Still, the receptionists at the main desk were trained professionals used to handling patients in trouble. As they abandoned their posts to assist the unconscious doctor slumped against the wall, and everyone else in the room turned to gawk and gasp at the drama playing out, Drake and Frost quickly wheeled their patient toward the doors.
But instead of quietly parting to make way for them, the automatic doors remained resolutely shut. They had likely been remotely disabled, and Drake was willing to bet he knew why.
“They’re on to us,” he said, trying not to look as concerned as he felt.
“Really? You think?” Abandoning the gurney, Frost pushed past to get at the maintenance panel to the left of the doors.
“Keira…”
“I know, I know!”
“Tell me you can override it, and I’ll probably believe you.” Drake said, keeping a wary eye on the corridor they had just passed through.
“I can override it.” Jimmying the panel open with a concealed knife and no small measure of brute force, the young woman went to work on the exposed wiring within. “Doors like this are held in place by magnetic locks,” she explained, searching for the right wire. “Tough to force open, but there’s a fail-safe mechanism that kicks in, in the event of an emergency. Kill the power to the system, and…”
A sudden electrical buzz from the panel was accompanied by a click as the locks disengaged.
“Bingo,” Frost said, completing her own sentence and looking annoyingly pleased with herself. “We’re out.”
* * *
“Fuck! The exterior doors are open,” Rogers voice crackled over the radio net. “They’re getting out.”
Wheeler could feel his frustration rising by the second, even as he closed in on his quarry. “You said you’d secured them.”
“They overrode the mag locks and disabled the system. I’ve got no control over it.”
Wheeler swore under his breath, before forcing calm into his voice and clicking his transmit button again. “All units, move in. I want that area secured now!”
* * *
As Drake hauled the doors open, Frost wheeled the gurney through to the collection area outside. The ambulance, stolen from a vehicle repair shop on the other side of the city, was waiting for them in one of the nearby parking bays.
The sultry evening air hit them right away, still warm and humid after the intense heat of the afternoon, the acrid smog of traffic fumes mingling with the scent of nearby pine trees and the distant salty tang of the sea. After the claustrophobic sterility of the hospital, the chance to breathe real air made both operatives feel momentarily elated.
The patient was stirring noticeably now, her eyes fluttering open before squeezing shut against the glow of the evening sun. It wouldn’t be long before she was fully conscious.
“Let’s go,” Drake said, unlatching the rear doors and swinging them open.
Working together, they heaved the gurney up into the back of the ambulance, Frost clambering inside to keep watch on the patient while Drake slammed the doors shut and circled around to the front cab.
Samantha McKnight, dressed in the uniform of a paramedic just like Drake, was waiting in the driver’s seat. As he’d expected, she wasted no time making her thoughts known.
“You guys stop for coffee on the way?” she asked as he leapt up into the seat beside her.
Drake gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. Forgot to pick up one for you.”
McKnight gave him a sharp look as she threw the ambulance into gear and gave it some gas. The big vehicle might not have looked fast or elegant, but there was plenty of power under the hood.
She turned hard right at the first junction she hit, forcing a hatchback driver to slam on his brakes to avoid her, before merging the ambulance into the evening traffic.
Occupied as she was with driving the ungainly vehicle, she didn’t notice the pair of agents come running out of the hospital reception area, staring after them in impotent frustration.
As he watched the ambulance disappear down the street, Wheeler spoke into his radio, his voice now dangerously cold. “Rogers, you got a license number on that ambulance?”
“Yeah.”
“Get it to our ground teams, and vector in all available mobile units. Target vehicle is heading south-east on Korkut. And call in with Divisional command, see if they have any air assets available. Tell them we’ve got a confirmed location on Ryan Drake.”
“I’m on it.”
Wheeler slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. This was no time to allow emotion to cloud his judgement. His adversary was highly trained, experienced and capable. But he was still only a man, with perhaps a small group of conspirators to back him up. Wheeler had the formidable resources of the Agency at his disposal, and he was quite prepared to use them if it meant capturing one of the CIA’s most wanted men.
They would get him. Drake had made a mistake, exposing himself like this. It was a mistake Wheeler would make sure he paid for.
Chapter 4
Drake let out a breath as the ambulance sped down the busy city street, high rise tower blocks festooned with drying laundry and satellite dishes flitting past on either side. He wouldn’t relax until they were out of Turkey and beyond the Agency’s reach, but for now he allowed himself to feel a small sense of relief that the first part of their hastily assembled operation had gone off without a hitch.
“Seems like being your getaway driver is becoming a full-time occupation,” McKnight remarked from the driver’s seat, giving him a sidelong smirk. “Hope it works out better than last time.”
Drake preferred not to think too much on that. The last time they’d tried something like this, they’d ended up stranded in the middle of the Libyan desert with neither transport nor water.
“No more after today,” he said, wishing it were the truth. “Once this is done, so are we.”
He saw a dark brow rise dubiously. “Promises, promises.”
Their brief conversation was interrupted by a voice from the back.
“If you’re going to kill me, you might as well get it over with,” the prisoner said, straining to sit up in her gurney. Despite the obvious pain she was in, there was a defiant glare in her eyes that went some way towards explaining how she’d made it this far. “I don’t regret anything I did.”
This was the first time Drake had really had a chance to look at Olivia Mitchell; the woman who had been assigned to the team hunting for Anya, but who had apparently had a change of heart and acted to save her life. By his reckoning she was in her late thirties, with dark hair falling haphazardly to her shoulders, and the firm build of one who was no stranger to exercise. He wouldn’t have called her beautiful, as such, but there was something about her that caught one’s attention and held it. She had the bearing of someone used to giving orders, and he was willing to bet she’d come from a military background.
Frost, sitting beside her, was the first to respond. “Relax, Mitchell. We’re not here to kill you.”
The injured woman frowned, a little less sure of herself. The effort of holding herself up was starting to tell. “So what do you want?”
Drake twisted around in his seat to speak with her. “Luckily for you, we have a mutual friend,” he began. “We’re here to get you out of Istanbul. We’ll take you to a safe place until you’re recovered enough to travel. That alright with you?”
Mitchell didn’t respond immediately. No doubt she had resigned herself to the ignominious fate that awaited her – had made peace with it – but this sudden and unexpected change in her fortunes had shocked her into silence.
“Who are you people?” she managed to say.
“My name’s Drake, but you can call me Ryan,” he said, then nodded to the young woman sitting beside her. “And this is Keira Frost, part of my team.”
“Team?” she repeated.
“Shepherd team. We find people who need help. People like you, as it happens,” he added. “You’re in good hands, Mitc
hell. For now, at least.”
“And after that?”
“Well, that’s up to you. You can run and hide, and hope none of this catches up to you.” He shrugged, turning back around to survey the road ahead. “Or… you can come with us, and maybe do something about it.”
“Like what?” she asked. “What can you do against people like that?”
Drake looked at her in the rear-view mirror, his eyes hardened with resolve. Recent events had plunged him and his team into the fight of their lives, pitting them against a growing list of powerful enemies who would stop at nothing to take them down. That being the case, Drake needed as many allies as he could find.
“We’re going to war, Mitchell.”
The woman said nothing, and he didn’t exactly blame her. He knew how it felt to have one’s life turned upside down in the space of a single day. There came a point when words simply failed.
“Keira, get her out of those cuffs,” he said, focussing on matters closer at hand for the time being. The rest of it could wait until they were out of danger and Mitchell had answered a few of his questions.
The weakness of modern handcuffs lies in their locking mechanism. They’re intended for use by law enforcement officers, who might have to hand prisoners over to different personnel, jurisdictions or departments. The potential for misplacing keys is high, so most cuffs are designed to be unlocked with a single, universal key.
Frost had made sure to bring along just such a key. Failing that, she also had a tension wrench and a lockpick gun at her disposal as backup, but lock picking was one art in which she considered herself mediocre, at best.
Fortunately for both women, the key did the trick, and soon both sets of cuffs were removed. Mitchell, rubbing her sore wrists, gave Frost a nod of gratitude. In reality, she was no closer to freedom than she’d been a few minutes ago, but it felt good to be unrestrained all the same.
Her feeling of relief didn’t last long.
“We’ve got company,” McKnight hissed urgently.
Drake was on alert straight away. “Where?”
“Three cars back,” she replied, scanning her wing mirror. “Grey sedan, two guys up front. It’s gaining on us.”
Drake glanced at his own mirror, and soon spotted the sedan, weaving through the busy traffic to gain ground on them. It was unlikely to be Turkish police in an unmarked car, since they would surely have fired up their sirens by now. It could only be the Agency, trying to intercept them before they cleared the area.
“Go loud,” Drake instructed. “Now.”
Flicking on the ambulance’s two-tone siren and blue lights, McKnight watched as the traffic parted in front of them, drivers instinctively making way for the emergency vehicle. The woman wasted no time in taking advantage, dropping a gear and stomping on the accelerator.
The ambulance shot forward like a wild animal, the engine roaring at high revs, and forcing the two passengers in the back to clutch at whatever handholds they could find.
“He’s still with us,” Drake warned, keeping an eye on the sedan in the rear mirror, which had increased speed to compensate. If it was an Agency mobile unit, it was safe to say the engine lurking beneath the sedan’s innocuous hood was more than capable of keeping pace with them.
“Got it,” McKnight said, likely thinking the same thing. She shook her head. “I can’t lose this guy, Ryan.”
The chase car was unlikely to try forcing them off the road. That was a difficult and dangerous thing to do, especially with only one vehicle. More likely it would simply keep pace with them, reporting their position until the Agency could vector in additional ground or even air units.
Either way, the longer that car stayed with them, the more chance they had of being caught. Something had to be done, fast.
“What do we do?” Mitchell asked, her dream of escape no doubt fading before her eyes. “Fight it out?”
“Only if you’re tired of being alive,” Drake replied, reaching for his cell phone. If outrunning them wasn’t an option, he could think of only one other possibility.
* * *
“Mobile One has them in sight,” Rogers reported over the radio.
Wheeler, now speeding away from the hospital in a follow-up vehicle, clenched his fists. “Patch me through.”
“On it.”
The radio unit crackled, and a moment later a new voice sounded out over the net. “Mobile One has eyes on. They’re heading south-east on Balkan at high speed. They’ve got their lights and sirens on.”
Wheeler could guess what the pursuit team were thinking. An ambulance was fast, it could part traffic like Moses at the Red Sea and blow through red lights like they didn’t exist. A tough vehicle to keep pace with.
“We’re vectoring in additional mobile units now, so stay with them,” Wheeler ordered. “Rogers, what’s the status on air assets?”
“Command have released them to our authority. We’ve got a chopper inbound,” Rogers confirmed. “ETA, five minutes.”
Wheeler wasn’t surprised. The revelation that one of the Agency’s most wanted men was within their grasp was enough to get them pretty much anything they wanted.
“Good. Keep them updated,” Wheeler went on. “And stay with them, Mobile One. Do not lose them.”
“They’re not going anywhere.”
* * *
The ambulance continued its escape attempt through the busy streets of Istanbul, McKnight keeping her foot on the gas and swerving wildly to avoid traffic. It was bad enough up front, but the two passengers in the back were being thrown violently around by the sudden changes in direction.
“Jesus Christ!” Frost cried out as tyres screeched and the big vehicle threatened to tip over, forcing her to clutch at a wall-mounted hand hold.
“Hang on back there,” Drake advised, keeping his eyes on the GPS unit.
Frost glared at him. “What the hell do you think we’re doing?”
Drake ignored her, concentrating on plotting their course.
“They’re gaining on us, Ryan,” McKnight warned him. “They’re probably working to box us in with other ground units now.”
Drake was no stranger to Agency take-downs of this sort, having staged plenty in his time, and knew McKnight was absolutely right: trying to flee in such an attention-grabbing vehicle was all but impossible. The only way out of this was to turn the tables.
“On my mark, turn right,” he said quietly.
McKnight braced herself, knowing she was about to ask a lot of their vehicle.
“Everyone get ready!” she called out. “This might get bumpy.”
“What else is new?” Frost snapped back, bracing herself against the wall. Beside her, Mitchell did likewise, grimacing as her injured body protested at every movement.
“Now!” Drake shouted.
Swinging the wheel hard over, McKnight turned into a narrow side street in a cloud of tyre smoke and squealing brakes. The gurney suddenly broke free of its restraining points to slam against the wall, nearly striking its former passenger in the process.
Gritting her teeth, McKnight swung the wheel the other way to straighten them up, fighting against the inertia trying to tip them over. As soon as the vehicle was back under control, she jammed her foot on the accelerator again.
They sped down a street scarcely wide enough to be called an alleyway. Big residential blocks towered over them on both sides, while haphazardly parked cars reduced the space even further. At one point, Drake heard the tell-tale screech of deforming metal as they scraped past a dilapidated looking minivan, leaving a layer of paint behind.
The glare of headlights in the rear-view mirror told them the sedan was right on their tail, and gaining rapidly. If he’d hoped to lose them with such a wild evasive manoeuvre, he was going to be disappointed.
Fortunately, he had something else in mind.
Even as the pursuit car closed in, Drake raised his cell phone to his ear. “Ready, Cole?”
“Say the word,” came his fr
iend’s reply.
Counting down the distance to their destination, Drake nodded to himself. “Three, two, one… Go!”
As the ambulance sped past the entrance to a small courtyard, a second vehicle suddenly roared into life and rumbled forward into the side street. The old Ford pickup truck, squat and ungainly but still powerful, continued until it crashed straight into the wall opposite.
The driver of the Agency car reacted with remarkable speed born from years of training and experience, releasing the accelerator and jamming on his brakes. But they’d been travelling at high speed, intent on catching up with their slower prey, and there was nowhere near enough distance to avoid a collision.
Smoke trailing from the skidding wheels, the sedan lurched forward and slammed into the side of the pickup, crippling the engine and jolting both men forward in their seats with bruising force.
As he rubbed his injured neck, the driver kicked his door open and stumbled out, drawing his weapon before advancing on the pickup truck. A quick glance at his own vehicle was enough to tell him it wasn’t going anywhere. Smoke and steam billowed from beneath the crumpled hood.
“You okay?” his partner called out, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.
He nodded, advancing on the truck that had appeared suddenly to block their way.
“Get out of the car!” he yelled, levelling his gun at the pickup’s cab.
There was no response.
The driver’s door was pinned by the wrecked sedan, making it impossible to open. Circling around to the other side, he reached for the door and hauled it open.
“Shit,” he snarled, staring at the metal rod that had been wedged against the accelerator. Clearly this manoeuvre had been planned well in advance, and they’d walked right into it.
Second Chances Page 3