Shadow Tag

12

Malone and Reilly burst out of the warehouse in time to see the two goons getting into a black people carrier that was parked across in the complex’s small forecourt, its nose facing the lot’s low perimeter wall. Beyond were some trees and what looked like train tracks.

“I’m not losing them again,” Reilly said.

“I’m not getting grabbed again,” Malone added as he aimed at the goon he had a better bead on, the underling who’d gone to fetch his boss. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

The lead goon was barely inside the vehicle when its engine rumbled to life.

“Stop,” Malone repeated, but the man didn’t stop climbing in. Instead, he swung around, a gun in hand, and fired.

Rounds punched into the walls and cars around the agents, who dived for cover behind a nearby vehicle.

Malone peered out and fired back.

The rear windshield of the Ford Galaxy burst into smithereens, as did one of its rear lights, just as it lurched back, heading straight at them. Its engine whined as it cut across the parking lot, Malone and Reilly diving out of the way a split second before it plowed into the car they were using for cover and crushed it against the warehouse’s wall. The engine screamed again as the driver slammed it into gear and it accelerated away, down the lot before swerving left and disappearing behind the side of the warehouse complex.

Malone and Reilly emerged and rushed through the parking lot after it, looking for a car they could use. The cars were all locked, and no one else was around.

“We’re going to lose them again,” Reilly hissed. “We need to hotwire one of these cars.”

“Hang on a sec. The two guys who got us out of there,” Malone said, checking behind him. “Where are they?”

Reilly turned and scanned the warehouse’s entrance.

There was no sign of them.

As soon as the gunfire erupted, Khoury and Berry stopped and pulled back into the warehouse.

“There,” Khoury pointed.

There was another door at the back of the space. It looked like an exit. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I thought you wanted to live the adventure,” Berry said.

“Yeah, maybe one with a little less bullets flying around. Especially when we can’t shoot back.”

They sprinted across the large space and tried the door, which was unlocked. They went through and emerged outside, behind the warehouse — just as the black Galaxy rushed past them.

“It’s them,” Berry blurted.

“They’re getting away. Where are those agents?”

“Maybe they got them.”

Khoury looked at Berry. Hard resolve bounced back between them. “Screw that. Come on.”

About thirty yards away from them, the Galaxy swerved to the right and burst out of the lot, narrowly missing a black Audi Q5 that screeched to a halt as it was turning into the warehouse complex.

Khoury sprinted towards it, with Berry hot on his heels.

They reached the Audi before it was moving again, its driver, a thin, balding man wearing wire spectacles and a suit, momentarily jolted by the close call.

“We need your car,” Khoury said, breathless.

“What? No,” the driver said, totally confused.

“We’re federal agents,” Berry informed him with as much authority as he could muster. “We’re going to need your vehicle, right now.” Major emphasis on the last two words.

The man wasn’t impressed. “No, I’m sorry, I just got this car, it’s on a lease.”

“Fine,” Khoury said as he reached in, yanked the door lever and swung it open.

Before the man could object, Khoury had unclipped his seat belt, pulled him out, and was climbing into the driver’s seat. Berry also sprinted around the car and clambered in to ride shotgun.

“Hey,” the man protested as he tried to open the driver’s side door — but Khoury just floored the pedal and sped off.

Berry gave him a sideways glance as they banked out of the lot. “I never thought that kind of throwing your weight around actually worked in real life.”

“Neither did I, but it’s what our boys would have done.”

“Absolutely,” Berry replied, then he scanned the road ahead. “Where’d they go?”

“I can’t see them, but I know this area. We’re in Battersea. Not far from my place. I’m just across the river.”

“Convenient,” Berry quipped. “I hope those agents are all right. Maybe they need medical assistance. Shouldn’t we go back?”

“Someone in that complex is bound to have heard the shots. They can call an ambulance if it’s needed. Besides, we have to get these guys.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?”

“God bless Spock.”

“Make it so, Number One.”

“I think you’re confusing Star Trek series.”

“Just keep driving,” Berry ordered.

Khoury followed the lane as it banked around the warehouse complex. They were about to merge into the main road when Berry blurted, “There.”

The two agents were sprinting across the road from the warehouse complex, waving at the passing cars and trying to flag one down.

Khoury pulled up next to them.

Malone started to say, “Thanks for stopping—” then he recognized them. “You? How did—”

“Get in, Berry ordered.

Reilly and Malone hustled into the back of the Audi, then Khoury hit the gas and powered away.

“Where are they?” Reilly asked.

“We lost them,” Berry informed him.

“The main road leads to the river,” Khoury said as he scanned the area. “I say we just keep going, the odds are that’s the way they’re headed.”

They careened down the wide road which veered left past a big Land Rover dealership before snaking along the Thames.

They were blowing past the Battersea Heliport to their left when Berry shouted, “Stop. Right there.” He was pointing out from his window.

Khoury slammed on the brakes and swerved off to the side.

They all followed Berry’s lead.

The Galaxy was parked on the tarmac in the heliport after evidently crashing through its thin metal gate. The two goons were by a small chopper that had its rotor already spinning. By the looks of it, they were arguing with the pilot, whose door was open — then the lead goon pulled the pilot out and flung him to the ground, gestured for his henchman to go around the front and get in, and climbed into the pilot’s seat.

“They’re going to fly off,” Berry shouted.

“This guy knows how to pilot a chopper?” Reilly asked in disbelief.

“He did mention he took flying lessons,” Khoury said.

The three others’ heads swerved slowly in unison to face him.

“What?” he protested. “That’s what the guy said.”

The others held him with their triple-deadpan gaze.

“We don’t have time for this,” Khoury muttered, as he threw the Audi into reverse, backed up, spun the wheel, then charged ahead.

Right at the chopper.

“Raymond,” Berry said in a low voice as his fingers tightened around the handles next to him.

Khoury didn’t let up.

“Hey, buddy,” Malone said from the back, “There’s probably a lot of fuel in that thing. And it’s flammable. You do know that, right?”

The Audi was still rocketing ahead.

“Seriously, dude,” Reilly added. “We’ll get him. He’s got to land somewhere.”

The revs kept rising.

The chopper was just lifting off the tarmac.

“Don’t worry,” Khoury said. “I’ve researched this.”

And just as he reached the chopper, he turned the wheel slightly and the Audi banked left, and instead of crashing into the chopper’s main body, the Audi’s right front wing clipped its tail rotor. The spinning propeller ate into the car’s bodywork, slicing it up in a scream of grinding metal — but it was enough to break the blades, which flew off in pieces.

Khoury piled on the brakes, hit reverse and floored the gas.

The Audi pulled back just as the chopper, now without a tail rotor, started spinning around its own vertical axis, out of control. The chopper banked right, then left, going around like a spinning top, before it angled left, clipped the edge of the tarmac, and flipped over — crashing into the Thames in a huge white plume.

The four men dashed out of the Audi and rushed to the river’s edge just as its dark water swallowed the chopper.

They stared down as the last bits of its fuselage disappeared under the surface.

“Shouldn’t someone dive in to try to rescue them?” Berry asked.

Reilly looked at Malone, then they nodded grudgingly.

“I guess,” Reilly said, as he started pulling his clothes off.

Berry and Khoury walked off.

“Wait,” Reilly called out after them. “You can’t just leave. We’re going to need your statements about what happened.”

“We haven’t had lunch,” Berry shouted back. “We’ll be in touch.”

“We’ll call the London field office tomorrow,” Khoury said. “I think we could both use some rest. Who should we ask for? What’s your name?”

“Reilly,” the agent said. “Sean Reilly. And he’s Cotton Malone.”

Khoury stopped dead in his tracks. Glanced over at Berry.

Berry looked back at the two men, turned to Khoury, then shook his head. “They’re just messing with us. They must know who we are.”

The two authors chuckled and walked away as the agents dove from the bank and into the murky river.