The Plagues of Pandora

CHAPTER TWENTY

Trent threw himself across the roof, Silk following. Bullets hit the high back with a metallic clang; others flew through the air with a supersonic whistle. Trent wrestled his own gun free, firing back just to give the mercs something to think about. Their own truck was hustling at high speed now, rushing by the odd civilian vehicle out in Long Beach at this late hour, jumping red lights and panicking pedestrians. Trent rolled again as another metallic flurry perforated the air, completely unsighted, and felt a rush of relief to find he wasn’t dead.

Silk fired off a few shots. “Not my idea of a thrilling Thursday night.”

Trent looked at him deadpan. “Oh, I dunno. Beats a CSI rerun.”

Silk’s cell rang. Rolling his eyes and putting down his gun for a moment he answered it. “Yeah?”

“Me!” Collins’ high-pitched voice startled even Trent. “Bad news, boys. You won’t believe this but the fucking Moose is out here tonight. He’s back!”

Trent felt a ring of steel encircle his heart and fought hard to keep down a sudden rush of pure hatred. Along with Beauregard Alain he was either called the world’s greatest or worst contract killer, depending on your viewpoint. The man who almost killed Mikey, the man who helped murder his ex-wife, the man who was willing and tried to blow up Radford in a diner full of innocents, the very man who helped orchestrate a terrorist attack on LA and got away with it. The Moose.

“I didn’t believe it. How can he be so stupid? I thought he retired to a vineyard or something?”

“He did. I guess the Pythians have very deep pockets. Of all the cities to bring the Moose back to — LA? It’s not only crazy, it’s callous and outrageous.”

“Seems they want everyone involved. Do you have a bead on the bastard?”

“No. That’s just intel. But you can bet your balls he’s here tonight.”

This time, Trent felt a gust of disquiet travel through him, something that made all the hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck rise. “Jesus.”

Silk squeezed off another shot, still holding the phone. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Collins shouted. “We’ll be with you in just a moment!”

Silk winced and held the receiver away from his ear. “What does she mean? And why the hell is she shouting?”

Trent shrugged, but then the reason became clear as a loud roar accompanied the sight of two big bikes powering up alongside the second truck below. Collins was visible astride the first, Radford the second. Collins held a gun at arm’s length.

The truck swerved toward her. Collins flicked the bike away, maintaining distance. Radford hauled on the brakes, creating tire smoke. In another second he was shooting around the truck’s other side. At the same time both he and Collins opened fire.

Trent held on as their own truck slid around another corner. Frantically he stared around, recognizing the ocean, now running alongside, the beach and a row of houses. “East Ocean Drive,” he said. “Man, any closer to the ocean and we’d be swimming in it.”

Looking back he blinked hard as every other pursuing vehicle made the same turn — the second truck, the fast bikes, the stream of cop cars, and a black SWAT van. Pedestrians stared from the sidewalk and the golden ribbon that was the beach. Even the surfers were sitting on their boards, grabbing an eyeful.

Trent heard gunshots echo into the night and smash through Silk’s phone connection as Collins again opened fire. The second truck suddenly swerved and a splash of red struck the windscreen on the passenger side. Silk managed to hit a merc on its roof, sending the man sprawling and then slithering over the side. His body bounced in Collins’ wake, but only just.

“This is all well and good,” Trent muttered. “But my heart tells me the samples are a long way from here, either carried by or protected by the Moose.”

“Collins called it in,” Silk cried. “Let’s just stay alive.”

Charging down East Ocean, the staggering convoy ate up mile after mile. The cop cars moved closer, but were now attracting fire from the mercs atop the second truck. Trent and Silk saw some breathing space and were about to rise when a new monster entered the battle. A police chopper, rotors thundering, swung into sight and headed, nose down, for the men on the second truck. Quickly, it gained on them, flying above the raging torrent of cop cars and both motorbikes. Guns bristled from its open doors.

Trent and Silk hit the deck near the back edge, watching. Rapid gunfire slammed into the truck’s roof, shredding men and piercing the metal, passing down into those below. Instantly the truck bucked, swinging sharply as its driver died. Collins and Radford made evasive maneuvers, Collins shooting to her right, up over the sidewalk and a little way down to the beach, Radford bouncing across somebody’s front garden and then laying the front end down to avoid a parked car, whipping it back up in time to lay on the power and shoot back into the race.

Trent turned to Silk. “Guess who’s gonna be perforated next?”

Silk nodded. “I’m already there.”

As the second truck slowed and smashed up onto the sidewalk with mercs falling from its sides and leaping from its doors, Trent and Silk rose and ran to the front end. Once there, they paused, looking down. Trent caught a silver flash in the corner of his eye and looked right, saw Collins keeping pace with them, hair flying, and beyond her now a police speedboat, slicing through the ocean, matching their speed.

The rotors of the chopper grew louder.

Trent could see only one way out. Sirens and rotor blades slashed the air apart behind him. The truck’s terrible roar battered his ears. Collins’ powerful bike spurted ahead with a powerful roar. The speedboat bellowed.

A cocoon of peace enveloped him. “Just do it.”

He leaped down onto the truck’s cab and leveled his weapon, but it was already too late. The chopper thumped overhead, bullets spraying from its sides. Many found their way diagonally through the truck and into the cab; allowing the bird to pull up and away before the deadly stream caught up to Trent and Silk.

They were warned! he thought. They knew we were here. Thank God.

But that still left them in a world of difficulty. The driver, now dead, was no longer in control of the wheel. The behemoth slowed but it also slewed to the side. Cop cars shot past the right-hand side, careful to keep a wide gap between themselves and the runaway. Collins and Radford surged ahead. Trent hung on as the truck slid to the right, causing confusion among the cops. Several cars collided before a space opened up and the truck jolted through, striking the sidewalk and then shuddering onto the beach. It hit hard, its left-side wheels sinking, its right still spinning, and immediately tipped. Trent and Silk, clinging to the bulkhead with white knuckles, felt the heavy vehicle lift onto two wheels. Both let out involuntary cries. The whole world tipped.

A life flashed before Trent’s eyes — the new life he wanted for his son and himself. This wasn’t the way to do it. This was going to get him and his friends well and truly killed.

The truck lifted and lifted, Silk at the bottom and moments from death; Trent at the top and feeling his legs starting to float — and then the three-hundred-ton monster stopped tilting, its weight the final factor, and slowly slammed its chassis back down onto all tires.

Silk fell to his knees, the sudden loss of momentum as jarring as the horror he had just lived through. Trent clung to the bulkhead. For a moment they were both quiet, thankful, drawing breath.

The sound of sirens and the roaring of engines destroyed their fugue. Collins, minus her bike, ran up alongside.

“What the hell are you guys still doing up there? Get down here now!”

Trent sent a quick glance toward Silk. “We’d better do as she says. Nobody wants to survive a ride like that and then face Collins in ballbuster mode.”

Silk nodded. “I don’t know which is worse.”

Trent steeled his resolve and wiped the blood from his face, then nodded down at Claire Collins.

“Coming, dear.”