The Emperor's Revenge

SIX

Credit Condamine’s gate opened and the Tesla SUV barreled out of the dark garage into the sunny street as police cars skidded to a stop in response to the bank’s silent alarm. The first policemen were barely able to get out and draw their firearms before the SUV clipped their car, the Tesla’s motor whining in an eerily quiet hum that belied its quickness. Both officers had just enough time to clearly identify Henri Munier, screaming incoherently behind the wheel.

From the tiny camera and microphone mounted on the dashboard, Golov could see and hear that Munier was actually yelling for their help, but the startled policemen must have assumed the bank president was shouting for them to get out of the way as he fled the scene of a crime.

Golov hadn’t told him to scream, but he figured that Munier would. The scenario was playing out perfectly.

The SUV was already equipped with a camera built into the front bumper, so Ivana had routed the feed through a transmitter that broadcast to the display Golov was watching. He controlled the Tesla’s steering, accelerator, and brakes using a modified Xbox controller connected to the laptop.

While Golov steered Munier’s SUV from the passenger seat of their car, Sirkal drove them sedately in the opposite direction toward the Achilles. They were already blocks from the bank, and with the security recordings of them erased, the police would have no idea they were involved.

Munier’s wrists were lashed to the steering wheel with plastic ties. He wasn’t driving the Tesla. The wheel’s input had been disengaged from the signal going to the front wheels, so turning it did nothing. The accelerator and brake pedals had been similarly disabled. Munier had no choice but to go along for the ride.

The SUV’s acceleration was faster than everything on the road except expensive sports cars. Certainly nothing in the Monaco police fleet could match it. By using the reconfigured backup camera to monitor the pursuit, Golov kept the chasing police cars in view. He wanted to make sure there would be no doubt that Munier had remained in the vehicle until the end.

The Tesla rocketed down the street, sirens wailing behind it. The few cars that were on the road either didn’t see the approaching car or simply didn’t react and continued to block the way. Instead of heading into opposing traffic and risking a wreck, Golov drove it onto the sidewalk, sending pedestrians diving out of the way.

He was disappointed there was no fruit cart to upend, like he’d seen in countless American movies, and he had to satisfy himself with smashing through an outdoor bistro. Tables and chairs went flying in all directions.

Golov was sure the chase was being recorded on police dashboard cams and various street and security cameras. When the video was pored over in the aftermath, the obvious conclusion would be Munier had accidentally tripped the alarm during his crime and then tried to escape when he realized his mistake.

Of course, people had seen him board the Achilles, but that would be understood as a crude attempt to provide himself an alibi. The discovery of Georges Petrie shot to death in his condominium with the same Glock that was now in the back of the SUV would be the final piece of evidence against Munier.

There was still one last thing to eliminate and he was currently sitting in the Tesla’s driver’s seat.

Merely crashing the SUV wouldn’t do. Golov had something more spectacular in mind.

He steered the SUV around the next corner and accelerated toward his destination. He could see the Formula 1 racetrack two blocks ahead.

The Grand Prix course was laid out on city streets, some of them so narrow that the race cars could not pass each other. Barriers were erected along the track edges as a safety measure not only for the drivers but to keep out other vehicles.

However, the track had a few spots that could be opened to let fire trucks and ambulances enter and exit the track. Golov knew where the closest of those was.

The weak point was near the famous hairpin turn by the Fairmont Hotel.

“What’s the race status?” Golov asked Ivana, who was monitoring the Grand Prix from her seat in the back next to O’Connor.

“They threw the yellow caution flag two minutes ago. There was a crash near La Rascasse. The safety car is just passing the casino.”

Golov smiled. Even better than he’d hoped.

The Tesla sped up as it approached the temporary gate that allowed access to the emergency entrance. The policemen guarding the gate put up their hands to stop the vehicle, then saw the chasing police cars round the corner behind it. They didn’t have time to draw their weapons before the SUV smashed through the barrier and swerved through the entrance to the track.

About half the Formula 1 race cars following the safety car had passed the entrance already. Even the caution pace was still faster than freeway speeds. Golov could only imagine the look on the nearest driver’s face when he saw an SUV rush onto the track in front of him.

The driver yanked the wheel of his race car to the right to avoid the Tesla, careening into the wall in the process. Debris from the car’s carbon fiber body went flying in all directions. Three other cars behind it were caught in the ensuing crash.

Golov accelerated and began to pass the race cars ahead of the SUV. He had always been a race fan and driving the Monaco Grand Prix track during the actual race was a dream come true, even if he was doing the driving virtually. It was as if he were playing the most realistic video game ever devised.

“The special effects are so lifelike,” he muttered, and then chuckled to himself when no one else in the sedan responded.

Most of the Formula 1 drivers moved over to give him a wide berth. But at a narrow point, Golov scraped the wall as he tried to get past a car. The front bumper of the heavy SUV hit the wing of the race car, spun the car around, and slammed it into the opposing wall.

It came to rest backward on the track, and one of the pursuing police cars hit the front of the car like a ramp. The police vehicle flipped into the air and finished the job of blocking the track. Golov’s pursuers could no longer continue the chase.

He braked for the hairpin, which was so tight that even the most advanced race cars in the world had to take it at thirty miles per hour. He could almost hear the squeal of the tires competing with Munier’s shrieking.

The next curve led into the track’s most unusual feature, a thousand-foot-long tunnel. The safety car, a Mercedes sports car with yellow lights flashing on its roof, paced the two leading race cars into the gloomy entrance. The driver seemed to be speeding up, trying to stay ahead of the crazy man behind him.

This was the fastest part of the racecourse, with Formula 1 cars typically reaching a top speed of one hundred and sixty miles per hour. The safety car was pushing a hundred. Despite his effort, the Tesla gained on them.

They exited the tunnel, and Golov slammed on the brakes heading into the kink in the track, called a chicane, and then onto the part of the track that abutted the harbor. Large grandstands were built along the next ninety-degree corner, and fabulous yachts were packed, gunwale to gunwale, to allow their passengers to watch the race from the comfort of their lavish surroundings.

Golov caught up to the tail end of the three-car convoy as they reached pit road. The cars ahead continued to rocket along the course, but Golov didn’t follow them. He flicked the car to the right and sped down pit road at a speed far higher than the limit for the race cars.

He took aim at one of the open garages next to the road. Pit teams scattered like minnows in front of a shark. Munier’s eyes widened in terror.

“No!” was all he could cry out before the SUV plunged into the garage at over a hundred miles an hour and struck a fuel rig. A flash of white engulfed the screen and then it went dead.

Golov switched to the live feed from the television cameras covering the race. A ball of fire erupted out of the garage. Several of the helmeted pit crew ran out of the building, the exterior of their fire-retardant suits aflame. Surely others inside hadn’t been so lucky.

The highly reactive lithium in the batteries along the SUV’s chassis would now be burning ferociously, ignited by the fuel explosion. Little would be left of Munier’s corpse except his teeth for dental identification. The plastic ties cuffing him to the wheel would be vapor, and the bodies of the two guards in the back would be charred beyond recognition. Evidence of the electronic tampering would also be destroyed.

The sedan rolled to a gentle stop at the dock where the Achilles was tied up.

“Well done, everyone,” Golov said as they got out. “The champagne tonight is on me.”

“Shall I shut down the party now, Captain?” Sirkal asked.

Golov looked up at the guests who were gathered along the railing, watching the black smoke rise from the racetrack. Many of them were taking photos or videos with their phones. Few of them had put their drinks down.

“Not just yet,” Golov said. “We don’t want to seem too eager to get them off the ship. But with the tragic events of today, I don’t think anyone will be in the mood to continue the festivities for much longer. Make the ship ready to sail in an hour. I’m sure Mr. Antonovich wouldn’t want to stay here any longer than he needs to. I want to be south of Majorca by tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Sirkal left with O’Connor to make preparations.

Golov put his arm around Ivana’s shoulder and took in the dazzling orange flames that continued to engulf the garage. “There’s no turning back now, Ivana. We’re going to carry this through to the end, and I think we’re off to a wonderful start.” He turned to her and beamed with pride. “Excellent work, my dear.”

She smiled back at him. “Thank you, Father.”