The Curse of Medusa

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Hawke floored the accelerator down hard and they shot off in pursuit of the English arms dealer currently racing a Dodge Viper down New York Avenue and toward the center of Washington DC. He hadn’t even had time to tell Vincent and the others what he was doing.

“Where the hell is he going?” Kim said.

“Search me, but we’re going there too.”

She pulled her cell-phone from her jacket and made a call to her boss at the CIA requesting back-up. Then she called Vincent and told him what had happened over on their side of the warehouse complex.

Now, in the distance they saw a puff of smoke as Collins hit the brakes to take a corner. They heard the tires squeal from a block behind his speeding Viper.

“We can’t lose him now!” Kim said. “We only have New Orleans as a destination — it’s just not enough.”

“Yeah, I worked that out all by myself… hold on!”

Hawke braked for the same corner but it was still too fast. Kim gripped hold of the door handle and screamed as the Suburban tipped over onto two wheels. Hawke struggled to control the heavy car at such a speed, but swung the wheel around and brought it crashing back to the ground. With all four wheels on the asphalt, he slammed the throttle down and the Chevy leaped forward once more in pursuit of the fleeing Englishman.

Hawke checked his mirror instinctively for cops, but the curfew had thinned their numbers and the coast was clear.

“Where the hell is the little bastard going?” he asked.

Kim frowned. “Looks like he’s heading to Georgetown for some reason.”

“Can you think why? There must be something… why would a man on the run go there? I’m betting it isn’t the coffee shops.”

“Well, he sure ain’t going to the university either… wait a minute!”

Hawke shot her a glance. “What is it, Kim?”

“It’s a long shot but there is something. There’s a helipad at the Georgetown University Hospital.”

“That’s got to be it!” Hawke said. “Remember what Novak said about how Collins had tested the drones because he was a helicopter pilot?”

They took another corner, then Hawke slammed the throttle down to power out of the bend and close the gap with Collins’s Viper.

“Well this is Georgetown all right,” Kim said. “And sure enough — he’s going to the hospital.”

“Look!” Hawke said, pointing out the windshield. “There’s a chopper on the roof, rotors already whirring.”

“Let’s shut this little bastard’s escape route down!” Kim said, pulling out her gun as Hawke skidded to a halt behind the Dodge.

They ran up an external fire escape and hit the roof just in time to see Collins climbing into the chopper beside the pilot. Hawke wasted no time and fired, shattering the side window glass and striking the pilot in the neck. He slumped forward, but Collins took to the controls.

Hawke sprinted to the chopper and swung open the door before Collins had raised enough power to get airborne.

Collins cursed as he raised the collective, but the lack of sufficient power meant there was no response.

As Kim stood back covering Hawke with her pistol, the English SBS man opened the door of the chopper, punched Nick Collins in the face and unclipped his seatbelt.

“I’m afraid your flight is over,” he said, and dragged him from the helicopter into the warm Washington night. “Make a move for it and you die.”

Collins looked up at him from his place leaning up against the chopper’s starboard skid. “You’re English?”

“Never mind about me, mate. We’re the ones asking the questions, not you.”

Collins accepted the rebuke and realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the man currently holding a chunky black pistol twelve inches from his forehead. “What do want with me?” he said, nervously.

Kim strode forward. “So you like Cajun food, is that right?”

Collins looked up confused. “I’m sorry?”

She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Don’t screw around with me, asshole. What’s your interest in Louisiana?”

Collins looked up and smirked. “I love Dixieland music.”

Hawke punched him in the face, and by the sound of it fractured his cheekbone. Collins screamed out in pain, and Kim Taylor looked on with horror. Hawke took hold of Collins’s hand and put him in a thumb lock.

Collins screamed out in pain again, blood pouring down his face.

Hawke was unmoved. “Answer our questions or I’ll break your thumb, got it?”

“Get off me!”

“After that I’ll break your wrist and then your shoulder before moving to your other side, understand? By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll look you’ve been on a hot wash cycle in a high speed washing machine.”

Kim stepped forward and lowered her voice. “Can I see you a second, Hawke?”

Hawke wiped the blood from his hand and glanced from Collins to Kim. “What, now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Sure.” He turned back to Collins. “I’m a just few yards away. If you move I’ll shoot you dead before you take three steps — got it?”

Collins nodded glumly and rubbed his thumb.

Hawke followed Kim a few yards away from the chopper.

“What the hell was that?” Kim said.

“What?”

“You broke his cheekbone and you nearly broke his thumb, damn it!”

“You mean you want me to stop going easy on him?”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Only ever so slightly.”

“Well, you’re not making me laugh, got it?”

“Come on, Kim. He’s our only chance.”

“He’s in federal custody, Hawke. You can’t beat information out of prisoners.”

Hawke shook his head in disbelief. “And this from the people who brought us water-boarding!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Forget it… listen — I hate to burst your bubble but that guy isn’t going to dump on the sort of man who kidnaps the American President without a certain amount of incentive, if you catch my drift.”

“You’re not hitting him again, Hawke — if you do I’ll have you arrested.”

Hawke was silent for a few moments. “Fine — but let me handle it, all right?”

“No more broken bones, okay?”

“Spoilsport.”

Hawke padded back over to Collins.

“We know you’re involved in the plot to kidnap the President,” he said. “Right now you’re in so much shit you’d probably be better off if I just shot you.”

Nick Collins tried to laugh, but Hawke brought a rapid end to his amusement with a hefty kick in the ribs.

Kim Taylor sighed and rubbed her forehead. “What did I just say?”

Hawke ignored her. “You’re going to tell us all we need to know about the plot — not only where the President is, but what Kiefel’s interest in ancient Greek archaeology is.” He waved his gun in Collins’s face. “I want to know what was stored at the warehouse as well, where it is now and what the hell Dixieland has got to do with anything.”

Collins was now beginning to look nervous. Hawke didn’t think he looked like the kind of guy to be involved with an operation like this and thought maybe he was beginning to have serious regrets. He was probably thinking he’d got away with it, but now this.

Collins breathed out a long sigh of relief. Maybe he was glad it was over. “I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you everything I know, I swear.”

“Start talking.”

“I was approached a few weeks ago about hiring out some space in the warehouse. We’re not exactly over-run with business and maybe I didn’t ask as many questions as I should have.”

“We need more than that,” Kim said, holstering her gun and moving closer to the man.

“What’s going down is big. Bigger than anything you could imagine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawke said. “Heard it all before, mate.”

“It’s true, I swear it!”

“Save you’re swearing for the courthouse,” Kim said.

“What was in the warehouse?”

“We stored drones at the warehouse. Helicopter drones.”

“The ones in the attack?” Kim asked.

Collins nodded.

“How many drones?” Hawke asked.

“Four.”

“But we only destroyed two over DC,” Kim said.

Hawke pushed his gun into Collins’s neck. “Where are the other two?”

“Kiefel’s heavies took them down to New Orleans ages ago. They have a location there they’re using as some kind of laboratory.”

“And where is this mysterious location?”

“All I know is the guy who delivered the flatbed to the warehouse mentioned something about driving down to an abandoned processing plant in an industrial part of the city somewhere… St. Tammany Parish, I think.”

Kim spun around and started to speak into her earpiece.

“You’ve been most helpful,” Hawke said.

“Does this mean I get immunity?” Collins said nervously.

“From the US authorities, maybe, but from me, sadly no.”

Without saying another word, Hawke powered his fist into Collins’s face and knocked him out cold. “We have to get to New Orleans in a hurry,” he said.

Kim turned to face him, her hair blowing in the helicopter’s downdraft. “On it.”