
“What are your primary objectives?”
“Find the missing vial, sir, and complete the mission with no fatalities.”
Kane nodded. He stood from his chair, face to face with Jones, their eyes aligned.
“And how do you plan on achieving this, soldier?” said Kane.
“Destroy Harvey Stone, sir.”
9
Us and Them
“You’re coming with me,” said Harvey, leaning in through the window. “Pass me the gun.”
Gabriella followed his instruction and handed him the dead soldier’s gun. Harvey took it. As Gabriella climbed up through the window and dared a glance down, he opened fire on the door.
“What are you doing?” said Gabriella, ducking out of the way.
“Buying us time,” said Harvey.
“Well, now what?” said Gabriella. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”
Harvey looked right along the tiny ledge then back at Gabriella.
“This is all I’ve got,” replied Harvey. “Don’t look down.”
The words triggered a rush of blood to her head. Gabriella felt the warm tingle of SFS strengthening her fingertips.
Harvey waited, half in and half out of the window, staring at her when she opened her eyes.
“What are you waiting for, Monsieur Stone?” she asked.
That seemed to be all the encouragement Harvey needed. He edged along the tiny ledge to the corner of the building. Gabriella followed. Her foot stepped off the window sill and onto the narrow ledge just as the door crashed open inside the room. Two men in black uniforms burst through the broken window and peered out in disbelief. One of the men raised his weapon; the shot found the bare concrete wall as Gabriella slipped around the corner.
A steel fire escape ladder stood fixed to the building. The narrow ledge finished eight feet short of it.
“We have to jump,” said Harvey, his fingers gripping just an inch of brickwork. The toes of his boots were turned sideways for maximum support.
“You first,” said Gabriella, feeling another surge of energy, clarity and focus. It was as if only the ledge and the jump existed. The shouts and calls from the people on the ground were held at bay by her mind and drowned out by SFS.
With almost no hesitation, Harvey leapt from the ledge with his arms stretched out. His fingers just managed to grab onto a handrail while the rest of his body slammed into the steel framework. He slipped down, and just as Gabriella thought he would fall, he caught himself.
A thick drool of sticky blood leaked from a gash in his leg.
“Are you okay?” called Gabriella, as Harvey pulled himself onto the steel platform. He rolled to his feet and prepared to help her, his face masking his certain pain.
Gabriella pushed off with her right foot. Her left leg extended. Her foot found the framework and her hands clamped onto the handrail. She swung once to allow her momentum to disperse. Then, on the return swing, she hoisted herself over the handrail and landed beside Harvey who was crouched with his arm ready to catch her.
“Let’s go,” she replied, and stepped past him to the ladder.
A single gunshot rang out. The bullet pinged off the steel framework above. A large man in a black uniform was leaning out of a fourth-floor window, gun poised to fire again.
Gabriella slid down the ladder with her feet and hands on the sides of the rails. Harvey dropped to one knee, aimed and fired, sending the man back inside.
Matching his speed, Gabriella landed on each landing as Harvey landed on the one above her. By the time she reached the ground, a crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. Mobile phones were recording the dramatic video. Harvey dropped down beside her, limped, grunted, and dropped to the ground, clutching his wounded leg.
“We need to get you out of here,” said Gabriella.
“You need to show me where to find Kane,” he replied.
“But your leg. You need to get it looked at.”
Harvey didn’t reply. He stood, took a breath, and searched around him at the faces of the crowds that were snapping shots as if they were celebrities. He grabbed Gabriella’s hand and made his way to the front of the hospital, barging through the crowd. Gabriella followed, hiding her face from the phones. This time, Harvey didn’t hand her a helmet. Nor did he give her any instructions. He started the engine, waited for Gabriella to climb onto the bike, then roared off across the manicured lawn into the heavy traffic.
The black SUV swung onto the main road behind them as the driver fought to hold the turn with all four tyres screeching. He locked onto Gabriella and Harvey, and accelerated hard.
Gabriella tapped Harvey on the shoulder and leaned into his ear.
“They’re behind us,” she called.
Harvey glanced into his mirror, saw the SUV approaching, and then turned suddenly into a side street away from the marina and up a small hill. The SUV followed with speed. Harvey slowed the bike until the SUV was just a few seconds away then jammed on the rear brake, sliding the bike around to face the car head on.
He flicked up his visor, raised his weapon and aimed, finding the accelerating SUV along the short length of the handgun.
The driver’s head became clear through the windshield.
Still, the SUV accelerated towards them, now only one hundred yards away.
“Monsieur Stone,” said Gabriella.
Her weight shifted as if she was preparing to jump from the bike.
Harvey fingered the trigger, letting the steel bed into the first crevice of his index finger.
“Monsieur Stone,” said Gabriella once more, as the vehicle closed in at forty yards with no intention of avoiding them.
Harvey squeezed the trigger.
One shot killed the driver.
The SUV turned, slammed into the line of parked cars and flipped. All four wheels left the ground and the huge car completed a full roll before it crashed down on its roof, embedding its front end into the windshield of a parked van. Shopkeepers emerged from their doorways and passers-by fled to spectate from a safe distance.
The carnage came to a stop.
Broken glass fell to the tarmac road.
A hand appeared through the gap where the windscreen had been.
The passenger of the SUV crawled from the broken window and fell to the ground in a heap among the glass. His face was a bloodied mess. Harvey kicked down the bike stand and dismounted. He limped over to the man, gun in hand and oblivious to the spectators or the approaching sirens.
Gabriella remained on the bike. She watched as Harvey stood over the man on the ground.
“No, Monsieur Stone,” she called.
But it was too late.
Harvey raised his gun. Aimed. Pulled the trigger.
Harvey returned to the bike and shoved the gun into his waistband. “You and I need to talk.” He stood in front of Gabriella with his hands on his hips. “What does Kane want with you?”
“Who knows?” said Gabriella with a shrug. But she knew it was not convincing. “Are you going after him?” she asked, in an effort to steer him away from the truth.
“He destroyed everything I own,” said Harvey, then he climbed onto the bike.
“I can help,” said Gabriella.
Gabriella hesitated, but Harvey waited for her response.
“He’s planning to kill the prime minister.”
Sirens in all directions wailed across the small town, growing louder as the net closed in on Harvey and Gabriella.
“It’s Kane,” said Gabriella, “he’s paid the police off.”
“We need to go.”
Harvey climbed onto the bike as a police car came screeching into the road from the marina. As Gabriella slid on behind him, he kicked into first gear, opened the throttle and spun the rear wheel, holding the front brake until the bike had turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees to head out of the town. Open-mouthed onlookers were buried in the tyre smoke, and only the shrill whistle of the sirens cut through the roar of Harvey’s bike.
They breached a small hill at the edge of town, only to find two police Peugeots waiting for them and parked in a V-shape blocking the road ahead. With the police car behind them approaching fast, Harvey tore into an alleyway at full speed. Both sides, the backs of houses opened up into small courtyards, and ahead, tall pines marked the edge of the town and the start of the forest.
Bursting from one alleyway without stopping, they sped across the road and into another. Gabriella tapped Harvey on the shoulder and leaned into him.
“They are behind us, Monsieur Stone. Two police cars and another big black car. What should I do?”
“Hold on tight,” said Harvey, as they approached the end of the last alleyway.
He slowed the bike to make the turn at the end onto the road then opened the throttle and headed back towards the town.
“Are we trapped?” said Gabriella.
Harvey didn’t reply.
He cut through the traffic on the marina road, and used the opposite lane to put some distance between him and the men in black. The wind rushed past, stinging his eyes, and the biting cold gnawed at his hands. Still, the black SUV followed, bullying the oncoming traffic out of its way.
Harvey slowed once more, preparing to turn onto the road out of town after completing a full circle of Saint-Pierre. A large lorry nosed into view, turning toward Harvey’s speeding bike.
The black SUV roared up behind them, its grill inches from Harvey’s back wheel.
Harvey pulled his weapon from his belt and steered into the path of the lorry.
Seeing Harvey’s maneuverer, the lorry driver pulled on the horn, the anger on his face clear even from two hundred yards away, and turned the steering wheel hard to avoid a collision.
The SUV nudged the back of the bike.
Harvey accelerated away at the last minute, aiming his gun with one hand as he passed the turning lorry, and firing a single shot into its off-side tyre.
The shift in weight along with the driver’s hard turn sent the lorry leaning over. As Harvey braked hard to make the turn out of town, a quick glance in his mirror showed the toppling lorry and the SUV that buried itself into it. Speeding police Peugeots followed a few seconds later.
Once out of town, Harvey made for the forest, where he stopped the bike in a copse of trees atop the tallest hill for miles around. Behind them, at the foot of the hill, Saint-Pierre lay sprawled across the valley between the two surrounding mountains that met the sea. The noises of the sirens continued in the distance. But Harvey and Gabriella’s escape had been successful.
“Tell me everything you know,” said Harvey, as he checked the magazine in his Sig and found just one round remaining.
Stepping off the bike, he stumbled on his injured leg. He grimaced but held the pain inside.
“I have told you everything, Monsieur Stone,” said Gabriella, eying his leg. “They kidnapped me, I escaped, and now they want me back.”
With one smooth movement, Harvey caught her by the throat with his freezing hands, pulled her from the bike, and slammed her against a tree.
She stared at him in defiance until he plunged his knife into the bark beside her head.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Gabriella,” said Harvey.
With eyes wide open, she stared back at him. She was searching for something, buying time to think of a lie.
“Who is Kane?” said Harvey.
“He’s a madman.”
Harvey didn’t reply.
“He is ex-military, British, I think. An officer. Or at least he acts like one.”
“And his men?”
“They are all ex-military. All rogue. Shunned by the services with dishonourable discharges.”
“What did they do?”
“I don’t know. Something bad. In Afghanistan. It was covered up but they were discharged. Now they work for whoever offers the biggest paycheck.”
“And they’re planning to kill the French prime minister?” asked Harvey. “How do you know this?”
“I overheard,” said Gabriella, shrugging.
“And how is Kane planning on killing the prime minister?” asked Harvey.
“Every year, the prime minister spends Christmas on his yacht with his family. It’s his tradition.”
“But he’ll be guarded. That’s not an easy mission.”
“Cassius Kane is a criminal genius,” said Gabriella. The words came from her mouth with a look of distaste. “As much as I hate to admit it.”
“So how’s he going to do it?” asked Harvey.
“He has developed a drug. He may only have a few men, but with the drug, they will be unstoppable. We have to stop them, Monsieur Stone.”
Harvey released his grip a little, but still held her against the tree.
“That’s why they wanted me,” she continued. “They used me as one of the test subjects.”
“A what?”
“A lab rat, Monsieur Stone,” said Gabriella. She blinked away the tears. “They killed us one by one, testing the drug, adapting it a little, then testing again until it did exactly what they wanted it to do.”
“And what does it do?” asked Harvey.
“It gives you superpowers,” said Gabriella, her French accent thick and romantic with the idea.
Harvey didn’t reply. He stared at her with disbelief.
“You don’t believe me?” said Gabriella.
Harvey shook his head.
“How do you think I escaped from a high-security facility? How do you think I killed those men myself? Me? How do you think I survived being hit by a bus, Harvey? And how, god damn it, do you think I climbed out of that hospital with you?”
“The drug,” said Harvey.
“Yes, Harvey. Have you ever felt the power of adrenaline? Have you ever felt its release into your blood stream and felt your power grow?”
“Often,” said Harvey.
“Imagine if that adrenaline was amplified. Imagine if your body felt no pain. Imagine if your senses were heightened to an animal-like state.”
“And Kane thinks he’s going to take over the world?”
“No, Harvey, not the world. But he’ll be unstoppable. Think of what a government could do with a drug like that. How much would they pay to have Kane’s men do what a government is not allowed to do?”
“And that’s why he wants you back?” said Harvey. “Because you know all his plans?”
“Well, yes and no. He wants the vial I stole,” said Gabriella, offering a cunning smile. “His men will be more powerful than any men in any army. All communications between the muscles and the brain are blocked. Your body is far stronger than you know, Harvey Stone.”
“A drug like that would be worth a fortune on the black market,” said Harvey.
“In the right hands, a drug like that could stop many wars,” said Gabriella. “But it’s worth far more if only Kane’s men have access to it.”
“I can’t be involved in all of that, Gabriella,” said Harvey, and he released her from his grip. He stepped away and looked out over Saint-Pierre.
“Do you still want to kill him?” said Gabriella, her voice soft.
He felt her step up beside him and tracked her movements as she took his hand in her own, then lowered her head to kiss it.
“Where’s the vial now?” asked Harvey.
A bead of sweat fell from Gabriella's brow onto Harvey’s hand.
“I have hidden it,” she replied.
Harvey removed his hand and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Hidden it where?” he asked.
“The safest place I know,” said Gabriella. “But his men are still strong. He has a prototype.”
“Kane took everything from me,” said Harvey. “Drug or no drug, I’m going to kill him.”
“Then I will help you,” said Gabriella.
“I don't need help,” said Harvey, relaxing his grip and stepping back from Gabriella. “Just tell me where to find him.”
With both hands nursing her throat, Gabriella moved away from him and stopped at the edge of the hill, gazing across the valley at the town of Saint-Pierre.
She turned her head back to face Harvey.
“I will tell you where to find him,” said Gabriella. “But first, you must help me stop the assassination.”
Eight men stood in a single rank in the courtyard outside the research and development centre as the first drops of rain announced the onslaught of a winter storm. Each man had polished boots, shiny buckles and pressed black uniforms. In front of them, their leader, Sergeant Jones, stood with his hands crossed behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart. He stared straight ahead. Not one man moved a muscle.
Kane watched them through the doors. His chest swelled with the pride of a father.
He pushed through the double doors, stepped out into the evening, and marched to the front with one arm swinging. He came to a halt in front of Jones, performed a right turn, and stared at his second in command.
“Squad, attention,” called Jones.
The entire squad brought their right legs up to ninety degrees and then back down in unison to stand beside the left boot. Their arms moved to the side of their bodies, thumbs pointing down, chins up, and fearlessness etched onto each of their faces.
Jones raised a salute, his arm rigid and perfectly square with his body.