The Bach Manuscript

Chapter 43

Duša let out a screech and instantly hit the ground. In the same instant, more pistol shots were popping out of the darkness. Alek darted towards the black minivan while the rest of the men scattered. Duša was screaming and writhing on the ground, clutching his shattered right kneecap. A second later, one of the big guys gave a loud yell as his left shin exploded in a spray of blood and he, too, went down.

Ben alone had realised that the green laser sight was pointing from the pool of darkness beneath the dead street lamp opposite. Now the dark-clad shooter stepped from the shadows, holding the pistol in both hands and firing in a steady, rapid stream. The side window of the minivan burst apart, the shot narrowly missing Alek as he ducked down for cover. Without a split-second’s hesitation the shooter swivelled the pistol back round towards the heavies, chased them with the green laser dot and kept firing. A third one had his leg shot out from under him as he tried to escape.

Ben stared at the shooter. He couldn’t understand why the guy wasn’t shooting to kill. Maybe he was a cop; whatever the case, the speed and precision of his surprise attack was the mark of a trained professional.

Then the shooter moved further out of the shadows and Ben saw that he was wrong.

The shooter was a woman. She was wearing a black leather biker jacket and had her dark hair scraped back in an unruly ponytail under a black baseball cap. Ben had no idea who she was, only that at this moment she was his best friend in the world.

Not all of Kožul’s men were scattering for cover. A porker with a screaming skull tattooed on one cheekbone raised his Skorpion and was about to return fire at the woman, when Ben dived for Duša’s fallen weapon, kicked Duša out of the way, and double-tapped the skull guy in the chest and head before he had time to pull the trigger. Duša’s face was contorted in agony and he was trying to get up. Ben saw his hand go to his belt and start drawing out the heavy Colt Magnum that was stuck through it. Ben shot him once through the heart and once more between the eyes, so fast the two shots sounded almost like one. He would have preferred to make the moment linger, but you couldn’t have everything.

The black minivan started up and took off with a screech of tyres. Ben popped off four shots at its rear, but he was worried about bullets going through the windows of background buildings. He wheeled round to engage any more threats, and saw there were none left. Kožul’s injured were lying about the pavement, groaning and clutching their wounded limbs. The rest had fled.

Ben turned to the woman. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked in Serbian.

The woman seemed not to understand what he was saying. Now it was his turn to have the little green laser dot hovering over his body as she pointed the pistol at him. Her eyes were hard. They flicked to the Skorpion in his hand.

‘DROP IT!’ Speaking English.

And Ben’s second surprise that evening was that she wasn’t Serbian, which also meant she couldn’t be a local cop. She was American. New York, by her accent, but the regional phonology of her speech was a detail Ben could think about later. Right now, she was burning with energy from the gunfight and ready to take him down next.

‘I SAID DROP IT, MISTER!’ She wagged the pistol towards the ground. The universal sign language for ‘put down your weapon right now or I will shoot you’.

Ben’s choice was either to shoot first, which he didn’t want to do, or get shot himself, which didn’t appeal to him either, or drop his gun. He dropped his gun.

‘Who are you?’ he repeated, in English this time.

She frowned at him over the gunsights, picking up his accent the same way he had hers, and just as surprised as he was.

‘I thought you were police,’ Ben said.

She gave a snort. ‘Funny, I thought the same about those guys until I saw they were about to plug you. I couldn’t let that happen.’

‘Appreciated. If you don’t mind I’ll express my gratitude later. First, we need to get out of here. Have you got a car?’

‘Forget it, buddy. This is not a rescue mission for your Limey ass. You’re on your own, whoever you are.’

He was about to reply when they both heard the urgent revving of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Its lights appeared around the corner of the street. The black minivan was back, and it seemed that Alek had picked up some reinforcements. Two men were hanging out of the side windows with submachine guns, and they’d be within effective range in about three seconds.

‘No time to argue,’ Ben said.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right.’

They broke into a sprint just as the gunfire erupted from the oncoming minivan. The woman ran around a corner, Ben right behind her. Their racing footsteps and the roar of the chasing vehicle echoed off the walls of the narrow street. The smell of the nearby river was strong.

A beige Skoda Octavia sedan was parked up ahead. The woman blipped the locks as they ran towards it. She piled into the driver’s seat and Ben clambered into the passenger side. The engine burst into life and she took off with a wail of spinning tyres, the rear end of the car sliding all over the road. Bullets punched out the back windows and the side mirror.

Now the chase was on. The Octavia skidded around another corner and onto a long illuminated stretch that ran alongside the river. The black minivan was right behind them. Ben twisted around and glimpsed Alek at the wheel, his face obscured by the riverside lights flashing over the windscreen. His two men hanging out the open windows left and right were rattling off bursts from their Skorpions. Most were going wide, but some weren’t. The Octavia was getting badly riddled from the rear.

‘Damn it, I don’t know these streets!’ the woman yelled. She had the pistol cradled in her lap as she drove. Ben said, ‘May I?’ and snatched it. She was too distracted to stop him.

He pressed through the gap between the front seats, keeping low. The pistol was a Beretta 98 with a nineteen-round capacity. He checked the magazine and found only two cartridges left. ‘You have a spare mag?’

‘Sorry, I forgot to ask the moron I took it off back there if he had any,’ she shouted back at him.

‘Touchy,’ Ben muttered.

Fine. Then he’d have to make do with two rounds.