The Edge of Armageddon

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Drake rushed into the road as Beau called up the coordinates for Grand Central on his GPS. Alicia and Mai ran a step behind. This time however, Drake wasn’t planning on making the journey on the hoof. Despite the impossibly crushing schedule Marsh had set the attempt had to be made. Three cars had been abandoned outside the museum, two Corollas and a Civic. The Yorkshireman didn’t give them a second glance. What he wanted was something…

“Get in!” Alicia was standing by the open door of the Civic.

“Not nippy enough,” he said.

“We can’t waste time standing here waiting for—”

“That’ll do,” Drake saw beyond a slow-moving horse and carriage ride that had just exited Central Park to where a powerful F150 pickup idled away at the curb.

He sprinted toward it.

Alicia and Mai took off behind. “Is he fucking kidding?” Alicia ranted at Mai. “No way am I riding a horse. No way!”

They slipped past the animal and made short work of requesting the driver lend them his vehicle. Drake jumped on the gas pedal, burning rubber as he shot away from the curb. Beau pointed to the right.

“Take that through Central Park. It’s the 79th Street Transverse and leads to Madison Avenue.”

“Love that song,” Alicia barked. “And where’s Tiffany’s? I’m hungry.”

Beau gave her an odd look. “It isn’t a restaurant, Myles.”

“And Madison Avenue was a pop group,” Drake said. “Led by Cheyne Coates. As if anyone would ever forget her.” He swallowed with a flash of memory.

Alicia grunted. “Bollocks. I’m just gonna stop trying to lighten the mood. Any why is that, Drakey? Was she a tart?”

“Hey, steady on!” He swung the speeding vehicle onto 79th, which was a single wide lane and lined by a high wall with trees overhanging. “A pinup maybe. And a remarkable front woman.”

“Look out!”

Mai’s warning saved their vehicle as a Silverado swerved over the inch-high central reserve and tried to ram them. Drake caught sight of the face behind the wheel — the last member of the third cell. He tramped on the gas pedal, jerking everyone back into their seats as the other vehicle spun and set off in pursuit. All of a sudden their race through Central Park took on a far deadlier aspect.

The driver of the Silverado drove with reckless abandonment. Drake slowed to ease past a scattering of cabs, but their pursuer used the opportunity to slam their rear end. The F150 jolted and swerved but then righted itself without issue. The Silverado side-swiped a cab, sending it spinning over into the other roadway where it smashed into the retaining wall. Drake turned sharply left and then right to pass a dog-leg of cabs and then accelerated along an open stretch of road.

The terrorist behind them leaned out of his window, gun in hand.

“Down!” Drake yelled.

Bullets hammered every surface — the car, the road, the walls and the trees. The man was wild with anger and excitement and probably hatred too, uncaring as to the damage he caused. Beau, in the back seat of the F150, pulled a Glock and shot the back window out. Cold air rushed into the cab.

A row of buildings appeared to the left and then several pedestrians sauntering along the sidewalk up ahead. Drake saw only the Devil’s choice now — the chance death of a passerby or be late to Grand Central and face the consequences.

Eight minutes left.

Tearing down 79th, Drake spied a short tunnel ahead, overhung by hanging green branches. As they entered the brief darkness he hit the brake pedal, hoping their pursuer would swerve into the wall or at least lose his gun in the chaos. Instead, he veered around them, driving hard, shooting out of the side window as he went past.

They all ducked as their own window blew in, the whine of a bullet almost gone before they heard it. Alicia hung her own head out now, gun aimed, and fired at the Silverado. Ahead, it sped up and then slowed. Drake closed the gap fast. Another bridge appeared and now traffic was steady on both sides of the double yellow lines. Drake closed the gap until their own fender was almost touching the rear of the other car.

The terrorist twisted his frame around and pointed the gun over his shoulder.

Alicia fired first, the bullet pulverizing the Silverado’s rear window. The driver must have flinched, for his vehicle swerved, narrowly missing oncoming traffic and inspiring a tuneful burst of horns. Alicia leaned further out.

“That bit of blond hair whipping about,” Mai said. “Just reminds me of something. What do they call them now? A… collie?”

More shots. The terrorist fired back. Drake used evasive driving techniques as safely as he could. The traffic ahead was thinning out again and he used the chance to power past the Silverado, snaking over to the wrong side of the road. At his back, Mai powered down a window and emptied a clip into the other vehicle. Drake swung back in and studied the rear view.

“He’s still coming.”

Unexpectedly, Central Park ended and the busy crossroads at Fifth Avenue seemed to jump out at them. Cars were slowing, stopped, and pedestrians sauntered along at the crossings and lined the sidewalks. Drake grabbed a quick glimpse of the yellow-painted stoplights currently at green.

Super-long white buses lined both sides of Fifth Avenue. Drake braked hard, but the terrorist again slammed into their taillights. Through the wheel he felt the back end twitching around, saw the potential for disaster, and wrenched against the spin to regain control. The vehicle righted as it shot through the intersection, the Silverado only an inch behind.

A bus tried to pull out in front of them, giving Drake no choice but to scrape down its entire left-hand side and chance the center of the road. Metal screeched and glass scattered across his lap. The Silverado crashed along in his wake.

“Five minutes,” Beau said quietly.

With no time he piled on the speed. Soon, Madison Avenue hove into view, the gray-fronted Chase bank and black-canvased J.Crew’s filling his field of vision ahead.

“Two more yet,” Beau said.

Together, the racing vehicles sped from small gap to small gap, smashing vehicles aside and swerving around slower obstacles. Drake leaned constantly on the horn, wishing he had a siren of some sort and Alicia fired into the air to make pedestrians and drivers move quickly aside. NYPD cars were already screaming in their devastating wake. He’d already noticed the only vehicles that seemed to be treated with respect were the big red fire trucks.

“Up ahead,” Beau said.

“Got it,” Drake saw a gap opening up onto Lexington Avenue and went for it. Gunning the engine he drifted the vehicle hard around the corner. Smoke flew from the tires, making people scream all along the sidewalk. Here, on the new road, vehicles were parked end to end on both sides and a chaos of flat-beds, vans and one-way streets kept even the best drivers guessing.

“Not far now,” Beau said.

Drake saw his chance ahead as the traffic thinned. “Mai,” he said. “Do you remember Bangkok?”

As seamless as a supercar gear-change, Mai slammed a new mag into her Glock and unfastened her seatbelt, shuffling around in her seat. Alicia stared at Drake and Drake stared into the rearview. The Silverado was coming hard, trying to ram them as they approached Grand Central and a swarming crowd.

Mai rose in her seat, angling her body out of the already smashed rear window and starting to push.

Alicia nudged Drake. “Bangkok?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, it never is. You’ll be telling me what happened in Thailand stays in Thailand next.”

Mai slithered through the small gap, ripping her clothes but forcing her body on. Drake saw the moment when the wind hit her, when the grit stung her eyes. He saw the moment when the chasing terrorist blinked in shock.

The Silverado came on, shockingly close.

Mai jumped down to the bed of the truck, legs apart, and raised her weapon. She took a sighting and then started firing from the back of the truck, bullets smashing through the other car’s windows. Buildings and buses and lampposts passed leisurely by. Mai pulled her trigger again and again, ignoring the wind and the car’s motion, focusing only on the man who would otherwise kill them.

Drake kept the wheel as steady as possible, the speed constant. For once no cars rolled before them, something he’d prayed for. Mai’s feet were planted and her concentration necessarily absorbed by one thing only. Drake was her guide.

“Now!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

Alicia twisted around like a child who’d lost a candy down the seatback. “What’s she gonna do?”

Drake applied the brakes very softly, a millimeter at a time. Mai rammed in a second mag and then started running up the bed of the truck, straight for the tailgate. The Silverado’s driver’s eyes widened even further as he saw the wild ninja running straight at his speeding vehicle from another!

Mai reached the tailgate and leapt into the air, legs pumping, arms windmilling. There was a moment before gravity tugged her down when she arced gracefully though thin air, a vision of stealth and skill and beauty, but then she came down hard onto the hood of the other man’s car. Instantly, she buckled, allowing her legs and knees to take the impact and help steady her. Ungiving metal was a tough place to land, and Mai fell forward fast toward the jagged windshield.

The Silverado driver was braking hard, but still managed to bring his gun toward her face.

Mai spread her knees as the sudden impact passed through her, strengthening her spine and shoulders. Her weapon remained in her hands, already pointing at the terrorist. Two shots and he grunted, his foot still on the brake pedal, blood soaking through the front of his shirt and slumping forward.

Mai crawled up the hood of the car, reached inside the windshield and dragged the driver through. No way was she allowing him the courtesy of recuperation. His pain-filled eyes met hers and tried to lock on.

“How… how did you—”

Mai punched him in the face. Then she held on as the car coasted into the back of Drake’s. The Englishman had deliberately slowed in order to ‘catch’ the driverless car before it slewed in some dangerous, random direction.

“So that’s what you did in Bangkok?” Alicia asked.

“Something like that.”

“And what happened next?”

Drake looked away. “Not a clue, love.”

They flung open the doors, double-parking alongside a cab, as close to Grand Central as they could possibly get. Civilians backed away, gawping at them. The sensible ones turned to run. Dozens more took out cellphones and started to take pictures. Drake jumped to the sidewalk and broke instantly into a sprint.

“Time’s up,” Beauregard muttered at his side.