We took off a moment later, the Skoda following the Transporter as it sped west across the city. I looked at the skyline above the rooftops. A lightening edge on the horizon heralded the imminent arrival of dawn.
I stared blindly out the window, my mind abuzz with questions. Events had taken an unforeseen turn; from what I gathered, Ashely and I had stumbled into the middle of a conflict between the Schwatzs and the Crovirs. Yet, despite the incidents of the last few days, I still had no idea how it all fit together, especially my role in the whole affair. My eyes moved to the Transporter. One thing I was certain of: the people inside that van had some of the answers.
Sheila’s face rose in my mind. Something twisted inside my chest.
We had just passed a deserted park when a flash of movement caught my eyes. A black Honda Fireblade superbike gunned out of a side street and skidded alongside the Skoda. A second bike materialized on the other side of the car.
The two riders atop each of the sleek machines wore dark helmets and leather biker suits.
‘What the hell?’ muttered the red-haired driver. He frowned at the apparition in his wing mirror.
‘Watch out!’ shouted the bodyguard.
The figures riding pillion had pulled semi-automatic guns out of their jackets. They raised the weapons and fired at the Skoda.
Ashely and I ducked a second before the windows shattered. Tempered glass rained down on our heads.
The Skoda swerved across the road, the red-haired driver cursing under his breath while he attempted to outmaneuver the two bikes. The roar of the Fireblades’ engines suddenly rose in the night. I raised my head in time to see the bikes disappear after the van.
‘Shit!’ said the bodyguard.
I couldn’t agree more. The Crovirs were after Sheila Godard again.
‘Go after them!’ I barked.
‘I’m trying,’ the driver replied steadily. He glanced at a side mirror. ‘I think one of their bullets pierced our fuel tank.’
I leaned out of the window and smelled gasoline a second before I spotted the thin, dark trail splashing onto the asphalt behind the car. Something else caught my gaze. I stared at the road. My eyes widened.
I turned and lunged across the back of the driver’s seat. He swore as I grabbed the steering wheel from his hands and yanked it sharply to the right.
It was what ultimately saved us. The gray Humvee bearing down on us with its headlights off clipped the rear end of the Skoda and sent the car spinning uncontrollably across the road.
The red-haired driver hissed as the wheel twisted between his hands. Ashely and I braced ourselves against the roof of the vehicle.
The Skoda crossed the center line, slammed sideways against the opposite curb, and rocked to a stop. I looked over my shoulder, heart thudding wildly.
The Humvee was heading straight for the van.
A sudden shout from the bodyguard made me look forward. Thirty feet ahead and closing on us was another Hummer. It did not look like it was intending to stop.
The Schwatz driver shifted gears and slammed on the accelerator. The tires squealed shrilly. The acrid smell of burning rubber rose around us. The wheels finally gripped the asphalt seconds before impact.
The Skoda shot backward.
The bodyguard clipped a fresh magazine in his gun, leaned out of the passenger window, and fired a volley of shots at the vehicle. A bullet flashed against the Hummer’s side mirror. Another cracked its windshield. A third one thudded into the front right tire, causing it to slow down.
The Schwatz driver spun the wheel of the Skoda. The car turned in a sickening lurch until we were facing the right way once more.
Up ahead, the Fireblades and the gray Humvee were closing in on Grun’s Transporter. Gunfire erupted in the night. Bullets thudded into the rear doors of the van.
The Schwatz driver scowled and changed gears. The Skoda lurched forward and accelerated.
Sharp pings rose from the boot of the vehicle. I turned and looked out the rear window. The Hummer was back on our tail. Gun muzzles appeared alongside the behemoth. Flashes followed.
I lifted the Smith and Wesson and leaned out of the window. Ashely’s Glock echoed the shots from my gun on the other side of the car.
‘Aim for the engine!’ I shouted. ‘They’ve got run-flat tires!’
Our next bullets entered the front grille of the Hummer simultaneously. There was a bang from under the hood. A cloud of smoke billowed out the front of the truck. It veered across the road, mounted the pavement, and crashed into the facade of a bank.
Flames erupted from the engine and licked the underside of the vehicle. An alarm sounded shrilly as we sped into the night.
Up ahead, the Humvee was half a dozen feet behind the Transporter. It accelerated sharply and rammed the van. The Transporter swung toward the center line. The Fireblades moved around and tried to overtake it. Bullets scored the side doors of the Transporter.
‘Hang on!’ yelled the Schwatz driver. He shifted gears once more, stepped on the gas, and rear ended the Humvee.
The shock jolted us forward and buckled the hood of the Skoda.
The Humvee barely jerked on its suspensions. It picked up speed again.
‘Take out their tires!’ yelled the Schwatz driver. ‘Just slow them down, goddamnit!’
Gabriel’s bodyguard grunted. He heaved his upper body out of the window, gun in hand. Just then, the Humvee’s loading door swung open.
We stared into the mouth of a rocket launcher.
‘Oh crap!’ The Schwatz driver spun the wheel sharply to the left.
A flash bloomed ahead. The first grenade whistled past the hood of the Skoda and detonated on the road behind us.
The blast blew the rear window in and showered us with shards of glass. The Skoda shuddered and rotated uncontrollably across the blacktop. Its tailgate swung around and crashed violently against a fire hydrant. The engine sputtered and died.
We sat stunned for a couple of seconds. I raised my eyes to the Humvee.
It had slowed down. The grenade launcher was being reloaded.
‘Move!’ bellowed the bodyguard.
The Schwatz driver turned the key in the ignition, his movements stiff. The car stuttered and stalled. He cursed and tried again. The engine sprang into life with a sharp, high-pitched screech. He shifted into reverse and started to pull away from the curb.
We were too late to avoid the second grenade. At the penultimate moment, gunfire from the Transporter caused the Humvee to swerve. The rocket-propelled projectile gyrated widely from its path and exploded several feet from the front bumper of the Skoda.
The world tilted as we were flung in the air. The car flipped twice. Metal crumpled and gave way against the asphalt. The Skoda landed on its roof and skidded some two hundred feet across the road in a shower of sparks, before finally grinding to a halt on the center line.
Buzzing silence resonated in my ears. The stench of gasoline was overpowering. I coughed and opened my eyes. My vision blurred. I blinked.
Blood dripped from a fresh wound on my scalp and obstructed my sight. I slowly looked around.
I was lying at an angle against the door. Ashely lay heavily across me. He wasn’t moving. A crimson trail oozed from a gash on his head.
‘Ashely,’ I said, dazed.
Low groans rose from the front of the car. The bodyguard and the Skoda’s driver shifted as consciousness returned.
Ashely’s eyes fluttered open. Relief flooded my heart.
‘Are you okay?’ I slid to the side to give him space.
‘I think so.’ He winced and gingerly touched the wound on his head. ‘You?’
‘I’ll live.’
‘Oh crap,’ someone said dully from the front seat. It was the driver.
Alarm washed over me when I looked past him and saw what he had spotted. Smoke was curling up from the hood of the car.
‘I vote we get our sweet asses
the hell out of here!’ shouted the Schwatz immortal.
I twisted around and crawled through the shattered rear window of the car, broken glass and debris cutting into my skin. I pulled Ashely out after me and reached for the driver’s hand.
‘Go!’ the immortal roared, pale eyes blazing.
‘Just give me your goddamned hand!’ I barked.
He mouthed something rude and grabbed my wrist. The bodyguard followed behind him.
We were twenty feet from the car when flames ignited the liquid trail to the fuel tank.
The resulting explosion knocked us to the ground.
We lay stunned for a moment, the heat from the conflagration scorching our backs. I sat up and stared at the blaze.
The Skoda was a giant fireball in the middle of the road. Pale light filtered down from the skies beyond it and illuminated the empty lanes ahead; the Transporter and its pursuers had disappeared.
Fear stabbed through my gut. ‘Did they make it?’
‘Don’t worry.’ The Schwatz driver wiped blood from his face and grinned. ‘Gabriel Dvorsky is not one to let himself get captured that easily.’
The bodyguard nodded and rubbed the back of his head with a wince.
Sirens flared into life behind us.
The driver looked over his shoulder. ‘We better get out of here.’
We headed down the road and turned onto a side street. A screech of tires erupted ahead of us; a police car appeared at the next junction and skidded to a stop sideways across the asphalt.
The Schwatz driver clenched his teeth. ‘Have I mentioned that this is turning out to be a shitty day?’
Two uniformed officers got out of the vehicle and unholstered their guns. They shouted a warning in German.
‘This way!’ yelled the Schwatz immortal.
He turned and bolted for an alley on the left. We raced after him and emerged on a parallel road a moment later. Two police cars sat blocking the exits at either end.
The driver scowled. ‘Follow me!’
He dashed across the asphalt and entered another narrow back lane.
The sirens blasting through the crisp morning air stopped abruptly. Footsteps and shouts broke out behind us.
Someone yelled ‘Stop! This is the police!’ in German.
We turned a corner and staggered to a halt. A brick wall loomed in our path.
The driver pointed at the gray shape to the side. ‘The dumpster!’
We rolled the metal container to the wall, our grunts of effort punctuating the grating shriek of the wheels. We were over the top seconds later and landed in a dimly lit passage on the other side. We broke into a run.
A squad car braked in front of the mouth of the alley when we were fifteen feet from it. We stumbled to a stop.
‘That’s not good,’ said Ashely.
Scuffling noises and thuds rose behind us as uniformed officers appeared over the wall.
‘Police! I repeat, put your arms behind your head and get down on your knees!’ someone shouted in German, then English.
‘Anybody see a way out of this?’ said Ashely.
‘Nope,’ muttered the Schwatz driver. The bodyguard frowned and shook his head.
My hands balled into fists and I gritted my teeth. I had been so close to Sheila Godard and the answers that I sought.
Ashely sighed. ‘Oh well. Better do as they say.’
We were rapidly surrounded by a group of policemen. They pushed us roughly to the ground, slapped cuffs on our wrists, and read us our rights before hauling us back onto our knees.
A shadow loomed in front of me. A pair of polished shoes appeared before my eyes. I looked up.
‘It’s irony, definitely irony,’ Ashely muttered at my side.
‘Mr. Carpenter, Mr. Reynolds,’ Christophe Lacroix said with a fierce smile. ‘We meet again.’
Chapter Eleven
The Headquarters of the Federal Criminal Police Office, or the Bundeskriminalamt as it was known locally, was located on the Josef-Holaubek Platz, in the Alsergrund district of Vienna. It was close to the banks of the upper Danube Canal and across the road from one of the campuses of the city’s university.
‘That was quite a stunt you guys pulled back there,’ said Lacroix.
I remained silent.
We had been booked in and placed in separate interview rooms beyond the secured doors of the station. An Austrian Federal Police investigator stood near the back wall and watched the proceedings with a carefully neutral expression while the Frenchman interrogated me. I suspected there were others behind the glass partition to my right.
Lacroix crossed the floor and took the seat opposite mine. ‘Why don’t we start at the beginning?’ He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. ‘What do you know about the murder of Professor Strauss?’
I looked at him steadily. ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid.’
Lacroix’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that?’
‘We were looking for him, but we never found any traces of his whereabouts.’
‘Were you at his address in the 11ème arrondissement on Saturday night?’
I shrugged. ‘Yes. He wasn’t there at the time.’
The Frenchman raised his eyebrows, his expression incredulous. ‘So what are you saying? That his body miraculously reappeared in his apartment after you left?’
I suppressed a sigh. ‘I take it your forensic pathologist concluded he had been dead for several days?’
Lacroix did not reply.
‘You should be able to confirm that we were in the States at the time.’ I rested my arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘We did not murder Hubert Strauss,’ I stated emphatically. ‘The men who did are still out there.’
‘Are these the same men who allegedly tried to kill you in Boston?’ Lacroix retorted.
I sat back in the chair. ‘I see you’ve been talking to Detective Meyer.’
Lacroix snorted. ‘Not just him. The FBI in Washington is also keen to have a little chat with you and Mr. Reynolds.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They should be here in about nine hours.’
I looked down at my hands, struggling to mask my anxiety and anger. Our time was fast running out.
Despite the reassurances of Gabriel’s bodyguard and the Schwatz driver, I had no idea whether Sheila Godard had fallen into the hands of the Crovirs. That lack of knowledge alone made me want to tear down the walls of the station and go on a rampage.
One thing I was certain of: the Crovirs would come after me again.
‘The people you’re dealing with will not wait that long to intervene,’ I said.
Lacroix stiffened. ‘Is that a threat, Mr. Carpenter?’
‘It’s a friendly warning.’
It was Lacroix’s turn to be silent. ‘What about Gif-sur-Yvette?’ he finally said.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. ‘We went there to look for information on Strauss.’
‘And the gunfight?’
A hush fell across the room.
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me it was those “invisible” men again?’ Lacroix added cynically.
‘You found the four-by-fours?’
Lacroix shrugged. ‘They were empty.’
‘Well, you did say they were “invisible”.’
The Frenchman glared at me before looking at the papers in front of him. ‘You were also involved in the incident at the Hauptbahnhof in Zurich.’
I looked to the man at the back of the room. ‘That’s not strictly within your jurisdiction now, is it?’ I murmured to Lacroix.
The Frenchman opened his mouth to reply. The Austrian officer interrupted him. Lacroix rose and strode to the other side of the room. A murmured exchange followed, during which the word “procedure” was repeated several times in German.
‘It seems we’re still waiting for Zurich City Police and Swiss Interpol t
o get here,’ the Frenchman spat out.
The Austrian investigator gestured to someone behind the glass partition.
The door opened and a couple of uniformed officers appeared to escort me back to the detention center. I stopped on the threshold of the interview room and looked at Lacroix.
‘Like I told your uncle, things are not as they seem,’ I said quietly before I was led to my cell.
Ashely was ushered in the lockup opposite mine several minutes later.
‘Yo,’ he said. There was a fresh dressing on his head. He winced and massaged the back of his neck gingerly.
‘Yo yourself.’ I observed his gaunt expression with a pang of guilt. ‘How’re you holding up?’
Ashely grimaced. ‘I’ve been worse.’ He patted his jacket, paused, and sighed. ‘Damn, they took the cigarettes.’ He leaned against the wall and crossed his legs, hands jammed in his pockets. ‘So, you found anything interesting?’
‘The FBI’s on their way from DC.’ A wave of weariness washed over me. I sat on the bench. ‘You?’
‘They didn’t find any bodies in the Hummer or at the canal. They were very interested in the amount of empty shell casings and blood they found at the scenes, though.’
Silence fell in the narrow corridor that separated our cells.
‘The Crovirs will come for us,’ I said in a low voice.
Ashely cocked an eyebrow. ‘Here?’
I nodded.
He rubbed his chin and made a face. ‘You’re right. Considering what they’ve done so far, that wouldn’t surprise me.’
The door to the cellblock opened. The sounds of a scuffle followed. Gabriel’s bodyguard and the driver of the Skoda came into view.
They were pushed roughly inside the cells next to us.
‘Damn Stapos,’ muttered the bodyguard after the officers left.
‘Austrian State Police,’ I translated at Ashely’s puzzled expression. ‘They’re kinda like the local secret service.’ I studied the two immortals. ‘It’s about time you told us your names.’
The bodyguard wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand and carefully moved his lower jaw from side to side.