Kingdom of Darkness

  ‘Christ!’ said Eddie as the man in the Impala’s front passenger seat leaned out and took a shot at the EXT. ‘They weren’t kidding about rapid armed response.’

  Nina was still dealing with the police. ‘No, I don’t know what street we’re on now. Just look for the Hummer limo with bullet holes in it!’

  ‘This is LA, ma’am,’ the dispatcher replied. ‘I’m afraid that’s still not specific enough.’

  The H2 was not the only vehicle with bullet damage. The security guard fired again, hitting the pickup’s tailgate. The assassin responded to the new danger by sending two shots back over his shoulder at the patrol car. One cracked the windscreen, the Chevy swerving as its driver flinched. The passenger reacted by unleashing another six angry shots at the Escalade. That confirmed what Eddie already suspected about the private patrolmen – they were trigger-happy show-offs, who had probably been rejected as real cops for exactly that reason.

  The driver’s voice boomed from a loudspeaker: ‘Pull over right now, dickhead!’ The Chevy drew level with the Escalade, the guard taking aim at the truck’s front tyre—

  The EXT veered, slamming side on against the Impala. The guard jerked back inside just in time to save his arm from being crushed. The collision briefly slowed both vehicles, letting the limo close the gap. The rentacops swept over to the right to overtake on the Cadillac’s blind side.

  The chase was rapidly approaching the intersection with Santa Monica Boulevard, where multiple lanes of traffic were flowing in both directions. Eddie saw a recovery truck on the street corner, orange strobes pulsing; there had been an accident, a Mini Cooper being winched up the ramp on to its rear bed.

  Sunlight flashed on polished metal. An eighteen-wheeler, a long tanker truck, crossed the intersection into the path of the trio of chasing vehicles—

  The Impala drew alongside the Escalade again – and the heavy SUV slammed savagely against it—

  The force of the collision hurled the patrol car helplessly off course. It hit the back of the Mini, sending the smaller vehicle spinning off the recovery vehicle. The Chevrolet was flipped into a corkscrewing roll off the ramp, scything away a chunk of the tow truck’s cab before arcing back down—

  It smashed into the tanker’s side.

  The truck driver stamped on the brakes, his rig juddering to an emergency stop. Fuel gushed from a rent in the gleaming steel. The Escalade, also braking hard, swerved past the trailer’s rear with barely an inch to spare as flames burst from the Impala’s mangled engine compartment.

  A flash of horrified realisation told Eddie that no matter how hard he braked or turned, the speeding Hummer would end up embedded in the burning tanker.

  That left only one option.

  ‘Hang on!’ he yelled as he jammed down the accelerator.

  ‘Eddie!’ Nina shrieked, but the limousine was past the point of no return. She threw herself flat on the seat as it shot up the ramp—

  The Hummer flew off the end and sailed over the tanker – as it exploded in a searing blast.

  Churning flames swallowed the Impala and set the recovery truck ablaze. The fireball boiled skywards in a halo of thick black smoke . . .

  Out of which hurtled the Hummer, lancing back to earth like a boxy javelin.

  Eddie and Nina screamed as the limo’s nose pounded down on to the road – and the entire vehicle bent in half, the extended chassis snapping and ripping open a ragged gap in the floor and lower body.

  The flames clinging to the H2’s skin rushed hungrily inside. They found the spilt spirits soaking the seats and carpet and the alcohol caught light.

  Nina jerked back, batting at the singed ends of her hair. The German’s papers were also on fire. She snatched up the few she could reach in the hope of salvaging some clues to whatever the hell was going on.

  But the blaze wasn’t the only danger. Sparks and metal fragments spat up at her from the Hummer’s ruptured underside. The driveshaft had broken along with the chassis, the jagged end still spinning furiously as it bounced off the asphalt. Apart from a few overstretched cables and pipes under the floor, the vehicle was now held together entirely by its roof, and even that was buckling.

  She raised a hand to protect her face from the shards, belatedly realising that she was still holding her phone. ‘We just jumped over an exploding gas tanker!’ she shouted at the operator. ‘Is that specific enough for you?’

  Eddie sat up woozily. As if the impact of landing hadn’t been enough, the Hummer’s airbag had fired. Even though it had protected him from a potentially fatal collision with the steering wheel, it still felt like a punch from a heavyweight boxer.

  A car loomed ahead. He swerved to avoid it, finding that the H2’s handling had got even worse. A look back to check on Nina revealed why. The limo was still mobile thanks to its four-wheel drive, even if only the front two were still working, but its half-severed rear end was now acting like an anchor as the floor’s mangled leading edge scraped along the road.

  ‘Put the fire out!’ he cried, looking for the Escalade. Traffic had come to a panicked standstill following the explosion, and the hulking black truck was easy to spot as it headed south.

  ‘Oh, thanks, I would never have thought of that,’ Nina shot back. She was already searching for an extinguisher, but if there was one, it was stored out of sight. Instead, she yanked open the fridge and pulled out the little Perrier bottles, cracking their tops to pour fizzy water over the flames. It had roughly the same effect as spritzing a forest fire. ‘The bubbles aren’t helping!’

  ‘Then get up here!’ Eddie slalomed around stationary cars in pursuit of the Escalade. The street it had taken led into Beverly Hills’ shopping district. Sirens sounded in the distance, but he couldn’t tell from which direction.

  Nina hesitated at the sight of the driveshaft thrashing like an enraged snake, but summoned up her courage and hopped over the widening split in the cabin. The limo creaked alarmingly as her weight shifted to its front half. She climbed over the partition into the seat beside her husband.

  Pedestrians gawped as the broken-backed Hummer screeched past in a trail of sparks. Farther down the street, the Escalade had been forced to slow by dawdling traffic. The gunman dealt with the obstruction by swinging into the oncoming lane and ramming head on into a car, using his truck’s sheer muscle to force the smaller vehicle on to the sidewalk.

  Other drivers made the sensible choice to clear a path for the madman – which in turn left the way open for the H2 to catch up. Fast. ‘Oh, you’re not!’ Nina protested.

  ‘Yeah, I am!’ They both braced themselves—

  The Hummer ploughed into the pickup. The EXT was a hefty vehicle, but the limo was almost twice its weight, sending the Cadillac into a spin that left it nearly perpendicular to its pursuer. Eddie recovered, foot back on the accelerator. If he could ram the truck broadside on, he might flip it over, ending the chase—

  Nina saw movement in the Escalade’s cabin. ‘Gun!’

  They ducked as the man fired. The windshield burst apart, fragments cascading over them. Eddie tensed, expecting further shots, but instead heard the roar of the Cadillac’s V8 as their attacker raced away.

  Nina raised her head. A green sign at the corner told her that he had turned down Brighton Way. She remembered the name from her map; it intersected Rodeo Drive. ‘Don’t suppose this would be a good time to bug out and let the cops take care of things?’ she asked. A growl from their own vehicle’s engine gave her an answer. ‘No, thought not,’ she added as Eddie set off after the truck. The severed driveshaft chittered like a pneumatic drill as they rounded the corner, the Hummer’s back half now flexing horizontally as well as vertically.

  The new road was one-way, with no oncoming traffic, but it was also narrower than the last street. The Escalade swerved wildly to thread between other cars. Blaring the ho
rn, Eddie did the same. Anguished creaks of metal came from the roof behind them. Nina glanced back. ‘This thing’s gonna come apart any minute,’ she warned. At least the fire was dying down as the alcohol fuelling it was consumed.

  Eddie didn’t reply, eyes fixed on the fleeing pickup. The sirens grew louder – the police were closing in.

  No sign of them yet, though. For now, he was the only person who could stop the assassin. Ahead was Rodeo Drive. Traffic waited at the intersection, parked cars on each side blocking any way around. The Cadillac’s brake lights flared as it was forced to slow.

  This could be his chance. Foot to the floor—

  The Escalade swerved abruptly to avoid a small van backing out of an entrance on the right.

  Eddie hauled at the wheel, but the crippled Hummer was reluctant to turn. The word CHANEL filled his vision—

  The H2 smashed into the van, sending it spinning like a top. Its rear doors burst open, and hundreds of perfume bottles flew out, exploding like scented grenades. Litres of Chanel No. 5 sluiced over the bifurcated Hummer . . .

  And ignited.

  Choking and wiping her stinging eyes, Nina heard a deep and very menacing whoomph behind her. She turned to see the limo’s entire rear end ablaze, the dying flames given a new and highly flammable source of nourishment. ‘Shit! Eddie, we’re on fire! Again!’

  Eddie too was gasping for air. Perfume was fine in small doses, but by the gallon it was more like the chemical attack training he had been forced to endure in the army. Blinking away streaming tears, he searched for his quarry. The Escalade had barged a car out of its way to make a skidding left turn down Rodeo Drive. He followed it. Metal shrieked as the H2’s flaming back end swung wide, tearing the overstressed roof like paper.

  He spun the steering wheel, just barely countering the flailing oversteer in time to stop the limo’s trailing half from ripping free. But the vehicle was now held together only by a thread . . .

  The engine misfired, sputtering. The fuel line under the floor had finally been severed.

  He looked down Rodeo Drive. The Escalade was pulling away. The chase was over.

  Wait . . .

  Flashing red and blue lights some distance ahead. The police were setting up a roadblock.

  The assassin reached another intersection and started to turn, only to swerve sharply back on to his original course as he saw that the cross-street was also barricaded. He continued past the junction before braking hard, slewing around on trails of black rubber and lurching to a stop.

  ‘They’ve trapped him,’ said Nina. ‘Okay, you can stop now!’

  But Eddie didn’t slow. The Escalade’s door had opened, the driver jumping out, gun in hand.

  He aimed it at the onrushing Hummer—

  Nina dropped with a yelp as a bullet shattered what remained of the windscreen. Eddie hunched down as more shots clanged against the radiator and engine block. If he turned to escape down the cross-street, he would expose the limo’s sides to the gunman – and the thin sheet steel was no protection against even a pistol bullet.

  Instead, he aimed straight at their attacker.

  The man instantly changed tactics, switching his aim to the Hummer’s left front wheel as the limo reached the intersection. Two bullets struck the H2’s bumper – then a third blew out the tyre.

  The steering wheel jolted in Eddie’s hands. He tried to hold it steady, but the limousine veered at the central divider, where a chromed statue of a human torso stood on a plinth. Instead he yanked the wheel to the left, stamping on the brake to hurl the Hummer into a skid—

  The limo hit the plinth side on and was sliced in half, its burning rear end finally ripping loose and bowling down Rodeo Drive . . .

  Straight at the gunman.

  The scar-faced man’s eyes widened in fear, and he ran—

  The flaming wreckage smashed into the Cadillac. Pedestrians fled as gasoline sprayed from the Hummer’s ruptured fuel line . . .

  Both vehicles exploded, the blast shattering the front windows of the Louis Vuitton and Bulgari stores and setting palm trees ablaze. The cops at the roadblock dropped behind their vehicles as wreckage showered around them. Car alarms wailed, parked Ferraris and Range Rovers reacting in pain to the barrage.

  The Hummer’s front half ground to a stop at the bottom of the arcing pedestrian boulevard of Via Rodeo. Shoppers and tourists regarded what was left of the smoking limousine with shock and amazement, phones and cameras clicking.

  Eddie sat up painfully, a smear of blood from a fresh cut slowly oozing down his forehead. ‘Ow, fuck . . .’ he grunted, adding a wincing ‘Christ!’ as a drip of perfume ran into the wound like an acidic bee sting. ‘Nina, you okay?’

  ‘I think so.’ His wife had ended up in the Hummer’s footwell. She blinked blearily at him, then sniffed her clothing. ‘Oh, that’s . . . strong.’

  ‘Macy won’t need to visit the Chanel shop after all – she can just wring out your sleeve.’ He was about to open the door – then froze.

  The assassin had been knocked down by the explosion, but he was still alive, crawling through the licks of flame dotting the street towards a metal object.

  ‘Shit,’ Eddie gasped. ‘He’s going for his gun. Get out!’

  Nina pulled at the door release, but it refused to move. ‘It’s stuck!’

  He tried his own door. It too was jammed, the frame twisted. The assassin had almost reached his goal—

  ‘Police! Freeze!’

  Two uniformed officers emerged from behind a shrapnel-dented SUV, weapons pointed at the crawling man. He looked at them in alarm, then back at the object in front of him . . .

  And kept moving, one hand stretching out to grab it.

  ‘I said freeze!’ one of the cops screamed. ‘Stop or I fire!’

  Eddie saw desperation on the killer’s face as he finally clamped his fingers around the gun – only the Englishman now realised it wasn’t a gun, but some sort of container, a flask—

  Four gunshots echoed around the street, both cops opening fire. The man on the ground jerked and twitched, then fell still. Blood pooled around him. One of the cops ran up and fixed his gun on the unmoving figure as his partner kicked the container out of his hand. It was a flask, about the size of a paperback book, and looking for all the world like something an alcoholic would keep in his hip pocket.

  But the assassin’s attempt to retrieve it had cost him his life. Whatever was in the flask, Eddie realised, it was more than mere whiskey or vodka.

  Running footsteps caught his attention. He hurriedly raised his hands. ‘Ay up,’ he warned Nina as she clambered out of the footwell. ‘Beverly Hills Cops.’

  More officers rushed to surround the battered limo. Nina regarded the guns pointed at her in alarm. ‘So much for our vacation,’ she sighed.

  4

  ‘So, ah . . . what are you in here for?’

  Nina suspected that the nervous young blonde had wanted to ask the question since being brought into the cell twenty minutes earlier, but something had put her off; possibly the redhead’s dishevelled appearance, or more likely the overpowering miasma of Chanel No. 5. ‘Me?’ she said. ‘Take your pick: grand theft auto, reckless endangerment, destruction of property and vehicular homicide. Oh, and,’ she sniffed her sleeve, ‘air pollution.’ The girl’s mouth slowly dropped open. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I, uh, tried to take a bag from Versace.’

  ‘Riiight.’ They sat in silence. ‘Of course, there were mitigating circumstances,’ Nina eventually said.

  The blonde perked up. ‘Oh, same with me! I don’t suppose you could . . . help me think of some?’

  Nina was spared from further conversation by the arrival of two cops at the cell door. ‘Wilde!’ one barked. ‘Nina Wilde. Come with us, please.’

 
The ‘please’ was something new; her status with the Beverly Hills Police Department had apparently been upgraded. Had her phone call finally gotten results? She stood and waited for the cops to unlock the cell, then went with them to an office on a higher floor. A sunset sky was visible beyond the slatted blinds.

  Eddie was already there. ‘Oh, thank Christ,’ he said as she entered. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied as they embraced. She held him for a long moment, then eased her grip as she realised they had company: two stone-faced men in dark suits. ‘And you guys are . . . ?’

  ‘Special Agent Daniel Beck of the FBI,’ said the older of the pair. He gestured to his companion. ‘This is Agent John S. Petrelli. Dr Wilde, we’re glad you and your husband are okay.’

  ‘We are, an’ all,’ Eddie told him with a humourless grin as the cops exited. ‘So, now that Nina’s here, maybe you can finally tell us what’s going on?’

  Beck seemed uncertain himself, which did not fill Nina with confidence. ‘Firstly, all the charges against you have been dropped. We’ve been ordered to take you back to New York. A . . . situation has arisen.’

  ‘No shit,’ said Nina impatiently. ‘A man gets murdered right in front of me, then the killer tries to shoot me too? I’d call that a situation as well.’

  ‘Who told you to take us home?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘The order came direct from Washington,’ Petrelli told him. ‘From the State Department – but it was approved by the White House.’

  The Englishman turned to his wife. ‘You must’ve done a good job with your phone call. Who did you ring?’

  ‘Seretse, at the UN. From what that young guy said just before he got shot, I figured the IHA needed to know. I never imagined Seretse would be able to pull strings all the way up to the White House, though.’

  ‘You got better results than me, then.’

  ‘Why, who did you call?’

  Eddie looked sheepish. ‘Macy. Only person I could think of in LA.’