The Mozart Conspiracy

Chapter Forty-Three

Vienna

Wreckage spun across the busy intersection as the massive truck ploughed through the Mercedes and tore it apart. Cars skidded and crashed into one another. The front and rear halves of Kinski’s vehicle spun in opposite directions. The rear half flipped and rolled and came to a rest upside down, while the front half rolled into the kerb with sparks showering from its dragging underside.

The road was scattered with broken glass, slick with engine coolant. Horns blared. There were screams and yells from the crowds of people that lined the boulevard. Cars were strewn everywhere at crazy angles. The intersection had suddenly transformed from an everyday street-scene into a wild, chaotic sea of vehicles and terrified people all scattering in panic. An icy rain began to fall. In seconds it became a hailstorm.

Ben shook pieces of smashed safety glass out of his hair. The Mercedes was a mess of twisted, buckled metal, crumpled plastic, shattered windows. Behind the front seats was a gaping hole where the rest of the car should have been. His ears were ringing from the impact and he was disorientated. One of his ammunition boxes had burst open and there were pistol cartridges rolling around everywhere inside the car. He could smell burning. The door next to him was hanging off its hinges.

To his left, Kinski was groaning, semi-conscious, blood on his face. Ben could hear screaming and mayhem from outside in the street. Hail cannoned off the roof of the Mercedes.

He twisted groggily round in his seat. The armoured security truck had skidded to a halt fifteen yards from the wrecked car. Now the back doors burst open.

Five men spilled out. They were wearing black flak-jackets and carrying Heckler & Koch assault rifles. Military weapons, fully automatic, high-capacity magazines filled with high-velocity ammunition that could tear through steel and brick. Their faces were hidden behind black hockey masks. They strode purposefully through the hailstorm, rifle stocks high against their shoulders, barrels trained on the Mercedes. There was the deafening bark of high-powered fire. Bullets punched through the Mercedes door and ripped into the dash inches from Ben. Sparks flew from deep inside the electrics.

Through a haze, Ben looked down at his hand. It was still clutching the partly loaded pistol magazine. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion. He could see the shooters getting closer, but his senses weren’t reacting.

Focus. He slammed the mag into the pistol grip of the .45 and hit the slide release. By the time the first round had chambered he’d already found his first target. The man staggered back a step, stayed on his feet, shouldered his weapon, kept coming. Bulletproof armour.

The black Audi Quattro swerved through the chaos, bumping cars out of its path. Three men climbed out, ducking down low, drawing pistols. Kinski’s officers. They crouched behind the open doors of their car and fired on the masked rifle shooters. The pistol shots were poppy little things compared to the massive bang of military rifles. Fully automatic fire strafed the Audi. Supersonic rifle bullets chewed effortlessly through steel. One of Kinski’s men sprawled backwards, chest torn open, gun clattering across the road. People ran screaming. There was mass panic on the pavements. Sirens in the distance.

Ben’s vision was too hazy to see the sights on his gun. He relied on instinct. This time he hit high of the armour. One of the rifle shooters went down, clutching at his throat, slipping on the icy road. A rifle bullet tore through the window-frame of the Mercedes and Ben felt the stunning shockwave ruffle his hair. He fired blind, two more rounds. Supporting fire came from the Audi. The four remaining riflemen fell back. The sirens were getting louder, cutting through the mayhem and the screaming.

Kinski had come round. He was writhing in pain and clutching his leg. Ben kicked open the Mercedes door and rolled out onto the road, grabbing his bag as he went. He saw the riflemen falling back. They hadn’t expected this much resistance and Kinski’s guys had been a surprise.

Beyond the ocean of abandoned cars were the flashing lights of the police. The four rifle shooters started to run. One of Kinski’s officers leaned across the perforated bonnet of the Audi and let off a burst of three rounds of 9mm. A shooter staggered and collapsed on his face on the wet road, his rifle spinning out of his grip.

The other three made it to the pavement and dashed away down a narrow sidestreet. Kinski’s guy raised his badge as armed police burst out of the wailing fleet of cars and sprinted between vehicles to the scene, guns ready.

Ben looked back at Kinski. The cop’s face was white and twisted in agony. ‘Leg’s bust,’ he grunted. ‘You go. Get after them.’

Ben knew he couldn’t be discovered with Kinski. Too many questions and complications that wouldn’t be good for either of them. He gave the big German a quick nod that said till next time. Then he ran low between the abandoned cars, moving quickly away from the smashed Mercedes.

The cops didn’t see him. He reached the pavement, staggering a little, still stunned. He slipped into the alleyway where he’d seen the three escaping shooters disappear seconds ago.