by Alex Archer
The information startled Garin. Sabre and Annja didn’t know each other. He placed a call to his information desk and it was answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Braden, how may I serve you?” Heike sounded upbeat and positive.
Garin hadn’t met her. He didn’t put much effort into his phone assistants, because he rotated them regularly. No one needed to know as much about his business as he did. Usually the people who served so close to his personal needs were placed within other companies he owned, where they could not confer with each other. Maintaining compartmentalization was challenging.
“Where’s Annja Creed?” Garin moved gingerly in his seat, trying to find a position that wouldn’t bother the bruised ribs.
“In and around Hollywood, sir. It’s difficult to say. She’s moving a lot, according to the news.”
Hollywood potentially put her in Sabre’s sandbox, but Garin didn’t know how the two of them could have gotten involved.
“Send me all updates on her.” Garin kept tabs on Annja when he could. She changed venues often, but he held it in his best interests to know where she—and that sword—were whenever he could. Since the sword had come back into the world, Garin felt more threatened and less secure.
After five-hundred-plus years, he recognized that change was inevitable, but he still guarded against it and controlled it as much as he could. Wealth afforded that privilege.
“Yes, sir. I’ll email them to you.”
“And connect me with Sabre Race.” Garin settled back into his seat and knew he couldn’t plan his next move until he knew what was going on. He had never thought Sabre’s life would intersect with Annja Creed’s, and he wasn’t certain what he was going to do about that.
Or whose side he would take.
24
Just before the SUV barreled into the closed garage door, Annja raised an arm to protect her face in case the windshield shattered. The safety glass would fragment into cube-shaped pieces that would be mostly held by a substrate layer of plastic film.
Unless something came through the windshield.
And then the air-bag deployment became a problem.
The safety feature erupted the moment the SUV’s front end tore through the garage door. Bursting out of the steering-wheel housing, the air bag slammed into Annja’s upraised arm with bruising force. Despite the fact that she’d been prepared for the air bag, that she had leaned as far back in the seat as she could to escape the effects, the fabric ovoid drove her arm back against her chest and slammed into her face.
She struggled to peer through the webbed windshield over the airbag. She thought there were uniformed people scattered across the yard. Maybe only three or four, maybe as many as a dozen. Her senses reeled from the force of the blow and she knew she wasn’t operating at her peak.
For a moment, she was afraid she’d hit one of the uniformed men, which she was loath to do because—by all accounts—Sabre Race and his people were legitimate security people. Before the SUV struck him, he rolled to the left in a loose tangle of limbs, but she saw him come up on his knees in the side mirror when she checked.
A handful of bullets peppered the SUV’s rear window and back, but none of the rounds came through to the front seats. And the shooter stopped immediately. Whoever had fired had done so out of instinct, then must have gotten called down by the team’s leader.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small lockback knife, flipped out a blade with a thumbnail and stabbed the air bag, which deflated rapidly. She dropped the knife between the seats and placed both hands on the steering wheel as she tried to see through the windshield. Only a hole in the middle of her view provided her any true clarity.
Ahead, the wrought iron gates loomed formidably. Annja wanted to scream out in frustration because she’d forgotten about them. Then she glanced up and spotted a small black transmitter clipped to the sun visor. Only a few yards shy of the gate, she stabbed the red button and hoped it was for the gate, not the garage door, or that the device operated both of them.
The gates slid into motion. Knowing they would never open enough in time, Annja let off on the accelerator and tapped the brake. The tires screeched in protest, and the SUV struggled to stand on its nose for a moment before the antilocking feature kicked in. Annja corrected the vehicle’s direction and managed to put the SUV between the gates, which had opened just wide enough to allow the vehicle to pass through. The passage cost both side mirrors, which detonated on collision with the gates, and long scratches ripped down the passenger side of the vehicle with shrill squeals. The various crunches and squalls of mistreated metal reverberated inside the SUV.
A car passing in front of the estate gates veered to the side as Annja hauled the steering wheel to the right. She barely evaded the other vehicle and swerved from side to side for a moment before getting the SUV under control.
Air blasted in through the small hole in the windshield. The webbing obscured her view. Reaching forward, she slammed her left palm against the windshield and forced it free of the molding, turning it into a flap of broken glass that folded and beat against the other side. She struck again and again, finally succeeding in knocking the glass loose enough that the wind caught it.
With the view in front of her unimpeded, she reached in back of the seat and took her sunglasses from her backpack. She pulled them on and felt instant relief from the sun and the wind. Glancing over her shoulder, acutely aware of how blind she was without the side and rearview mirrors, she spotted the two black SUVs closing the distance behind her.
Beside her, Racz struggled with the passenger-side air bag. The professor was trapped against his seat, unable to fight free. Shifting hands on the steering wheel, Annja picked up the knife between the seats and stabbed that air bag, as well. It deflated instantly, releasing Racz.
His nose bleeding and his lips split, his lower face turning bloody, the professor appeared dazed. He blinked against the wind and looked over at her. “Did we get away?”
“Not yet.” Annja tapped the brake again and cut the wheels hard to the right. The seat belt tightened around her as the SUV skidded around the corner. She held the horn down, blaring a warning to everyone ahead of her.
Pedestrians caught out in the street scurried quickly to safety.
Annja tried to figure out where they were, but she didn’t know the city. “Where’s the airport?”
Racz held tightly to his seat with both hands and stared at the traffic at the intersection ahead of them.
Annja reached over to the man and punched his shoulder hard enough to hurt.
Drawing back, Racz looked at her as though she had gone mad. “Why did you hit me?”
“The airport. Where is it?”
Racz blinked in puzzlement for a moment, then nodded ahead of them. “Next intersection. Take a left. It’s not far. Stay away from Venice Boulevard. It’ll be packed with traffic at this time of day.”
The light at the next intersection gleamed red and the street was jammed with waiting cars.
Pulling to the left, Annja slid into the oncoming lane, which was thankfully empty, and raced toward the intersection, still leaning on the horn.
“You’ve got to stop.” Racz braced his feet against the floor.
Annja glanced over her shoulder and saw the lead SUV was even closer. “Can’t.” She focused on the traffic ahead of her.
* * *
FIRED UP BY the chase, Ligier de Cerceau sat in the rear seat of the black Lincoln Town Car and watched the two SUVs in front of him jockeying for position as they trailed after the dark blue vehicle ahead of them. There was no mistaking the ravaged vehicle as it careened down the street. If the damage hadn’t made it stand out, the erratic steering would have.
De Cerceau cursed the situation. If he’d only had a few more minutes, he would have been able to close in wi
th his own team, men who were far better trained than his earlier troops. He would have killed Sabre Race and his people, and Annja Creed would have been his.
He fisted the pistol in his hand and listened to the radio communications between the other four cars in his operation. They were in pursuit, as well, trailing the action along side streets.
“Units two and three are ahead of the lead vehicle,” Jamal Orayyed said rapidly, his anticipation showing.
“Show me.” De Cerceau glanced at the tablet PC lying on the seat beside him.
The monitor showed the street they were on, as well as the surrounding streets. For the moment, Orayyed had all the players in view from a satellite feed he’d piggybacked. The lead SUV was marked with a red dot and the two SUVs following it were designated by orange dots. De Cerceau’s five vehicles were marked with blue dots.
“Have units two and three intercept the woman at the intersection.” De Cerceau glanced at the street ahead, knowing it would all happen quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
SABRE CURSED AS Meszoly raced through the streets. He still couldn’t believe Annja Creed had escaped from the house, but he realized he was liking her more and more. If only she didn’t have information he needed.
Meszoly tapped the brake, staying just scant feet off the bumper of the SUV ahead of them. He was relaxed, smiling even. “She’s good.”
“Yeah, but her being good doesn’t help us now.” Sabre flinched slightly as Meszoly shot by a parked car. If there had been another coat of paint on either vehicle, Sabre felt certain they wouldn’t have made it.
“It does keep things interesting, though, doesn’t it?”
Sabre stared ahead, thinking about trying to shoot out the woman’s tires, but there were too many pedestrians on the streets.
And there was no guaranteeing that Annja Creed would be able to stop her vehicle without hurting someone.
Sabre sat up straighter and called over the comm to the driver in the vehicle ahead of them. “Glanz, get up next to her and force her off the street.”
“Will do.” The SUV ahead of them accelerated and darted into the oncoming lane, going out wide to pass the target vehicle.
Before Glanz could reach an optimum position, a black SUV shot out into the intersection and T-boned him, driving the vehicle sideways. The loud impact rattled around inside Sabre’s vehicle and drew a curse from Meszoly.
Sabre fisted his seat belt restraint as Meszoly hit the brakes. “Was that one of ours?”
“Negative,” Saadiya replied. “That one’s unidentified. I’m accessing street cams now.”
“Tell me that wasn’t a bystander.” All of Sabre’s instincts told him the SUV belonged to someone who’d dealt themselves into the play, but his gut still rolled slightly at the thought that a bystander might have gotten hurt.
The two wrecked vehicles skidded sideways and blocked the street on the other side of the intersection. A second unidentified SUV roared through the street and narrowly missed the twisted hulks of the two vehicles. It slid slightly with the tightness of the turn, then regained acceleration in pursuit of Annja Creed’s vehicle.
Two men popped open the rear doors of the SUV that had struck Glanz and his team. Both men carried assault rifles and closed in on the other vehicle.
“They’re not bystanders,” Meszoly said drily.
“Stop,” Sabre ordered, but his colleague was already braking so they could offer assistance.
The two men turned to the approaching vehicle and brought up their rifles.
Sabre stared through the windshield and held his assault rifle at the ready. “Saadiya...” He didn’t want to fire on someone who might turn out to be a law enforcement person, although he felt strongly these men weren’t policemen.
“I have facial recognition on one of the men.” Saadiya spoke rapidly. “Mathieu Callot. French mercenary. Known to affiliate with de Cerceau.”
“Affirmative.” Sabre ducked as high-velocity rounds spiderwebbed the bullet-resistant windshield. Opening the door, he slid out and used the door for cover, leaning around it to aim at the shooter. Thinking the man was probably wearing Kevlar under his jacket, Sabre fired two short bursts into the gunner’s legs.
When his legs crumpled beneath him, the man went down.
Before Sabre could move, two more vehicles roared around them in hot pursuit of Annja Creed. Neither of them were part of his security effort. For just a moment, Sabre glimpsed de Cerceau sitting in the back of a luxury sedan. The Frenchman grinned wolfishly. Sabre barely restrained himself from opening fire.
“I can’t raise Glanz,” Saadiya reported. “He’s not responding.”
Realizing they were under fire, the second man wheeled around to take aim. Meszoly fired once and put a bullet through the man’s face. The corpse took one step backward, collided with the wrecked vehicle behind him and slid to the pavement.
Focusing on containing the battlefield, Sabre trotted forward and inspected both men in the two front seats. The driver stared with unseeing eyes, his chest crushed by impact with the steering wheel. The passenger was unconscious, covered in broken windshield glass.
“They’re out of it,” Sabre told Meszoly.
Meszoly held the wounded man down on his stomach with a knee in the middle of his back. He whipped out a plastic restraint to secure the groaning man’s wrists behind his back. “De Cerceau just drove by us.”
“I know. We can’t do anything about that yet. Saadiya, are you still on Creed?”
“I am.”
“Stay with her.”
“Affirmative. I’ve called in emergency rescue services to your twenty.”
“Thank you.” Sabre reached the SUV and tried the door, but it was locked or jammed. It was dented enough that opening it was going to be a problem anyway. Cupping a hand, he tried to stare through the window, but the glass was broken and frosted with cracks. “Glanz!”
There was no answer.
Sabre stepped back, then rammed an elbow into the glass and broke through.
Glanz lay back in his seat, still strapped in and supported by the air bag. A pulse showed in the hollow of his throat. In the passenger seat, Chelsea Cantor was just stirring.
Another Black Legion SUV raced toward them. Meszoly waved it down and it came to a rocking stop only a few feet away.
“Stay with our people,” Meszoly ordered. “The area’s secure. Keep it that way until the authorities arrive.”
Harkness, the young man behind the steering wheel, nodded and got out. Emergency flashers around the vehicle flared to life.
Sabre sprinted back to the SUV and Meszoly beat him by a hair. He barely had time to buckle in before Meszoly had the SUV speeding in pursuit of the other vehicles.
“Do we know where Creed is going?” Sabre asked over the comm.
“Looks like the Santa Monica Airport,” Saadiya replied.
“Unless she has a plane waiting, she’s not going far.” Sabre settled into his seat and mentally prepared himself for the coming confrontation.
25
As she steered her commandeered vehicle, Annja glanced over her shoulder to see the black SUV bearing down on her. She didn’t know who was in it, but she knew whoever it was boded ill for her. The near miss at the intersection had been unsettling. Her hands shook slightly, but she kept herself calm. A dark blue Mercedes weaved back and forth, jockeying for a position behind the lead chase car.
“Do you know who is in the Mercedes?” She shot Racz a look.
The professor twisted in his seat, smearing blood on the shoulder of his shirt, and shook his head. “No. Why would I? You brought this to me, remember?”
Annja had, and she felt bad about that. “Look, they’re after me.” She hit the horn and froze a car tha
t had been about to pull out in front of her. “You don’t have to be part of this. I can let you out.”
“Let me out?” Racz shook his head and groaned in exasperation. “If you slow down, they’ll have us, and I don’t think they’ll just want you at this point. No, I like my odds better with you. You’re lucky, and I believe in luck. That collision back at the intersection could have been us.”
Annja nodded grimly. The vehicle had been practically on top of them. “Okay. Keep watch on that SUV. Let me know if they try to come alongside.”
“I will. Several other vehicles appear to be following, as well.”
Annja risked a look over her shoulder and spotted the additional vehicles. She concentrated on the fact that the airport was only a short distance away, according to the signage.
Her phone rang and she fished it from her pocket. She put it on speaker and hoped it was good news. Talking to the police at this moment wasn’t something she wanted to do.
“Annja?”
Recognizing Roux’s voice, Annja almost sighed in relief. “Tell me you have good news.”
“You have a jet waiting for you at the airport.”
“Thank you, but you might want to let them know there could be a problem.”
“I did. I know there’s a problem. One of the local television stations is monitoring your chase through the city.”
“What?” Annja looked out the side window and scoured the airspace, spotting the news helicopter sailing through the cerulean sky.
“Evidently, you’ve become quite the news item.”
Racz pointed desperately at an intersection just ahead. “Here! Turn here!”
Annja pulled on the wheel and followed the signage toward the airport entrance.
“I’ve arranged for you to have permission to drive onto the tarmac to the waiting jet.” Roux sounded totally calm. “You will be waved through the security checkpoints.”
“If I even slow down for those checkpoints, we could get taken.” Annja saw the final turn into the airport coming up quickly. To her right, planes filled the airport and a few of them flew overhead.