The cows thundered on. The other Russian looked back and had just enough time to begin a scream before two of the animals slammed into him, one on each side, crushing the life from his body.
“They should’ve mooved,” said Chase with a grim smile.
Nina made a disgusted noise at the pun. “Where are we going?”
Mitchell pointed ahead as they rounded the tor. A path led away from the hill across the field. A gate was visible at its edge, a road beyond it. A few sightseers stood in confusion on the path, unsure how to respond to the unfamiliar sound of gunfire. “If we can find a car, we can get clear and call for backup,” he said. “I’ll make an emergency call to the embassy, and they’ll tell the Brits—we’ll have armed units, choppers, whatever we need in twenty minutes!”
They ran across the field. Nina glanced back. The remaining Russians were in pursuit again. “That’s if we can last twenty minutes!”
“We’re gonna have to!” The sword still in one hand, Mitchell used the other to vault effortlessly over the gate. Chase waited until Nina had climbed it, then scrambled over the obstacle himself.
“Okay, a car,” said Nina, looking around. They had emerged from the field in a turnout at the side of a narrow country lane. A pair of identical black 7 Series BMWs were parked at one end; almost certainly the Russians’ vehicles. “Can you hot-wire them?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Not in time.” The only other vehicle in sight was an old sky-blue Volkswagen camper van. They exchanged unimpressed looks. “Not what I would’ve picked …”
No choice. Kruglov and the others were still coming.
They ran to the van. The passenger door was open, smoke drifting lazily from within. Chase flung open the driver’s door. A young couple looked at him in marijuana-fuddled surprise. “Hello, hi,” said Nina. “We need to borrow your van.”
“Sorry, but you can’t have it,” said the man languidly, his posh accent suggesting that his choice of vehicle was less out of financial necessity than as a fashion statement. “You see, there’s this concept known as personal property, and—”
Mitchell snapped up the gun. “Get outta the damn minibus!”
The young woman shrieked and leapt from the VW, the man raising his hands and stumbling out after her. “Okay, take it, I don’t really like it that much, just don’t hurt me!”
“Get rid of this shit,” Chase growled at him, plucking a joint from the camper’s ashtray and flicking it onto the road in a flurry of burning embers. He climbed into the driver’s seat, finding the keys in the ignition. “All aboard!”
Nina hopped into the front passenger seat as Mitchell slid open the back door and climbed inside. The van’s rear was set out like a tiny apartment, with a bed, a small table and even a gas camping stove. He dropped Excalibur on the bed and readied his gun.
Chase turned the key. The starter whined for a moment before the distinctive puttering rattle of the Volkswagen’s air-cooled engine kicked in. He revved hard and slammed the long gear lever into first with a crunch, then let out the clutch. The VW didn’t so much spring away as lurch, but at least they were moving.
A glance in the mirror—
“Down!” he yelled, hunching in the seat as he swerved the van onto the narrow lane. Nina bent double in her seat, Mitchell dropping flat on the floor behind her as the rear window shattered. Shots cracked from the turnout as the Russians opened fire. The rear-mounted engine took several hits, bullets clanging off the cylinder block as they ripped through the body. Cushions and pillows exploded in clouds of feathers.
Still sitting low, Chase kept driving. The winding road was so narrow the van almost filled it, hedges blurring past little over a foot from each door. If anyone came the other way, he would be trapped.
The shooting stopped. Chase raised his head high enough to check the mirror. The Russians were running for the BMWs. Then the road curved, and they disappeared from view.
Nina cautiously sat up. “Are we okay?”
Mitchell rose to his knees behind her, brushing away feathers. “Yeah, but they’re gonna catch up real quick.”
She rolled her eyes. “In their BMWs? Ya think?”
“I’ll call the embassy.” He took out his phone.
“What about you?” Chase asked Nina. “You okay?”
“Yeah, but …” The full impact of what had just happened finally hit her. “Oh my God. Chloe. They just killed her, they murdered her, right in front of us. For nothing!”
“Kruglov’s a psychopath,” said Mitchell, looking up from his call. “But he’s also a smart one—he didn’t want to leave any witnesses.”
“Seemed like he knew you,” Chase noted, rounding a bend to bring the van toward the outskirts of Glastonbury.
“Our paths have crossed. Unfortunately.” Chase was about to ask him more, but then his call continued. “Peach? Mitchell. We have a situation here—I need you to get onto the Brits, right now, and get us as much support as they can. Yeah, this is an emergency. We’ve taken fire and the bad guys are going to catch up fast. We’re not exactly in a muscle car here.”
“Tell him to send the police to Glastonbury Tor as well,” Nina said, turning in her seat. “There’s been a murder.”
Mitchell nodded and relayed the information, then listened to Peach for several seconds before replying. “Okay. We’ll just have to stay ahead of them for as long as we can. We’re in a blue VW van, heading for the north end of Glastonbury village, going west.” He listened again, then said, “Okay,” and ended the call.
“How long?” Chase asked.
“Depends how on the ball your guys are. Twenty minutes, maybe fifteen.”
Nina saw a flash of gleaming black metal behind them. “Too long!” Both BMWs were powering along the winding lane after them.
Mitchell used his gun to knock out the broken glass in the rear window, then crouched. The first 7 Series roared closer, Kruglov leaning from the front passenger window, taking aim—
Mitchell fired first—but not at Kruglov. Instead he unleashed six rapid shots at his driver. The windshield crazed as if hit by a shotgun blast, an almost opaque white speckled with red.
The BMW swerved. Kruglov ducked back inside and grabbed the steering wheel, but too late. The car rode up onto the steep grassy shoulder, tearing through bushes before clipping a tree and rolling onto its roof. The other windows blew out.
Nina caught a glimpse of green hair as Dominika struggled through one of the rear windows. The second BMW braked hard to avoid a collision. The overturned car, its front end still buried in the bushes, had partially blocked the road. For a moment she thought the chase was over, but then Kruglov crawled from the wreck, angrily waving the other car on. The 7 Series mounted the opposite shoulder, its bumper shoving the inverted car deeper into the bushes, before dropping back onto the road and pursuing again.
“This might be a bad time,” said Mitchell, “but I’ve only got two bullets left.”
Nina remembered how the Grand Cherokee’s pursuit had come to a sudden end in Bournemouth. “Are there any bottles back there? We could throw them in the road, blow out their tires!”
Mitchell pulled open the little cupboards beneath the table and under the bed. “Plastic, plastic, metal,” he said as he tossed items aside. “No glass, dammit!” He yanked the covers from the bed, more feathers flying. “Nothing!”
Chase now had greater concerns. “Shit,” he gasped, seeing a T-junction coming up fast. “Hang on!”
“To what?” Nina demanded. “This whole thing is just one big crumple zone!”
Chase had no choice but to brake, the corner too tight. The VW rolled like a ship in heavy waters as they screeched through the junction. Branches thwacked the van’s side as it skidded onto the shoulder before Chase managed to straighten out. Ahead, he saw a car—no, a line of cars, crawling along behind something out of sight around a long bend.
No traffic coming the other way—yet. He crashed down through the gears, foot to the floo
r. The camper van’s engine buzzed like furious wasps in a tin can. Forty miles an hour, fifty, the speedometer needle rising agonizingly slowly as they caught up with the dawdling traffic.
“Here they come!” Mitchell warned, raising his gun again. The BMW slid around the corner, tires smoking.
The cars ahead were doing less than thirty. Chase pulled out to pass them, sounding the horn. The VW was at fifty-five, and struggling to go any faster. The 7 Series was already catching up.
The curve straightened out to reveal an oncoming car rushing straight at them.
The BMW pulled out as well, trapping them—
Still sounding the horn, Chase desperately swerved the VW to the left, slicing into the line of traffic and sideswiping a Renault Mégane with a crunch of metal. Nina shrieked as the passenger window broke with the impact, showering her with glass. The oncoming Fiat missed by barely an inch, the force of the car’s slipstream rocking the Volkswagen.
Chase grimaced, foot still pressed hard on the accelerator as he turned back into the right-hand lane. The Mégane braked hard—and the car behind smashed into it.
The Fiat skidded as its driver panicked, blocking the road and leaving the BMW with nowhere to go except into the suddenly braking traffic.
It body-slammed another car, sending it crashing through a hedge. The Fiat clipped the 7 Series and tore off its rear bumper. The Russians spun out, coming to rest almost sideways-on to the traffic.
“Jesus!” Nina gasped. At the relatively low speed at which the line of cars had been traveling she doubted anyone was seriously hurt, but there would still be several badly shaken people.
Mitchell didn’t share her concern, however. “Got ’em!” he whooped.
“Yeah, but for how long?” Chase asked. Unless the BMW had been crippled by the collisions, its driver would be able to restart and straighten out in ten seconds, twenty at most.
He looked ahead. The front of the line was coming up fast, the cars held up behind a trundling Vauxhall Vectra, its elderly driver hunched over the wheel resolutely denying the existence of anything beyond his narrow cone of vision. Despite not wanting to involve innocent bystanders, Chase still swept the van back into the left-hand lane just inches in front of the Vauxhall, hoping to shock the old man into checking his mirrors once in a while.
The road ahead was clear and straight—and had no exits; it was hemmed in by fences and trees on both sides.
The camper van was still stuck at fifty-five. The BMW was moving again and gaining rapidly, a black panther about to pounce. The man who had been burned at the Tor leaned out, aiming—
Mitchell fired a shot. The bullet hit the BMW’s windshield, cracking the glass, but missing the men inside. The Russian returned fire. Mitchell dropped flat on the bed as more holes ripped through the van.
The firing stopped. Chase checked the mirror. The gunman withdrew into the 7 Series, reloading.
And the car itself grew larger, leaping forward to ram them—
The VW’s occupants were jolted by the impact. The van swerved toward a fence, Chase barely managing to straighten out before being hit again—the 7 Series was pushing them from behind.
The speedometer needle whipped past sixty, rapidly heading into unknown territory as the snarl of the BMW’s engine filled the cabin. The steering wheel shuddered in Chase’s hands, the vehicle starting to snake. He fought to keep it in line. If he lost control, the van would flip over.
He looked ahead and saw the end of the road approaching rapidly, the brick wall of a farm building on the other side of a T-junction directly ahead. “Shit!”
Only the roof of the 7 Series was now visible in the mirror, the driver still barging them along like a locomotive—
“Jack!” Nina yelled. “Do something!”
“I’ve only got one bullet left!” Mitchell protested. But he still got to his knees, and was about to shoot at the driver when a burst of gunfire from the other Russian forced him back down. “Dammit!”
They were running out of road. Nina glanced back and saw the camping stove lying on its side. “The stove, throw the stove!”
Mitchell was lost. “What?”
“Throw it—and shoot it!”
Realization flashed across Mitchell’s face. He snatched up the fallen stove and hurled it through the rear window.
The gunman was about to shoot him when the gas cylinder slammed into the bullet-damaged windshield, hanging partway through the cracked glass like a fat blue fly in a spider’s web. His eyes instinctively flicked toward it—
Mitchell fired.
The last bullet punched through one side of the cylinder and out of the other as it drove the cylinder through the windshield, hot lead igniting the gas in its wake.
It exploded directly between the two men, shrapnel ripping their flesh before they were incinerated. The car swerved sharply, hitting a tree and flipping over, then bowling along the narrow lane in a shower of flaming debris.
Chase slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed, as did the occupants of the Volkswagen as it hurtled toward the farm wall, smoke belching from its wheels—
They hit.
But at barely five miles per hour. There was a muffled crunch as the camper van’s bowed nose was flattened against the unyielding brickwork, then it rolled backward and came to a stop.
Chase found himself bent over the steering wheel, one foot still jammed on the brake. He looked across to see Nina blinking at him from the passenger foot well. “So … we are still alive, right?”
Mitchell was flattened against the back of Nina’s seat. “More or less,” he said, coughing as acrid tire smoke wafted through the broken windows. He sat upright and looked back. The burning hulk of the 7 Series lay on its side about fifty feet away, blocking the road. “Don’t think they are, though.”
“Great.” The engine had stalled, but to Chase’s surprise it restarted when he turned the key. “Okay, now what?”
Mitchell searched for his phone. “First thing, clear the area, in case Kruglov’s found another car. I’ll call the embassy again, guide a chopper to us.” He located his phone, but kept looking around, growing worried. “Shit! Where’s the sword?”
“Here,” said Nina, pulling herself back onto her seat. Excalibur had slid under it into the foot well. She picked it up. “Hey, it’s not glowing anymore.”
“Maybe we’re not on a ley line here,” Mitchell suggested as he pushed the redial button. “Earth energy seems to follow natural lines of flux; we might be too far away from one to channel any.”
“Well, whatever,” said Nina, too exhausted by the chase to care about his theories. “We got it.”
Chase put the Volkswagen into reverse. The legendary sword of King Arthur in Nina’s hands, they drove away down the country lane.
TWENTY-ONE
Well,” said Mitchell, “you did it.”
“We did it,” Nina corrected.
Excalibur lay on a velvet cloth, carefully cleaned of dirt and gleaming under the lights in the office at the U.S. embassy. The pieces of Caliburn sat beside it in their open metal case; a similar container had been prepared for the intact sword.
“Yeah, we did,” said Chase curtly. He stood away from the other two, leaning against a wall. “Cost us enough, though.”
“It would have cost a lot more if Vaskovich had gotten his hands on it,” said Mitchell. Ignoring Chase’s dark expression, he leaned closer to examine the blade, then gave Nina an admiring look. “You stuck this thing right through stone.”
“Yeah, what was the deal with that?” Nina asked, wanting to avert another dispute between the two men. “You said you had a theory—what is it?”
Mitchell almost reverently lifted Excalibur from the cloth. “It’s something else DARPA’s been working on—but I didn’t expect to see it here.”
“So DARPA’s building lightsabers, are they?”
Mitchell smiled. “Not quite, but we are making monomolecular blades. Or at least trying to.” Seeing her
questioning expression, he continued. “If you can create a cutting edge that’s made up of one long, single molecule, then in theory it should be able to cut through almost anything. We’ve had some success by using carbon nanotubes, but only on a micro scale. Nothing with practical applications yet. But this …” He eyed the sword. “Remember what I told you about Wootz steel, how it incorporated carbon nanotubes to give it incredible sharpness in 500 BC? So does this—but somehow, whatever it is about your body’s bioelectric field that’s causing the sword to channel earth energy is also aligning the nanotubes into a monomolecular edge. As soon as you let go, they lose their charge and go back to their original alignment—which is why I couldn’t pull the sword from the stone. But you could.”
Nina’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a hell of a theory.”
“I know. But it fits the facts.”
“So if the right person was holding it, he could cut through anything?”
“Maybe not anything, but definitely a lot of things. No wonder Arthur was unstoppable in battle.”
“So why me? How come I could make it glow and you couldn’t?”
“You got me there,” said Mitchell, handing the sword to her. “Who knows, maybe you’re descended from King Arthur!” He laughed, but Nina did not. He crossed the room and switched off the lights; the metal gave off a faint shimmering glow against the twilight beyond the embassy windows.
Chase raised an eyebrow. “Christ, you’re a Jedi.”
“Try it with Caliburn,” Mitchell suggested. Nina returned Excalibur to the cloth and picked up the piece of broken blade. It seemed to remain completely inert until she lowered it into the shadows below the table, whereupon the slightest glimmer of blue became discernible. “Looks like it reacts to you too, just not so much,” he said as he turned the lights back on. “I guess Merlin must’ve needed another try to get the formula right.”