Private Monaco

Chapter 3

We sprinted toward some raised flowerbeds in the median and jumped the low wall that separated them from a narrow sidewalk.

“Stop!” the man with the gun yelled. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw him fire twice, high and wide.

My gamble had paid off. They wanted us alive.

“Halt!” he shouted before discharging another pair of shots.

Justine and I raced through some shrubs and dwarf palms before jumping the wall on the far side of the bed. We turned right, veering away from a towering apartment block that loomed ahead of us on the opposite side of the street.

A masked man ran down some steps next to the building’s entrance, making it clear we faced more assailants.

We sprinted left at a small roundabout and took a road that curled down toward the sea. To our right lay a park. Through the black-and-white railings surrounding it I saw another van and a motorcycle on the far side, racing in our direction, recognizable as hostiles by the ski masks worn by the rider and driver.

The bike shot ahead of the slower-moving van as they reached the sweeping turn that would bring them level with us.

Ahead I could see an extremely sharp turn, the famous Fairmont Hairpin Curve that formed part of the Grand Prix course. There was a low wall to our left with beyond it a steep drop down a bare rockface to where the road bent back on itself, heading south, some fifteen feet further down the hillside.

I heard the roar of the motorcycle behind us.

“Come on,” I yelled, and grabbed Justine’s wrist, urging her to the left.

We hurdled the barrier and slid down the retaining wall onto the street below, landing on the sidewalk so heavily I almost rolled into the path of an oncoming car. Justine yanked me back and the driver swerved clear.

Above us, I heard the bike kick down a gear with behind it the growl of the van’s engine. Both vehicles sped down the sloping road to the sharp hairpin turn, which would bring them directly to us.

I jumped to my feet and Justine and I sprinted toward the sea, a couple of hundred yards away, beyond a busy overpass.

My lungs burned and I could hear Justine gasping for breath as we raced along the busy road toward the overpass. Here cars slowed to join a one-way system that took them round a tree-covered island feeding branch roads in every direction.

I glanced back to see the motorbike accelerate away from the hairpin, zipping down the median, weaving to avoid oncoming traffic. It would be on us imminently, and the van containing an unknown number of assailants would not be far behind. In fact, as the thought flashed through my mind, the large white vehicle fishtailed around the bend, before the driver managed to bring it under control and stepped on the gas.

I hated doing anything illegal, but our situation was desperate. I ran up to a silver saloon car at the end of the short line of slow-moving traffic idling around the tree-covered island.

“Out!” I yelled at the startled driver, a middle-aged woman, who froze instantly. She went pale, and I suspect her heart started thumping at 200 beats per minute.

I felt sorry for her and guilty about involving an innocent civilian, but it was this or be captured by persons unknown.

The motorcyclist started firing from a machine pistol. Bullets sprayed the trunk of the silver Mercedes E-Class. It was a clear attempt at intimidation. These people might not be trying to kill us, but that would not stop them from doing so by accident.

I smashed the driver’s window of the Mercedes with my gun and reached for the lock as the terrified woman finally reacted and stepped on the gas. I was dragged forward for a few yards before the vehicle crashed into the one in front. The impact seemed to bring the fearful driver to her senses. I managed to get the door open and pull her from the vehicle.

I got behind the wheel and Justine jumped in beside me. I put the Mercedes in reverse, accelerated and swung the wheel, so the car whipped around to face the approaching biker. The rider sprayed bullets at the road ahead of us as I accelerated, heading straight for him.

He stopped shooting when he realized I wasn’t slowing down, making it abundantly clear these people wanted us alive. I was under no such constraint and fired back at him through the smashed window as we neared his bike.

He reacted instinctively, swerving toward the sidewalk and crashing into the rear of a vehicle that had pulled over in response to the approaching mayhem.

I floored the accelerator as the rider recovered his senses and fired off several rounds after us. The road ahead was clear as far as the hairpin turn, but the driver of the second pursuit vehicle wasn’t about to let us get away so easily. The van swerved out of the flow of oncoming traffic and raced toward us on the wrong side of the road.

I stepped on the gas, and the powerful E-Class leaped toward the van and its driver. In the distance I could hear sirens, adding to the chaos that had engulfed our once-peaceful day.

When the van was a few meters away, I mounted the sidewalk, smashing through a bus stop and narrowly avoiding a collision.

As we bounced off the curb and rejoined the road, I heard tires screech behind us and glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the van’s brake lights flare bright red, like a pair of angry suns.

I accelerated into the hairpin, not realizing my mistake until it was too late. I heard the roar of an engine close by and felt the impact before I realized the first van had reappeared. It slammed into the rear wing of the Mercedes and sent Justine and me into a wild spin. I smashed my head against the windshield and the world was swallowed up in a burst of blinding light.

I must have blacked out momentarily because the next thing I knew was the car was stationary and masked men were dragging Justine out through the passenger door.