“Force it off the road?”
“Oh, yeah. And Hayden, Alicia, when you guys do finally get here, head straight to the facility.”
“Copy that,” Hayden’s reply was as expected.
“Don’t be a twat, Drake.” As was Alicia’s.
Dahl aimed at one of the truck’s rear tires. The rattling noise of the truck’s rear tailgate interrupted him.
“Bollocks!”
Drake turned sharply, leaning the bike over. Four men stood inside the back of the van, pointing weapons at them. They fired immediately, the bullets passing over Drake’s head as he tilted the bike over, only one sparking off and denting the fairing.
Dahl sputtered, hanging on for dear life.
Drake steadied the Augusta as an enormous truck loaded with wrapped plastic tubing appeared ahead, lumbering along at low speed. The furniture-van sized truck they were following didn’t hesitate, just pulled out and overtook, causing oncoming traffic to veer across the sidewalks and the road verges. Drake blipped the throttle and closed the gap once more.
“Shoot those bastards, Dahl.”
“Get closer!”
Dahl peppered the rear of the truck with a hail of bullets, sending their enemies scuttling.
“You sure? They—”
“Closer! Now!” And the mad Swede lived up to his name as he began to climb. Drake shrugged off utter disbelief, realizing he shouldn’t be shocked where Dahl was concerned. The Swede maneuvered his body so that he crouched in his seat before quickly firing again. Then, with his enemy distracted, he urged Drake right up to the tailgate of the truck and climbed onto his shoulders, using the Yorkshireman’s head to balance. The Augusta raced hard in pursuit of their enemies, trees and buildings whipping by. Dahl kept his balance easily for a moment before leaping off Drake’s shoulders, rolling through mid-air, and landing inside the truck, allowing his body another two rotations before planting his feet and looking up.
Eight pairs of eyes stared back in utter shock.
Dahl sprayed them with lead, tackling the nearest with one arm, smashing an elbow to his throat and then hurling him from the truck. The Swede took a bullet to the chest and staggered. Drake took out a pistol and joined in the battle. Dahl came up hard, head first, sending a second merc tumbling into space. A third was down, incapacitated by bullet wounds, the fourth injured. Even so he came hard at Dahl. The Swede slipped aside with more grace than a man of his size ought to possess, caught the merc’s head under an arm and flipped the man onto his back. Drake knew when he was superfluous, opened the bike rapidly, employing its swift acceleration, and surged right up to the front cab. Without warning he shot out the windscreen and then took out the passengers. In another moment the truck was shuddering and freewheeling to a halt.
Drake spun the Augusta hard, laying rubber onto the asphalt, billowing smoke from the spinning tires. Dahl jumped down from the back of the truck and waited for him.
“Nothing in back,” the Swede said calmly through the comms. “Possibly a diversion.”
Drake saw police cars converging. “Relay a message to the cops, Hayden. Tell them to check the men in the cab. We’re about to hit the facility.”
Hayden’s affirmation came back instantly. “And we’re right with you.”
Two cars shot by. Drake picked up Dahl. The second facility was one minute away.
*
Crouch employed great skill in making his helicopter take flight. It had been many years—so many he didn’t like to calculate—since he’d taken a bird into the air and especially under such pressure. Not that his passengers, Caitlyn, Healey and Yorgi noticed, they were too busy gearing up and certainly didn’t need to be made aware of their extra peril. With the cyclic stick and collective gripped hard, his feet operated the foot pedals and worked each component simultaneously. He opened the throttle, increasing the speed of the tail rotor, realizing just how rusty he was as the chopper juddered a little. He pulled on the collective and pressed the left foot pedal, painfully aware of the mercs’ own choppers now within shooting range. Luckily, to his right Russo was already in the air.
Shoulda kept up my fieldwork instead of sitting in cafes drinking Frappuccinos all day.
At last he felt the cyclic become sensitive and nudged the chopper forward. Healey had stationed himself at the right door, Yorgi the left. Crouch felt his heart lurch as he saw them.
“Strap yourselves in, for God’s sake. This isn’t a scenic flight.”
Russo banked to the right, drawing two enemy helos. Leaning out of his nearest door was Adam Silk, already drawing a bead on their assailants. Crouch pitched in the opposite direction, turning underneath the other two. Over the top of the hotel he gained altitude, bringing his bird around in a wide arc.
Healey opened fire, aiming broadside and sliding forward at the same time, adjusting his aim.
Below, Crouch saw a midnight-black bike racing around a corner followed by a speeding Alfa Romeo. That could only be Drake and his pals, heading for the secret facility at breakneck speed, desperate to find the antidote. His mind flicked momentarily to Smyth—the tough, snappish soldier laid low by a fellow team member’s struggle against death. Before he could think again he saw an enemy helicopter swerve after them. Instantly, he blocked its path, inclining the helo and turning so Healey grabbed its attention.
Bullet holes stitched across its side.
Crouch used a deft touch to lift them higher into the sky, thankful that the old skills were returning. The second merc chopper blasted straight at them. Behind it he saw Russo taking on two more, swerving and pitching out of the skies as Silk and Radford loosed automatic firepower from its open doors. Bullets trailed through the air. Crouch flinched as he felt impact, a line of lead travelling across his own hull, and sent the chopper into a dive. Healey moved superbly with the maneuver, twisting so he could stay focused on their attacker. His own fusillade smashed a side window and sent their attacker tilting away, sideways through the skies.
“Go!” Caitlyn cried at his side. “They drove down Ailanthus. Let’s lead the mercs in another direction.”
Crouch allowed Healey and Yorgi to loose another barrage before lining the chopper’s nose up with the Tower Hotel and darting forward. Caitlyn’s advice was justified as both enemy ‘copters swung around in pursuit. Russo, listening closely to the comms, performed a similar maneuver. Dunn Street fell behind and a clear blue sky momentarily opened up ahead. The chase was on.
Six civilian choppers loaded with mercenaries and soldiers, guns and grenades, flew over the tops of some of the most famous hotels in Niagara Falls—the Fallsview Marriott, the Oakes and the Hilton—before banking right, each blasted by bullets and veering from side to side in evasive maneuvers, to come up against a sight that shocked even them.
“Jesus Christ!” Crouch exclaimed. “We’re heading straight into the falls!”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Drake roared the black Augusta up the curb, taking flight over the sidewalk, touching down inside the warehouse’s grounds and almost clipping the back of the braking Alfa Romeo. Before the car stopped Alicia was out of the driver’s seat and already in her stride, Mai doing the same from the passenger side. Drake let the Augusta fall, jumping to the side. Trent swung out of the rear of the Alfa.
The second car dispersed the rest of their team as engines roared from the rear of the lengthy, blue-panel corrugated structure. Drake headed toward a half-open roller-shutter front door, then hesitated.
“Shit, if the truck was a diversion that could be—”
“The real thing?” Smyth was white with worry, standing over Lauren who rested in the back of the second car.
Hayden paused, caught between two impossible choices. “Damn!” Her gaze snapped to Lauren, then the warehouse. “I don’t . . . I don’t . . .”
It was the first time Drake had ever seen her stumble.
Kinimaka placed an enormous hand on her shoulder. “We have the manpower for both.”
&nb
sp; Hayden nodded, snapping back to routine. “Drake’s team, since you’re already practically inside, take the warehouse. We’ll stop whatever comes around this goddamn corner!”
“Hope it’s not a tank,” Alicia wisecracked from near the roller-shutter door.
“Doesn’t matter what comes around,” Smyth snarled. “Party’s over for these motherfuckers.”
Drake urged his team into the dim innards of the warehouse. Instantly, they were beset. The place itself was outfitted much the same way as the first facility back in Greece, half a dozen tables stretched down the middle of the space, each one equipped with laboratory supplies and computers. No chairs were in evidence. Glass phials and test tubes, jugs and juice containers, deep freezers and lighted display cabinets were everywhere. Drake came to a sudden halt when he was faced by a dozen men in white lab coats.
To a man they looked terrified.
Somewhere, a gun was cocked.
And a voice roared out, “Yer again, may the devil choke yer and yer feckin’ mother’s offspring. This time yer feckin’ dead, yer hear? Dead!”
The blood-crazed mercenary, Callan Dudley, opened fire, blasting apart the laboratory workers who, moments ago, had been helping him with the Pandora’s Box plague samples. The first thing Drake knew was the red spots appearing on the white coats, then the stumbling figures and shattered midriffs.
“Down!” he screamed. “Get down!”
*
Hayden raced to the side of the warehouse just as three black Jaguar XFs came into sight. Engines roaring, windows totally blacked out so that they appeared to be low-slung monsters, enormous grilles like bared teeth, they were speeding down the narrow driveway toward her.
She jerked back, Kinimaka at her side. “They mean business, guys! I’d be guessing if I said this was the antidote on its way to the Pythians but, either way, they need stopping.”
“Any news from the white truck?” Karin asked.
“Yes. The police are there now, examining the dead mercenaries. Nothing has been found either on them or inside the truck.”
“So it was a diversion.”
“Who knows? We can only deal with what’s in front of us.”
Her words became immediately prophetic as the three powerful black cars shot past toward the road, the last in line slewing across the gravel before its driver managed to get it under control. Hayden jumped into the discarded Alfa with Kinimaka and Karin and urged Collins, Smyth and Komodo back into the vehicle they’d arrived in—a bright red, four-door Lexus.
Together, they peeled out in pursuit.
“Get up close!” Smyth had strapped Lauren in as tightly as he could and was leaning across the back seat now, rifle in hand. “Give me a terrorist to shoot.”
Collins bounced around the passenger seat. “Almost there, man. You gonna fight me for the privilege of wasting these assholes?”
“Damn right I am.”
As the three Jaguars snarled down Kister Road, heading hard toward the north, the Alfa and the Lexus coaxed enough speed and power out of their engines to pull alongside. Suddenly it was a five-vehicle chase without a car’s length between them, the antidote to a deadly aerosolized plague being the prize.
Smyth powered down his own window just as all three Jaguars powered down theirs.
Guns bristled through the openings.
“Now we’re fucking talking,” the Delta soldier rasped.
*
Crouch’s vision was filled by a tremendous, all-encompassing cascade of furious white water. This was the Horseshoe Falls, one of three that made up the great cataract and by far the most powerful. One hundred and sixty five feet straight down, the raging torrent dropped in freefall, sending spray blooming into the atmosphere and colorful rainbows arcing over the landscape. Crouch had read somewhere that over four million cubic feet of water traveled over the falls every single minute, a figure that was almost impossible to comprehend. From this position, however, it wasn’t difficult at all.
“Pull up!” Caitlyn cried.
Crouch saw the large white ship below them, famously known as the Maid of the Mist. And in spectacular fashion a vast wall of mist was even now pluming upward. The chopper almost skimmed waves as it dropped low, then shot up before the great falls. Water spray enshrouded it, billowing past. One of the mercenary helos paced them, almost alongside, its occupants leaning out and trying to shoot him down.
Then Russo’s machine was barreling in from the side, Silk and Radford locked on with their weapons. Their shots smacked home on target, puncturing metal skin and glass windows and then the bodies inside. The chopper groaned and went into freefall, plunging through the mists and the turmoil of water to the harsh rocks below.
An explosion rocked the base of the falls, fire competing with water for a few brief seconds before the deluge consumed all.
Crouch swept up over the top of the falls, attention fragmented by the beauty of the sweeping horseshoe and the nearby Bridal Veil Falls, the colossal width of the river, and the stretch of railing to his right where hundreds of people stood watching.
No time for niceties, Michael.
He swung the bird around, sprayed by water, momentarily lining up with Russo’s own deadly whirlybird, before shooting off in a different direction. This time he swooped down vertically with the water, almost matching the falls’ deluge foot for foot, watching as the drifting ship below grew closer and closer. Faint flashes sparkled from down there; tourists taking photos. Crouch leaned his bird over, allowing Healey to fire out of what was now effectively the “top”. Ignoring the engine’s groaning complaints he saw Healey fire into the undercarriage of another merc chopper, making the whole frame judder. As he righted his own machine he saw Russo dipping down under fire, following the great curve of the Horseshoe Falls, blasted by water and mist.
Healey fired once more, sending another merc chopper into the hungry waters below. Now they were two on two and Crouch didn’t expect their good fortune to last much longer. A moment later he cursed himself, realizing he’d tempted fate as his own windscreen cracked under fire. Not only that, as he evaded and swung away he was faced by a different bird, this one with a man leaning out of the door and an RPG in hand.
“Evade!” Caitlyn screamed.
Crouch shoved the stick almost through the floor as Healey yelled and the weapon discharged. Yorgi smashed his skull against the door’s metal frame, drawing blood and almost losing his grip on his weapon. The RPG skimmed them with a whistle, passing through the white cascade and detonating soundlessly against the wall of the falls. Crouch veered around as their enemy prepped another rocket.
“Healey!” he cried.
The soldier turned but he was on the wrong side. Yorgi, holding his weapon clumsily and wiping blood across his cheeks, sighted their adversary.
“I may not be good shot. But you, my friend, are worth whole clip.”
He kept his finger depressed until the man with the RPG fell from the chopper, swallowed by churning waters. Unfortunately he dropped the grenade launcher inside the chopper and it was picked up by another man.
Crouch blasted forward again, crisscrossing Russo’s own path but fifty feet below. His route took him up and over the concrete viewing deck which sent uncountable tourists and locals scrambling to safety.
Russo thundered above the falls once more, the sound of his rotors scything through the air muted but not lost under the overwhelming noise of flowing water.
Crouch touched his comms. “Remember your training, Russo. Get on their tails. Let’s finish this.”
*
Drake rolled and tucked, escaping any stray bullets as the twelve lab rats went down screaming. To either side he saw Alicia and Mai, Dahl and Trent jumping for cover but also carefully watching their rear to gauge what was going to happen next.
As the scientists went down Callan Dudley was revealed, tall, brawny and sneering, eyes wild with promised violence. Alongside him were six men, all toting weapons.
&nbs
p; “No cures here, arsehole. Yer bitch is as good as dead! The antidote, as they say, just left the building.”
Drake relayed the information through his comms.
Alicia glanced from behind a low-standing freezer. “Do you ever stop talking? You’re louder than a friggin’ space shuttle launch.”
“Oh aye? Well come out here, bitch, and we’ll do more than blather.”
“If that means ‘talk’ then all right.”
Drake wasn’t caught unawares by Alicia’s sudden move. He knew her well enough by now to be expecting it. When she popped up from behind the freezer he rose too. Mai fell to the floor to their right, already firing. Bullets formed a lattice network in the air, a lethal grid of death. Alicia took a hit to the chest, Trent to the arm. By design, both wore Kevlar and neither faltered. Drake didn’t fail to notice that Alicia stayed on her feet when hit but hoped the intense situation would make her forget.
Dudley paced forward with all the arrogance and rolling shoulders of a prize fighter. He wore a white vest that showed off brawny arm muscles and faded tattoos, tight blue jeans and highly polished Doc Martens. He flung his gun at Alicia as she shrugged off the bullet.
“Yer goin’ on yer back, bitch.”
Alicia’s smile was as sweet as honey. “You clearly don’t know me very well.”
Dudley punched hard like a boxer, keeping his right fist at his cheek as his left probed with exploratory jabs. Alicia palmed the hits away, light on her feet, always moving. Drake snaked around the side of the large space, coming up on a mercenary about to take a shot at Alicia.
“Ey up!”
Confusion was his final expression before a bullet ended his contract with the Pythians.
Drake pushed on. Dahl was a bulldozer barging down the middle, leaping from table to table onto intimidated mercs. Mai swept up behind him, rendering his wounded victims unconscious before they could rise and cause further problems.
Trent crouched at Drake’s side. “Alicia Myles,” he said. “I’ve heard stories about her. The real thing is a little different. More . . . rousing.”
The Matt Drake Series Books: 7-9 (The Matt Drake Series Boxset 2) Page 65