The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER NINE

Drake pounded down the Champs Élysées, the team running with him, spread out to all sides. Interpol agents and French police dashed along too, the group making quite a sight as they rushed headlong up the wide, tree-lined road. Tourists made way for them and when they didn’t, the team leapt over the front ends of cars or jogged right over the top. The world’s most wanted man had been spotted up ahead, and pieces of him were required.

It had started as a phone call, filtering through to the pocket-sized ops center Hayden had arranged to be set up. Webb was sighted somewhere near the Eiffel Tower, reports streamed in. Forces had been mobilized; Interpol in charge but allowing the SPEAR team almost full reign due to their reputation and work on the Pythian case so far.

Argento slapped down half a dozen complaints by jumped up, pompous officials so full of themselves and their own importance that they couldn’t tolerate help from outside forces, and others who just couldn’t see that foreign forces could and should work in tandem. These men, these arrogant pricks, would rather Webb escaped than have their pride walked upon.

The Eiffel Tower sighting was a gaffe. Alicia ended up taking the man they thought was Webb down with a tackle worthy of Jonah Lomu, after deciding the French police were a bunch of “pastry-eating pussies standing around and waiting for the worst to happen”. The man bounced — three times — before rolling onto his back with a look of utter shock on his face. Right then, they knew they’d made a mistake. Alicia picked him up, brushed him off none too gently, and then walked away, not noticing as his legs wobbled, gave way, and sent him pouring back down to the floor.

She eyed Drake and Dahl. “You know it was the right thing to do. Could have ended this shit right there.”

Drake glanced over at the weeping huddle of a man. “I guess he got lucky you went soft on him.”

“Never gonna happen, Drakey. Not whilst there’s filth and cowards out on our streets, hurting civilians because they think they have some kind of right to.”

“You and me both,” Dahl agreed, his recent vacation highlights no doubt surfacing.

Hayden rounded them all up. “Another sighting, now along the Champs,” she said. “This one accompanied by gunfire.”

“Sounds more credible,” Mai said. “And we really need to leave this place behind. Fast.”

Drake saw the recovering figure waving to the assembled authorities.

“How far is the Champs?”

“A fast run,” Beau said. “I know this place. Just follow.”

“Gladly.” Kenzie fixed her gaze on the seat of his tight-fitting trousers and jogged into line. Drake settled alongside Smyth, noting that the soldier seemed even more irritable than normal these days.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get him this time. No more Pythians. No more stalking.”

Smyth’s return was revealing, at first incomprehension and then a blank nod. “Sure, man. Sure.”

Beau led them directly to the famous street and its brightly lit byways. As if in greeting, gunshots rang out ahead and the entire force burst in that direction, flowing along the road beside crawling cars, dodging excited tourists and mingling locals, using benches and verges, car roofs and the sides of statues, anything to thread through the throng and get ahead. A motorcyclist veered and then stalled in front of Alicia and Mai, but the pair picked him up by the front and back wheels and tossed him aside. Another insistent weaver found his bicycle lifted and deposited in a nearby tree by a growling Torsten Dahl and decided to remain there for a while, amidst the branches.

More shots ahead, and the force poured the speed on to the very limit. Mai inched ahead, surprisingly followed by Kenzie and then the Swede. Drake slipped back, panting slightly.

“Quit with the bacon sandwiches,” Dahl exhaled at him out of the corner of his mouth.

“Meatballs and muesli,” Drake wheezed back. “Is that what you think I need?”

“Anything would help.”

“Maybe… maybe I’ll try a holiday. Oh no, wait…”

Dahl ignored the jibe as Beau slid past them all, giving the impression he was bouncing from place to place, the soles of his feet barely touching earth, the panther-like gait eating up the distance.

“A bloody real-life Tigger,” Drake moaned, not for the first time wondering where the Frenchman found so much speed, poise and energy.

“And a Yorkshire Winnie the Pooh,” Dahl chuckled back at him.

“Fuck off, Dopey.”

They saw the running figure ahead at the same time.

“Bloody hell!” Drake shouted. “He’s right there.”

Beau was already arrowing in on Webb, determined to close the man down. From a side street came a flood of men, clad in black and making a very poor attempt at concealing nasty looking weapons.

The French police went ballistic, screaming at the new arrivals to desist or die. Interpol agents swerved to and fro, caught in two minds, but seemingly unworried about the threat to themselves. Drake and the SPEAR team had only their major goal in mind.

Hayden leapt over a fallen civilian, whilst Kinimaka bent down to help the man up. Mai matched Beau for speed. Alicia’s lips were in constant motion, but Drake couldn’t hear the words. Probably for the best. Smyth ran beside Lauren and Yorgi, though Drake could tell he was holding back. Nobody looked comfortable. Kenzie fairly galloped along ahead of Dahl, grinning wildly as if this place, on this night, was exactly where she wanted to be.

A car zoomed ahead of Beau, cutting him off. Tyler Webb ran on, limping, a wild look back confirming his identity. Drake closed the gap. They were almost abreast of the chasing mercs, and had to decide how to handle them. Hayden was expected to shout out the orders and didn’t disappoint.

“Drake, Dahl, Alicia, Smyth — take ’em out. The rest on Webb!”

Drake immediately pivoted, aimed and sighted a handgun. Mercs scattered, seeing the attention switch. One remained standing, tracking Webb. Smyth fired first, spinning the man around with two bursts and spraying the nearby trees red. Drake rolled past a slow-moving car, its wheels crunching a few meters from his head. Then quickly up, two-short bursts, and another move. Mercs dived for better cover.

“Who the hell are we fighting?” Dahl asked.

“Not a friggin’ clue, mate.”

Hayden lowered her head and increased her speed, pushing harder than she’d known she could. More than anyone in the team, she had reason to take Webb down. She had reason to take him down as hard as she possibly could.

Good job Kinimaka isn’t around.

Knowing the big Hawaiian was back helping the civilian when the man who’d sneaked around, filmed and tried to terrorize them in their own homes was a hundred meters away, took a storm-cloud to Hayden’s already thundery outlook and made a volatile tempest out of it. She was close to becoming her own woman again: solitary, self-contained, intense. Already, she’d tried that new mantle on in her head and liked how it felt. The writing, as they said, was well and truly on the wall.

Webb scuttled gamely up ahead, listing from side to side and clearly drawing each consecutive breath as a scream through tortured lungs. The man was unfit, but he wasn’t giving up. Hayden saw Beau lock on to a running merc like a heat-seeking missile and veer away to head him off.

That left just her and Mai at the front of the remaining pack, with Kenzie gesturing in confusion.

“Are we taking this man down? Or not?”

Hayden surged ahead.

“For good.”