Raiders

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

In the smoke and chaos, a dazed Jed Mason scrambled to his feet and made for the same cassone Eva was using for cover.

“Where’s my bag?” he said, searching for the missing asset. A cloud of plaster dust drifted like snowflakes to the floor.

“Over there,” Eva said, pointing to the blasted door.

“Dammit!” he yelled. “Cal! The bag!”

Caleb peered over the top of an upturned shelving unit and saw the bag.

Then they watched as a team of operatives in riot gear and gas masks burst into the room and fanned out in a defensive position. One of them headed straight for the bag.

“Spiders!” Zara cried out.

“And look whose company they’re keeping,” Milo said.

Mason stared with unbelieving eyes as he watched Kat Addington running alongside Linus Finn, Kyle Cage and the rest of the Spider crew. “I don’t believe this… how could she?”

“What is it?” Gaston said.

Mason felt the rage rise in him. “It’s time we made our excuses and left.”

“Who are these people?” the Luxembourger asked.

“They’re serious trouble,” Zara said. “And now they’ve gotten the goddam Istanbul asset.”

“Fuck it!” Milo said. “That’s everything we worked for! That’s my early retirement!”

“What’s in the bag, El?” Ben asked.

She gave him an apologetic look. “Raiders Rule #1, Ben: never talk the job.”

Before he could respond, she opened fire on the Spiders alongside the rest of her colleagues, but it was too late. It had been a lightning raid, and now they were disappearing into the grenade smoke.

“After them!” Mason said. “We need the asset secured before we go to Rome.”

“I’ll call the police from my office,” Gaston said. “It’s not far. Go on without me!”

Mason led the way, running back through the rubble-strewn floor of the archive room until he reached the blown-out entrance. The doors were hanging off their hinges, and several dead security guards were sprawled in the corridor outside. Arseholes, he thought. How could Kat be part of something like this?

“That way!” he said, pointing to another exploded door along the corridor to the right.

Bursting out into the day, it wasn’t hard to locate the Spiders. Not too many people in Paris wore black riot gear and had machine pistols over their shoulders. They were sprinting toward the Place Vauban to the south of the military museum where they’d parked their getaway rides.

Climbing onto half a dozen black Vespas they quickly kick-started them and zoomed away west into the traffic.

“Fuck it!” Mason said. “What now?”

“There!” Milo yelled.

He pointed to a bright green street-cleaning truck parked up at the side of the road. Its driver was crouched down at the side of the truck and trying to free something that was jamming the circular gutter brush.

Zara glared at Milo. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“It’s all we have!”

They ran to the truck and Caleb climbed up into the driver’s seat. Ella, Milo and Eva joined him in the tiny cab, and Zara clung onto the side mirror extender. Mason, Virgil and Ben climbed onto the back of the truck as Caleb hit the gas. The truck surged forward, leaving the driver on the side of the street with the brush in his hands, and a string of curses on his lips.

Caleb powered the truck west along the Avenue du Tourville in pursuit of the Spiders, who had jumped a red light and were weaving in and out of traffic on the Place Joffre. Swerving right like a fighter plane display team, they quickly disappeared into the expansive parklands of the Champs de Mars.

Caleb swung right and the Eiffel Tower loomed into view ahead of them. Tourists ambling around with ice creams waved fists at the reckless bikers, but leaped for their lives when Caleb left the road and plowed the street cleaning truck over the kerb and into the park.

With his hands squeezed hard around the wheel, Caleb Jackson swung the municipal vehicle hard to the right and hit the gas again, powering it forward as fast as its diesel engine would allow. Looking ahead, he saw the Spider crew weaving deftly in and out of panicked tourists on the gravel pathways which ran the length of the Champs de Mars and converged beneath the Eiffel Tower.

On his left, Zara tapped on his window with the grip of her Glock.

He pushed it down and looked at her. “What?”

“Can’t you go any faster, Cal?”

He gave her a double take. “Sure I can, I just thought I’d take it easy for a while. You know, take in the sights. Enjoy the atmosphere.”

“Damn it, Cal! We’re losing them and you’re making jokes.”

“The pedal’s on the metal, Z,” he said, swallowing a string of abuse he felt like yelling at her. “We’re going as fast as we can.”

One of the Spiders riding pillion turned around and fired with a machine pistol peppering the front of the truck with bullets.

“My money’s on Iveta,” Zara said. ‘With Cruise driving the thing.”

Caleb swerved hard to dodge the attack and only just avoided plowing into one of the manicured plane trees marking the northern pathway.

“Holy crap, Cal!” Zara called out.

“We’re trying to hang on up here!” Mason yelled, banging on the cab’s roof.

The Spiders screeched across a wide boulevard which dissected the park in half and then mounted the opposite kerb to rejoin the gravel path leading to the world-famous tower.

Caleb was undeterred and ripped across the boulevard in pursuit while Zara opened fire once again. Her aim was low, and the rounds slammed into the gravel a few meters behind the rear Vespa, blasting clouds of dust and chips into the air.

“They’re too damned fast!” she cried out.

“They have the asset, Zara,” Ella said. “We are not letting them out of our sight.”

“River’s approaching,” Caleb said.

Zara leaned into the cab. “They’re not slowing down.”

“Are they in Seine?” Virgil yelled.

“For fuck’s sake, Virgil,” Zara muttered.

The Vespas pulled together and raced under the Eiffel Tower, scattering crowds of tourists and forcing two armed gendarmes to draw their weapons and open fire. One of the policemen hit Iveta’s arm and they all saw her crumple over in pain, releasing Mason’s bag and crying out in agony.

Molly Cruise never stopped, and now she followed the others through the narrow path leading out to the Quai Branly. Seeing the bikers slow down to drive through the gridlock on the busy road, the gendarmes vaulted over the low fence which divided the road from the tower and fired more shots.

Zara said, “Can’t believe they turned Paris into a warzone to try and snatch the asset,” she said. “It’s that sort of commitment that’s so sadly lacking in today’s youth.”

“Did they get any of them?” Ella asked.

“No,” Caleb said. “They drove right onto a boat and they’re already half a click down the river. All planned. Total pros. If it hadn’t been for those cops they’d have the asset.”

“The bag!” Mason yelled out. “Iveta dropped it — get it before the cops!”

“Already on it,” Caleb said, and slowed the cleaning truck as he steered it over to the bag Iveta had dropped when she was wounded. Pulling beside it, Zara hopped off the running board on the side of the truck and strolled to the bag.

A small crowd of bemused tourists had gathered, but they took a step back when they saw the American ex-cop stuffing a Glock in her belt before she stooped to snatch up the bag.

“What the hell’s going on?” said an Australian tourist, staring up at the cleaning truck and then back to Zara. “You nearly killed those guys!”

Zara’s face turned to a frown. “You got a problem with the city’s cleaning policy, bigshot?”

“No,” he said hastily, glancing down at the pistol. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

Zara waved the bag at Mason, and he nodded with relief when he saw the steel tube still safe inside it. “Thank God.”

“You want to deliver right now?” Caleb said.

“No time,” Mason said firmly. “We’ve got to get to Rome as fast as we can.”

Virgil’s upside down head appeared in Caleb’s window. “So what are we waiting for?”

Caleb pushed his face away, closed the window and put the truck in first gear.