The Lost Kingdom

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Alicia lived the next few minutes in an agony of slow motion, positive she was about to see her own death and worse, the deaths of her friends, at the hands of these gangsters. Dahl grew optimistically close to the gunmen; Mai cleared the final stragglers away from the door; Hibiki and Chika were as close as they’d ever been; Alicia threw a facially tattooed man over her shoulders and into his brethren.

Keep fighting. Just… keep… fighting.

But they were out of time. Yakuza bosses were standing up on the lobby’s reception desk, aghast at the bloody mayhem but still calling for deaths. Mai Kitano’s last stand would be long remembered. The tales would be even more legendary once they surfaced, and surface they would.

“Kill them! Do it! Do it!” a man cried.

Yakuza all around Alicia scrambled aside or fell away. Dahl was a finger-length away from the first gun barrel when its owner was ready to fire. Then came the horrible instant of pure disappointment.

We failed…

The first crash was loud enough to disrupt everything — all eyes and focus switched to the front entrance. Something huge hit the glass very hard and even Alicia felt alarm. Her first wild reaction was to remember the old Godzilla movie and how the beast had trashed Tokyo. Hairs rose along her spine. But then reality checked in and she saw somebody had driven a small truck into one of the stanchions that supported the front of the building.

Jarring it.

Next came a hail of gunfire, aimed wild and high into the windows, and the crunching impact of another vehicle, this time into the reinforced glass frontage. Alicia saw cracks appear in the windows, spider-webbing across their entire surface. The bullets did the rest, sending the overlarge shattered panes crashing down like rolling torrents of lethal water. Alicia saw an opportunity and gripped it by the scruff of the neck — grabbing Hibiki and Chika, lowering her head, and charging through the piles of fragmented glass. Her feet slipped and skidded out from under her but she kept her balance. The heaps shifted and slewed but she jumped from one to the next, feeling a little like a fell-runner. If Chika stumbled, Hibiki steadied her and Alicia steadied him. More gunfire slammed into the building, loud and deadly, aimed high but the Yakuza couldn’t be certain about that. They fell away, shocked and distraught at being assaulted on their own turf, most still in a state of disbelief, some beyond their limits and just trying to stay alive.

Of course they had never come up against anything like the SPEAR team before. Even half of it.

Dahl wrenched a machine gun free and sprayed the men in his vicinity. Mai grabbed his shoulder and urged him out of there. Still some bullets whizzed past him. Still a man attacked from his side waving a machete. Dahl let the huge blade slice a millimeter past his right ear, ramming the wielder’s face with the full force of his shoulder. Blood sprayed his back. Machete Man went down, twitching.

Alicia felt the outside air wafting around her face, cooling her skin. Yorgi struggled to rise off to her left, having jarred his ankle as he jumped out of the second vehicle that had struck the front of the Yakuza building. Drake stood in the middle of the road, waving his arms.

“Come the fuck on! My bloody grandma would’ve gotten outta there faster’n you and she’s been dead twenty years!”

“Piss… off,” Alicia panted and hauled Hibiki and Chika along. Yorgi managed to gain his feet and limped up.

“We good?”

“Yes, Yogi, we’re good.”

Dahl ran up, hunched over, Mai at his side. “We’re sitting ducks,” he growled. “Where the hell’s Drake?”

“Fuckin’ lucky ducks, I’d say!” Drake shouted, urging them toward him. “Hurry. That was plan C. Ain’t no plan D.”

“I hope you have an escape plan.” Dahl glanced back into the devastated lobby, toward the surging, enraged crowd of mobsters who now looked even angrier than before. “They’re not just going to let us stroll out of here.”

Drake snapped his fingers. “Bollocks. Never thought of that.” He led them at a sprint into a nearby alley, pointing out the waiting bikes.

Mai set eyes on Grace for the first time. Her sudden exultation was then tempered by disbelief. “You brought her here? Are you insane?”

“Long, long bloody story,” Drake grunted. “Hurry!”

Alicia checked out the scene at their backs. The Yakuza lobby was a seething mass of bodies, most yelling and strapping on weapons, some already running toward the apparently innocent building across the road that also included a parking garage.

“They’re starting to get their heads straight,” she said. “Some are already going for their vehicles.”

“Then let’s move.” Drake turned his bike on and readjusted his mask. “Follow me.”

The team jumped astride the other bikes without any more words. Alicia would have liked to thank the Yorkshireman, as might Dahl in his unique way; Mai might have liked to hug Grace and Chika and possibly slap Hibiki; Grace herself looked as if she wanted to embrace everyone at once — but fate had already rolled the dice and not in their favor.

Yakuza swarmed into the streets, weapons bristling like endless stalks of corn, as Drake spun his Ducati around on its back wheel and then fired it like a rocket deeper into the alley. Alicia clung to his waist. Behind them came a black Honda CBR and a slower Yamaha, one driven by Mai with Grace behind her and the other by Hibiki with Chika at his back. Dahl fired up the last in line, another Honda with Yorgi riding pillion. Alicia dug her fingers in as Drake shot along the dark, blind alley, scattering garbage and accumulated debris to both sides.

“Crap, you don’t have to grab hold of my actual ribs, y’know.”

Her mouth was alongside his ear. “What would you like me to grab hold of?”

“Balls!” Drake cried as they blasted out of the alley, crossed a road and missed a passing car by mere inches.

“If you insist.” Alicia reached lower.

“Stop that! I should know better, but it’s good to see you all. I didn’t think you were gonna make it.”

Affirmations filtered through the comms. Drake flung the bike down as they exited the next alley, traveling along a narrow road garlanded with colorful signage for a hundred meters before flinging them up yet another unlit backstreet.

Alicia had gotten her breath back, the incredible deadly lobby battle already a memory. “Hope you know where you’re going, Drakey.”

He tapped the side of his head. “All up ‘ere, love. No PDA required.”

She shook her head. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Well, you can always jump the hell off.”

He slowed at the end of the backstreet, making sure the following three bikes were keeping up and then listening for followers. Already, a cacophony of engines was beginning to rise in the distance.

“They will never give up,” Mai said prophetically. “Never.”

Alicia felt sorry for the Sprite and her sister, the only two identities that the Yakuza knew without question. “Our problem for now,” she said. “Is that they only need one person to spot us. Then the entire group will follow.”

“Don’t stop movin’,” Dahl said.

“All right S-Club.” Drake opened the throttle and aimed for the white lines on the center of the road. Alicia heard the Swede’s comment over the comms.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is that more northern slang?”

“An old pop group,” Yorgi, his partner, said. “From the nineties, I think.”

Alicia allowed her mind to relax as they pushed between rows of shops, restaurants and apartments, threading the city of Kobe and heading southeast. With no imminent threats she began to consider what would happen once they escaped Japan.

Put Mai and Chika in hiding? Will their presence with the SPEAR team increase its risk? Would the Yakuza ever stop hunting for them?

Shit, so many questions it hurt her brain. Instead, she switched to easier contemplations. Like what would she do next — rejoining Team Gold for a while and resuming treasure hunting with Crouch and co sounded like a fun diversion, but it couldn’t last forever. Still, it filled her immediate future and that was enough. Maybe it would make SPEAR see what they were missing. Maybe it would even make Drake—

A shout from Dahl interrupted her reverie. “Whoa, Drake, what’s that?”

“The Akashi Kaikyō suspension bridge,” Drake replied evenly. “The longest in the world.”

“And we’re what? Heading for it?”

“Unless you have quick access to a couple of speedboats or a sub then yes. We’re heading for it.”

Alicia surveyed the white suspension bridge that spanned the Akashi Strait, its hundreds of taut white cables glaringly illuminated by the night lights, its two crisscrossed support towers rising almost a thousand feet like white behemoths out of the rolling waters below. The comparatively thin plane of concrete stretched impossibly long across the bay, an emaciated but beautiful escape route.

Drake squeezed even more power out of the Ducati, lowering his head behind the front screen. Alicia was forced to stretch out atop him, still gripping his midriff tightly with both hands. The Kenritsu Maiko Park passed in a blur to their left and then they were on the final approach to the bridge, the toll road. Drake saw the lowered barriers and the line of manned ticket booths and couldn’t afford to take any chances. Slipping out his small automatic he blasted the barrier apart, chunks of plastic-coated timber bursting to left and right. Mai’s black Honda squirmed alongside and then Dahl’s roared close to his back tire. Hibiki raced to the other side, quite at home atop the motorcycle. Alicia knew from Drake’s movements that he was less than happy atop the crotch rocket, as was Torsten Dahl — the big Swede looking a little ungainly — but the bikes spoke for themselves as the best means of escape. Twisting slightly, she looked back now that the road was elevated a little, checking for signs of pursuit. At first she saw nothing back there but mostly darkened buildings outlined by brightly lit streets and even more colorful landmark skyscrapers — her spirits started to soar — but then the true size of their pursuit became progressively apparent.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Oh wow, that can’t be good.”

Drake spurred the bike on. “Helicopters?”

“Nah, don’t be daft. They have a plane.”

“A fucking plane? Are you kidding?”

Alicia clamped her fingers together.

“Ow, I guess that’s a ‘no’ then. What kind of a plane?”

“Shit, how the hell do I know? It’s stripy and it has wings.”

“Actually it is seaplane.” Yorgi was twisting around behind Dahl. “Two pontoons where wheels should be.”

The four bikes came to a halt at the start of the bridge. Pursuing vehicles were probably five minutes distant, which gave them some leeway, but the plane was a bad sign. Drake passed his automatic to Alicia.

“I know you guys probably don’t have a whole lot of ammo left, but hand it to your passengers and let ‘em try to take that plane down.”

A car passed them going the opposite way, its passenger gawping, but it was the only one at this solitary hour. The entire span of the bridge lay before them. Drake blipped the Ducati’s throttle.

“Ready to race?”

Without waiting for an answer he burst forward, front wheel temporarily leaving the ground. By now the sound of the approaching plane could be heard as the four bikes attacked the Akashi Kaikyō Bridge. Alicia cursed out loud, finding it hard to get her head around a situation where she couldn’t physically stop an enemy from pursuing her. The white plane came over the bridge, able to fly over its length until the first row of suspension cables started climbing toward the top of the first pylon, sinking as low as it dared.

Alicia steadied an elbow on Drake’s spine, much to his annoyance, and let loose a salvo from the back of the bike. Yorgi did the same from his position. The seaplane shot sideways as if it had been electrocuted, zipping out of easy range. A single bullet breached its hull, its ragged entry standing out like a single forlorn wrinkle on the hide of an elephant.

The bikes ate up the bridge, passing cameras and callboxes, running alongside the barrier that separated the three-lane highway from its sister. The plane buzzed them again, but not as low as before, its occupants no doubt irate, and then pulled up as the first pylon approached. Alicia glanced both ways across the vast strait, seeing a huge expanse of heaving blackness, scattered with pitiful lights. Far out to the west lightning struck the seas, a vertical flashing white bolt, crackling along its length, then vanished into the night, the afterimage strong across her retinas.

“Damn that plane,” Alicia said. “It’s just going to follow us. What’s the escape strategy, Drake?”

“I have speedboats waiting in a quiet marina on Awaji Island.” He nodded at the body of land they were speeding toward. “Not far.”

“Does that plan factor in the presence of a seaplane?” Dahl asked.

“No, mate, it doesn’t.”

“Well, maybe next time—”

“Stop bickering you two!” Grace suddenly blurted out. “We need a new plan!”

Alicia grinned in the dark. The new girl was showing more and more promise as she overcame her affliction. Perhaps the Sprite hadn’t been wrong after all to draw her into the fold.

“Actually,” Drake sniffed. “I do have a backup to plan C.”

“Isn’t that just plan D?” she wondered.

“No, just grab my sack.” Before she could comment he added, “And be careful. It’s loaded.”

Alicia couldn’t help but wonder about the Yorkshireman’s wording as she felt her way around his rucksack. “Hello, something’s pleased to see me. What the hell’s this? A rocket… where’s the rest of it?”

“Yorgi has the launcher in his pack. Couldn’t fit it all in mine.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From the friggin’ Yakuza. Where else? I had to take half a dozen of the little bastards out to crash that truck y’know.”

“Oh, diddums. Slow down.”

Drake was already slowing and pulling alongside Dahl. The Swede fixed him with a suspicious stare. “Yeah?”

Drake shook his head, knowing the Swede would be keeping up through the comms system, then swerved his bike so that his left knee was almost touching Dahl’s right. Both bikes steadied. Above, the first pylon shot past, white and enormous against the vault of the night, standing starkly beautiful in its unending battle against the seas of Mother Earth. Alicia reached over and took the launcher from the fumbling fingers of a nervous Yorgi, berating him over the comms.

“So you can climb up the outside of a building without fear, but put a few hundred CCs between your legs and you’re suddenly all aquiver? I thought you were better than that, Yogi.”

The Russian remained silent, clearly unsure what to say. Drake gunned the Ducati so that it spurted ahead. “Time to gain us some ground.” He pulled away quickly from the other bikes, staying low, the gray concrete and white lines flashing beneath their tires, the engine screaming. Alicia stayed upright, tugged by unnatural forces, but fighting against them as she loaded the RPG.

“Only one shot,” Drake said.

Alicia snorted. “Yeah, I figured that unless you got another rocket down the front of your pants.”

“You’re not having that one.” Laughing, Drake coaxed more speed out of the Ducati, his sudden increase in velocity leaving the seaplane behind. When Alicia tapped his shoulder, indicating she was ready, he applied the brakes and spun the bike.

Facing their oncoming friends, Alicia raised the RPG and took aim.

She also saw the lights of pursuing vehicles: motorbikes, fast cars and jeeps, they spread out across the entire bridge behind them.

A bloody mobile army, she thought, then sighted in the seaplane.

“Sayonara, you son of a whore.”

The plane was slow to react, but then probably hadn’t expected an RPG being fired at it from the back of a motorbike. It dipped fast, severely, a bomb suddenly falling out of the skies. The maneuver was so quick Alicia found that she had to readjust.

“Pricks. Just stay still so I can shoot you.”

But the seaplane’s pilot had other ideas, dipping beneath the topmost horizontal cable suspended between towers so that it was now running in between the dozens of thick vertical lines that supported the roadway.

Alicia’s mouth turned down in concentration as she tried to sight on the plane between cables. “Ya think that’s gonna stop me, asshole? Not a chance.”

Alicia depressed the firing button. The missile streaked away trailing smoke, shooting between the rows of support wires and straight toward the seaplane. What her aim lacked, the heat-seeking sensor made up for, arcing the warhead until it locked onto the aircraft’s welcoming signature and, even though the plane dipped at the last minute in an evasive attempt, the missile struck true and detonated.

The seaplane exploded, wreckage curving away from the main body and down into the black seas. Alicia dumped the now useless weapon as Drake revved the Ducati again and aimed its front end for the far side of the bridge.

Engines roared at his back and the other three bikes flew past. But as he prepared to make his tires scream in pursuit still more engines announced their presence as they continued to give chase.

“Still coming,” Drake said over the comms. “We’re not out of this yet.”