Kingdom of Darkness

Zane floored the accelerator anyway. The 458 shot forward, throwing Eddie back into his seat. He ducked as the top of the windscreen’s frame clipped the door – and the glass instantly crazed, the view ahead reduced to a cobwebbed haze.

  Brilliant sunlight forced both men to screw up their eyes. Eddie squinted back at the house, glimpsing figures running into the garage. ‘Down!’

  Bullets tore after them. One thunked against the raised bodywork behind Eddie’s headrest. Zane yanked at the steering wheel. The Ferrari swept past two more guards standing beside another BMW outside the villa and made a tight, skidding turn around an ornamental fountain before tearing up the steep drive. More shots followed it, but they smacked harmlessly into the cliff face behind the car.

  Eddie leaned out to look around the damaged windscreen. ‘Might have known a kid like you’d suffer from premature acceleration,’ he sniped. The barrier at the top of the drive was rolling open – but not quickly enough. ‘Slow down or we’ll hit the gate!’

  ‘We’ll make it,’ said Zane, staring intently through the spiderwebbed glass.

  ‘No we won’t!’

  ‘We will!’ He adjusted the wheel, lining up the car’s nose with the slowly widening opening.

  Widening – then it stopped.

  ‘Shit!’ cried Eddie. ‘They’ve pushed the bloody button to close it!’

  Zane’s response was to jam the accelerator down harder. The Ferrari surged forward. ‘We can fit—’

  The gate reversed direction.

  ‘No we can’t!’ Eddie cringed as the 458’s front wheels cleared the shrinking gap with a hair’s-breadth to spare—

  A shrill crunch of tearing metal – and both men were flung forward as the closing gate sheared away bodywork before smashing against the rear wheels.

  In a contest between rubber and steel, the result was inevitable. Both tyres exploded, one of the wheel rims being wrenched from the axle. The Ferrari careered out on to the road at the head of a comet tail of mangled wreckage, barely missing a car heading towards Amalfi, only to hit a Fiat in the westbound lane. Both vehicles slammed into the base of the towering cliff.

  The Ferrari’s airbags had fired, cushioning the impact. Eddie straightened groggily. ‘Told you. You okay?’

  The younger man grimaced. ‘My head hurts, but . . . yeah, I think so.’ He clambered from the car. ‘At least I fulfilled an ambition.’

  Eddie climbed over the passenger door. ‘Which one?’

  ‘To drive a Ferrari. Even if it was only for twenty seconds.’

  ‘We need to find something else to drive, fast.’ The gate was opening again. A shrill of tyres told him that Leitz’s bodyguards were coming after them in the BMWs.

  He looked around. The Fiat’s driver was uninjured, already gesticulating furiously through his battered car’s window. A small truck behind it had skidded as it braked to avoid the wrecked Ferrari, blocking both lanes. Horns blasted as more vehicles joined the jam.

  No way back to Amalfi, then – they would have to go west. Eddie checked the first few cars in the other lane. Fiat, Lancia, Fiat: any would do, but they would need to make a U-turn to escape, which in the confined space would take time he didn’t have. He needed a bike, or . . .

  ‘Here!’ he shouted, running to the fourth vehicle in the line.

  Zane hurried after him – only to stop in disbelief. ‘We can’t use that!’

  ‘We don’t have a choice!’ Eddie’s intended getaway vehicle was a three-wheeled Piaggio Ape, the little green pickup’s rear bed loaded with gardening equipment. Its driver, a slovenly old man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, watched Eddie approach with surprise, then fear as he saw his gun. ‘Scusi, signore, but we need-o your auto.’

  The Mossad agent hesitated, but the roar of approaching engines convinced him. He ran to the Ape, elbowing Eddie aside before yanking the driver out of the single-seat cab. ‘I’ll drive.’

  ‘After what you did to the last car?’ the Yorkshireman hooted.

  ‘Just get in the back!’ Zane shoved the driver away and dropped into his seat.

  ‘Scusate,’ Eddie said apologetically to the bewildered Italian as he jumped into the pickup bed.

  The Ape’s little engine revved hard, sounding like bees trapped in a tin can, then the vehicle jerked into motion. The Piaggio had handlebars rather than a steering wheel; Zane jammed them to the left to pull the vehicle out from the line of traffic. With a turning circle of just twelve feet, it had no difficulty coming about even on the narrow road – although the alarming amount of body roll warned its occupants that its stability did not match its manoeuvrability.

  Eddie grabbed the cab’s rear and leaned over to help counterbalance the Ape as the first of the black BMWs powered out of the driveway. It barged wreckage aside and swung after the Piaggio as the second 7 Series emerged behind it. ‘Here they come!’

  Zane twisted the throttle to its limit, sending the Ape zipping along the winding cliff road as the two larger – and vastly more powerful – cars roared in pursuit.

  18

  Eddie crouched, bracing himself against the cab. The line of stalled eastbound traffic whipped past on the Ape’s left, parked cars and wheelie bins hemming it on the right. The lead BMW closed with frightening speed.

  There were two men in the car. The passenger had a gun, but the 7 Series itself was the weapon, about to ram the flimsy Ape off the road—

  Eddie snapped up Leitz’s Sphinx and fired. The combination of the Piaggio’s rough ride and Zane’s evasive driving threw off his aim, but the bullet still ricocheted off the BMW’s bonnet. Alarmed, the driver pulled back.

  But the threat was far from over. The other man lowered his window, leaning out . . .

  ‘Hold on!’ Zane shouted. Eddie grabbed the pickup’s side as the Ape snaked between three young men riding scooters. Shrilling horns and angry shouts followed in the little truck’s wake. The BMW braked hard to avoid hitting the riders, the driver blasting his own horn. Various rude Italian hand gestures came in response.

  The passenger made a gesture of his own – with his gun. Suddenly rather less macho, the trio hurriedly pulled aside. The BMW accelerated, its twin following.

  The delay had given the two men in the Ape a respite, however brief – its top speed was only around forty miles per hour. Eddie checked the back for potential weapons. Some large plastic sacks of soil, several spades and rakes held upright against the cab by a length of bungee cord hooked into a hole in the roof, a rust-specked set of shears, a grimy plastic box containing small tools and packets of flower seeds. Not the most promising selection, but if he ran out of bullets, they would be all he had.

  The black cars were gaining quickly even on the narrow road. The gunman leaned out of the lead vehicle’s window, his counterpart in the second BMW following his example.

  Eddie tensed, awaiting the inevitable attack. The pickup bed’s low sides were thin pressed aluminium. He would be almost completely exposed to their pursuers’ fire, and there was no room for him in the cab . . .

  Inspiration came to him. He grabbed one of the heavy soil bags and dropped it on its edge against the tailgate. Two more joined it, wedged diagonally against each side wall – and now he had a bunker of sorts, the sacks of earth acting as sandbags.

  The Ape tipped again as Zane brought it around another bend. The gap between the three-wheeler and Leitz’s men shrank with alarming speed—

  Muzzle flash from the lead BMW – and Eddie heard the supersonic crack of a bullet tearing past.

  He dropped behind his makeshift barricade. The next shot hit a soil bag. There was a flat whap! and he felt the sack kick hard against him – but the round didn’t penetrate, the dense, damp earth absorbing the impact.

  A sharp clang and a second thump. Another bullet, this one punching through the tailgate b
efore burying itself in the packed soil. He had a chance—

  He readied his gun, lifting his head a fraction to spot the lead car’s roof – then fired two shots at its driver.

  His awkward position behind his improvised cover affected his aim, but he still hit the front of the 7 Series. The driver reacted with fright, the car swerving before he recovered.

  The gunman returned fire. Most of the shots from the weaving BMW went wide, but one still smacked into the soil bags. Eddie waited for a moment, then popped up again for another attack—

  To see the 7 Series charging at him.

  The car rammed into the Piaggio. Even with two men aboard, the little three-wheeler was swatted like an insect. Its back end slewed sideways as the BMW pushed it along, rear tyres rasping over the asphalt. Only Zane’s lightning reactions saved it from overturning as he slammed the handlebars to turn the front wheel into the skid.

  The impact almost hurled Eddie over the tailgate. The stacked soil bags saved him – but he lost the gun as he clung on, the Sphinx spinning away on to the road. The BMW’s driver angled to smash the pinned Ape against the towering cliff wall . . .

  A left turn ahead – and the man’s determined expression suddenly changed to fear as he realised he was going too fast to make it around. He braked, the BMW dropping away sharply, and the Piaggio leapt back upright as Zane jerked the handlebars to straighten out. The Israeli had to lean out of the cabin to act as a counterweight as the tiny truck again threatened to overturn through the bend. One end of the bungee cord jarred loose, sending tools clattering into the pickup bed.

  Eddie kicked away a shovel and moved back behind his cover. He heard the BMW closing as it exited the sharp corner. The road ahead curved right along the cliff edge. Another hit, and the 7 Series would bowl the Ape over the low wall.

  No gun, so how to stop it . . .

  Improvise.

  He grabbed one of the sacks and lifted it in front of his face and chest. Two bullets hit like punches, dark loam spraying from ragged tears in the plastic, but he took the blows – then flung the ripped bag over the tailgate.

  It thumped down on the BMW’s nose, spewing earth over the windscreen. The gunman was blinded by the cascade. He pulled back into the cabin, coughing and spitting. Vision blocked, the driver was forced to slow, drawing an angry hoot from the second pursuing vehicle right behind him.

  Houses ahead on the inside of the bend. Eddie snatched up a rake from the scattered tools and swung it, hooking the handle of a large metal wheelie bin. Pain seared through his arms as he pulled – then the rake slipped from his grip. But the bin spun into the road behind the Piaggio.

  The lead driver used the windscreen wipers to clear the soil – and saw the obstacle. Hemmed in on the narrow road, he had nowhere to go. Brakes shrieked, but too late—

  The 7 Series ploughed into the bin with an explosion of garbage. The collision threw the car off course. It veered to the right and smashed into a parked car. The passenger was launched through the windscreen like a missile.

  ‘What just happened?’ Zane shouted.

  ‘He soiled himself and binned it!’ Eddie replied.

  One BMW down – but the second was still a threat. It swerved around its wrecked twin and powered after the Ape.

  Another gunman leaned out. Eddie dropped behind the remaining soil bags as bullets lanced across the rapidly diminishing gap between the two vehicles. One struck the cab with a piercing clang. The Piaggio reeled, the engine note dropping. Eddie thought Zane had been hit, but then the young man recovered, the sputtering two-stroke shrilling back to full power.

  The road widened, and the BMW pulled alongside the Ape. Eddie raised his head. The gunman was just feet away, aiming at the Israeli—

  Eddie snatched up the shears by one handle and swung them at the man’s arm. Centrifugal force clacked the blades open. The metal was rusty, but the edge was still keen – and it hacked deep into the gunman’s wrist. He screamed, yanking his bloodied limb back into the car. The gun dropped to the road and was lost behind them.

  The BMW’s driver responded by jerking the wheel. The 7 Series sideswiped the Ape, sending the smaller vehicle into the oncoming lane. Zane swerved back to avoid a head-on collision, but the other man attacked again, harder.

  Eddie rose, about to stab the shears through the open window—

  Zane pointed his Barak backwards from the cab and fired blind. One lucky shot shattered the BMW’s windscreen, the others missing – but they passed close enough to the startled Englishman that he reflexively jerked back . . .

  The car rammed against the Ape’s side.

  The little truck was again thrown into the oncoming lane – and Eddie lost his balance, tripping over the spilled tools. Arms flailing, he stumbled backwards and toppled over the side—

  One hand caught the dangling bungee cord.

  It arrested his fall – for an instant, before the tough elastic stretched under his weight.

  ‘Shiiiiit!’ he screamed as he dropped towards the road—

  The straining cord reached its limit, arresting his fall with his ankles on the pickup’s side and his head just two feet above the ground . . .

  Now only one foot.

  The massively unbalanced Ape tipped on to two wheels. Zane looked at Eddie in shock as the vehicle tilted beneath him, then hurriedly leaned from the cab’s right side to counterbalance the Englishman. The Piaggio wobbled, teetering on a knife edge – but Zane couldn’t stretch any further without letting go of the controls.

  The BMW’s driver suppressed a laugh at the sight of the two men dangling from their vehicle like a clown car. Grinning, he brought the 7 Series back into contact – only a nudge this time, but still enough to send the Ape at the wall.

  Eddie saw it rushing at him—

  Muscles straining, he wound the bungee cord around his fist to raise himself a little higher, clearing the top of the low stone barrier by an inch. But he still didn’t have enough leverage to haul himself back into the truck.

  A telephone pole loomed ahead, waiting to slice him in two—

  Zane saw it – and let go of the handlebars, almost rolling out of the cab before catching the throttle with his left hand.

  The sudden shift in weight jerked the Piaggio back down on to all three wheels, practically catapulting the Yorkshireman into the cargo bed as the pole sliced through the air behind him.

  But now the Israeli was trapped in the same situation that Eddie had just escaped, unable to pull himself upright. The Ape swung back across the road, Zane hearing the roar of the BMW’s engine coming up fast from behind.

  He twisted his head to see the twin radiator grilles rushing at him—

  Eddie grabbed a heavy gardening fork from the box and hurled it through the onrushing car’s shattered windscreen. ‘Fork off!’

  The three prongs thunked deep into the driver’s throat with a spurt of blood. He spasmed, thrashing in his seat. The BMW’s charge stopped inches short of Zane as the man’s foot came off the accelerator, then it veered left and bumped the Ape’s flank.

  The blow gave the Mossad agent the extra impetus he needed to drag himself back into the cab. He stamped on the brake pedal as the 7 Series swerved past, smashing through the wall and hurtling over the cliff. It arced down towards the sea a hundred feet below, disappearing in an explosion of spray.

  The Ape rattled to a halt beside the new opening. Oncoming cars stopped, their occupants regarding the scene with alarm. Shaking, Eddie climbed out of the pickup and went to check on Zane. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said the wide-eyed young man, repeating the words as if trying to convince himself.

  ‘You’ve been hit.’

  Zane looked at a bloodstain on his sleeve. ‘Flesh wound,’ he said, flexing the limb. ‘It’s okay.’

&nbs
p; Eddie shook his head. ‘I know what flesh wounds are like – and they fucking hurt. Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the younger man insisted. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Not dead, still got all my bits, so . . . fine. We need to get out of here before the polizia show up, though. We’d better dump this thing, too – it’s a bit recognisable.’

  Zane clambered from the battle-damaged Ape and started running along the road. ‘Come on.’

  He had covered almost fifty metres before he heard Eddie shout: ‘Oi! You going to run back to Amalfi, or take the easy way?’ Stopping, he saw that the Englishman had gone to the third car in the line of traffic – which happened to be a taxi.

  Eddie grinned as the younger man hurried back. ‘That’s something you learn as you get older; you don’t have to do every fucking thing the hard way.’ The pair got in. ‘All right, let’s go.’ His expression hardened. ‘I’ve got to find out what’s happened to Nina.’

  Half an hour later, the pair were back at their car in Amalfi, the taxi driver having taken a winding alternative route to bypass the chaos along the cliff – and also to minimise the chances of the police or anyone connected with Leitz spotting them.

  Eddie used the journey to try to call Nina, without success. That didn’t bode well, nor did the fact that he couldn’t reach Macy either. Not having contact information for anyone else in Egypt, he finally resorted to calling the IHA in New York and was put through to Seretse . . . only to have his worst fears confirmed.

  After bandaging his arm, Zane had stayed outside the Lancia to make a call of his own. Seeing Eddie’s grim expression as he got out, he ended it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Leitz was telling the truth,’ Eddie said, trying to control the cold sickness he felt. ‘Nina’s convoy was attacked on the way to Cairo. They took her, Macy and the head archaeologist, Banna – and killed everyone else.’

  ‘What about the statue?’

  That Zane didn’t know about the bronze fish told Eddie that the Mossad wasn’t as omnipotent as it liked others to believe, but that gave him little comfort. ‘They got that too. Fuck knows where they are now. Probably on their way to wherever that fat bastard Kroll’s hiding.’ He banged a fist in sudden anger against the car’s roof. ‘Fuck! I should have been with her! I could have—’