The Revelation Code

  ‘They’re not in full MOPP gear,’ Anna warned Cross. ‘If he drops the angel—’

  ‘I know,’ the cult leader replied. That told Nina that he wasn’t as blasé about the angel’s destruction as Trant had informed Eddie, but her husband was still in grave danger.

  Ellison rounded a large workbench. Nina glimpsed someone else hiding behind it at the edge of the screen, but he continued to advance. His gun rose into frame, its laser spot a dazzling flare as it fixed on the Englishman—

  ‘Ellison, wait,’ said Cross sharply. ‘I don’t want the angel damaged if we can help it.’ He turned towards Nina. ‘Remind him that we have his wife!’

  Eddie tensed, retreating further behind the open scanner as Ellison drew level with the tracked shelves. He would have a clear line of fire within seconds . . .

  Ellison suddenly stopped, head tipping quizzically as he listened to another order via his headset. He looked back at the other intruders for confirmation. ‘Do it,’ said the leader.

  ‘We’ve got your wife,’ the gunman called to Eddie. ‘Give up the angel and she won’t get hurt.’

  They weren’t willing to let the statue be destroyed, then. That gave him an edge, however small. ‘Let me talk to her,’ he replied. ‘To prove you’ve got her.’

  Another brief exchange through the earpiece, then Ellison took off the headset and held it out as he edged closer. Eddie warily watched the other armed men as he shifted the statue to his left hand. All were alert, staring back at him, but while their guns were up, their forefingers were off the triggers. They were obeying the order to let him talk to Nina . . . but it would only take them a fraction of a second to fire.

  He had to make the fullest possible use of that moment.

  Impatient, Ellison twitched the headset to prompt Eddie to take it. Eddie raised his left hand to make it clear that the statue would be dropped if anything happened to him, then reached out with his right. Ellison leaned closer—

  Eddie lunged – grabbing not the proffered gadget but the hand holding it, He bent the other man’s fingers backwards, hard, as he yanked him nearer. Ellison’s little finger snapped at its first joint.

  His scream of pain jolted his comrades into life, laser sights flashing on to their target. But Eddie had already pulled Ellison to him, turning the gunman into a human shield.

  His prisoner overcame his initial shock and tried to slam an elbow into Eddie’s chest, but the Englishman easily absorbed the blow and savagely wrenched the broken finger around by almost ninety degrees. Ellison let out a blood-curdling shriek. ‘All right, let’s try this again!’ Eddie shouted. ‘Guns down, back off, all the rest.’

  The other attackers briefly remained still, but instructions soon came over their radios. They spread out to round the first workbench, keeping their guns fixed on the whimpering Ellison, ready to shoot the man behind him the moment they had the chance . . .

  ‘Oi! Prof!’ Eddie called to Rothschild, still curled behind the second bench. ‘Can you catch?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ she asked, blinking up at him.

  ‘Can you catch this?’ He waved the statue.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know. I can try.’

  ‘Good, ’cause here it comes!’ He lobbed it at her.

  She gasped, flinging out both arms to catch it – more by luck than judgement, as her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

  Trant and the other masked men flinched, but when it became clear the statue had survived, they resumed their advance, MP7s raised and locked as Eddie backed behind the scanner. They would soon reach Rothschild – and the angel.

  He spotted a control panel on the machine’s side. One of the illuminated buttons read SCAN. Rothschild’s eyes were still closed—

  He stabbed the button.

  The scanner hummed – and a swathe of brilliant green light lanced from the laser.

  The intruders instantly fell into disarray as the dazzling beam overpowered their optic nerves. Eddie took advantage, slamming Ellison face-first against the shelves, then shoving the stunned gunman’s head into the gap between two of the storage units and spinning the nearest wheel.

  The units rolled smoothly along their tracks – and a splintering crunch came from the shrinking space between them as Ellison’s skull suddenly became a few inches narrower.

  The laser continued its sweep, but even blinded, most of the attackers had dropped into cover. One man was still standing, though, reeling with a hand over his eyes—

  Eddie grabbed Ellison’s gun and felled the man with a three-round burst, then hurried to Rothschild and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on!’

  He directed her past the scanner to the second exit. ‘My God!’ she shrilled, opening her eyes to see Ellison’s limp corpse slumped between the shelves.

  ‘Don’t look at it, just get to the door. And keep hold of the angel!’ He backed up behind her with his gun ready.

  Nobody poked their head above the workbenches. Rothschild opened the door, Eddie following her into a corridor. ‘Which way?’ she cried.

  He spotted a green sign, an arrow beside a running stick-man. ‘There!’ They ran to the emergency exit as furious orders were shouted behind them.

  Eddie kicked the door open to find a narrow stairwell. He descended two at a time. ‘What about Markus?’ Rothschild wailed.

  ‘They just knocked him down. He’ll be okay,’ Eddie replied, hoping he was right.

  He reached the foot of the steps and barged through another door to find himself back in the museum proper. They were in the long hallway he had seen earlier, the walls decorated with gleaming tiles displaying paintings of stalking lions. At its far end he recognised the Ishtar Gate, but his only concern now was getting out of the building. The gunmen had made no attempt at stealth; that meant the museum’s security staff were either prisoners or dead, and after what had happened in Rome, more likely the latter.

  The restoration work had blocked off the nearest apparent exit, but he spotted another emergency evacuation sign. ‘Down here,’ he told Rothschild, going right at a run. Past the stairs they had ascended with Derrick was the marked door. ‘Okay, through this,’ Eddie said as he reached it—

  He flinched back as if the handle were electrified, hearing noises beyond, getting closer. Not all of the Prophet’s men had gone to the upper floor. ‘Or not,’ he amended, rushing to a smaller door across the corridor only to find it locked. The only way out was through the Ishtar Gate. ‘Hurry up!’

  ‘I’m sixty-seven years old!’ gasped Rothschild. ‘I can’t go any faster!’

  ‘You’ll have to if you want to be sixty-eight!’ He reached the great arch, throwing aside the barrier and charging through.

  They emerged from the Miletus Gate on the other side. Eddie looked back as another black-clad gunman burst through the emergency exit. A moment later, Trant appeared from the stairwell, his surviving companion behind him. The Englishman fired another three-round burst to force them into cover, then caught up with Rothschild as she reached the doors to the room containing the Altar of Zeus.

  Nobody was waiting for them in the cavernous space. The entrance through which Derrick had brought them was in the centre of the long wall to the left, facing the temple. He glanced at Rothschild as they ran towards it. The old woman still held the statue, and despite her heavy breathing was maintaining her pace – fear was a great driver. They might get out alive after all— A shadow stabbed along the floor from beyond the glass doors.

  ‘Shit!’ Eddie cried, pulling back and firing a wild burst as a man appeared at the entrance. One of the doors exploded into fragments, the gunman hurriedly jerking back.

  Shouts from behind. Trant and the others were in the Roman room, cutting them off, and if they tried to reach the other exit in the far wall, the man at the shattered door would have a clear shot—

  ‘Up there!’ yelled Eddie, swinging Rothschild towards the towering altar.

  ‘There’s no way out!’ she protested.

  ‘I b
loody know!’ They reached the broad marble steps. ‘Set off the fire alarm – I’ll try to hold ’em off until the cops arrive!’ He turned, trying to cover both the entrances from which their enemies would come.

  The man at the glass door leaned into view. Eddie loosed another burst. All three rounds went wide, smacking against the wall, but it forced the gunman to retreat. The Englishman reached the top of the stairs and darted behind a column. Rothschild still had several steps to go. ‘Quick! Get—’

  Trant appeared at the other entrance, firing wildly on full auto.

  Bullets ripped into the marble stairs, a line of dust-spitting impacts chasing after Rothschild. Splinters hit her legs. She screamed and tripped just short of the top. The statue was jolted from her grip – and rolled back down the steps, loud clunks echoing around the room.

  Trant had taken off his gas mask; his expression was a flash of pure panic as he watched the angel’s clattering descent. ‘Back, get back!’

  Eddie also watched the stone figure with alarm. The attackers’ fear confirmed that they hadn’t been lying about the danger . . .

  Clunk, clunk – and the angel finally reached the floor, skittering across the polished wood before coming to a halt. For a moment, all eyes were upon it, tension rising . . . then Trant spoke. ‘It’s safe! I’m gonna get it – cover me!’

  Gun raised, Eddie whipped around the pillar – but he held his fire, conflicted. The doorway was a choke point, meaning he might be able to hold the gunmen back while he made a desperate run for the angel . . . but doing so would leave Rothschild unprotected in the open.

  His indecision lasted only a split second, but that was enough for Trant to run into the great hall – and for the two men with him to aim up at the altar from the doorway.

  Eddie grabbed Rothschild and dived with her over the top of the stairs as they opened fire. Chunks of pale stone exploded from the columns, ricochets twanging and screaming across the room. ‘Jesus!’ he gasped.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ Trant shouted. ‘Get to the sluice channel!’

  More guns blazed with suppressing fire as the others followed their leader. Eddie crawled to cover Rothschild as debris pummelled them, then raised his gun to catch anyone climbing the stairs to finish off the two fugitives . . .

  Nobody came for them. The gunfire stopped. Eddie waited for a moment, then cautiously lifted his head. There was no one below – and the statue had gone. ‘Shit!’ he growled, standing.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Rothschild asked plaintively.

  ‘They’ve got the angel. Stay there.’ He raced down the steps and went to the glass doors. Nobody was in sight, though he heard a door bang from the direction of the lobby.

  He ran after them. They would be heading for a getaway vehicle; if he caught up, he might be able to shoot the driver or a tyre, or at the very least get its licence plate for the police.

  He reached the lobby. No rearguard – the gunmen were in a hurry to escape with their prize. He went to the main doors, spotting a couple of corpses behind the security station. The rain was still streaking down outside, a large black van parked in front of the bridge.

  The raiders weren’t in it. They had instead gone to the bridge’s side, climbing on to its wall . . . and jumping off.

  Eddie barrelled into the open just as the last man dropped out of sight. The roar of engines came from the waterway below. Rather than risk being hemmed in on Berlin’s roads, the raiders were making their getaway by boat along the Spree, the river bisecting the city. He ran to the wall, seeing the lead craft with Trant and two others aboard already powering away under a railway bridge to the north-west. Another picked up speed behind it, a man in the back seat sealing the angel inside a case— The Englishman flicked the MP7 to full auto and unleashed a long burst after the trailing speedboat. The man flailed and fell over the side, but then the compact weapon’s magazine ran dry. ‘Fuck!’ Eddie roared, watching helplessly as the two craft surged away into the darkness with their prize.

  ‘Eddie!’ He looked back to see Rothschild hurrying towards him.

  ‘I told you to stay put!’

  ‘I know where they’re going! That man told the others to get to the sluice channel – he means the Schleusenkanal, along the river. We passed it on the way from the airport.’

  ‘They must have a car waiting,’ Eddie realised. Using the river would make it easy for the robbers to evade pursuit, and once they reached their rendezvous, they could quickly reach Tegel and leave the country. ‘You know how to get there?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Okay, come on. We might be able to catch ’em.’ He ran to the street. Rothschild hesitated, then followed.

  He guessed that the van belonged to the raiders, but doubted that the driver had left the keys in the ignition. Besides, the boats were doing at least forty miles per hour; he needed something much faster . . .

  ‘And there it is,’ he said as he saw the very thing approaching.

  A sleek silver Porsche 911 was cruising through the rain. Eddie ran out into its path, waving his arms. The driver swerved to round him – then jammed on the brakes as Eddie pointed the gun at his car. ‘Achtung!’ shouted the Englishman. ‘Outta ze Auto!’

  The middle-aged man might have been confused by the words, but he couldn’t mistake the message. He scrambled out, hands up as he stared in fear at the man marching towards him.

  ‘Here, present for you,’ said Eddie, handing the weapon to the startled driver. ‘Prof, get in!’

  Rothschild ran to the Porsche. Its owner looked in confusion between his car and the gun, then took a couple of panicked steps backwards and pointed the MP7 at the Yorkshireman. ‘You – you are not taking my car!’

  ‘It’s empty, you dozy twat,’ Eddie replied. The driver gawped at him. ‘I’ll try not to smash your Porsche to fuck, but if anything happens, send the bill to Oswald Seretse at the United Nations in New York. Okay?’

  ‘Oswald Seretse,’ the German replied slowly. ‘Okay. Yes.’

  ‘Great. Thanks!’ Eddie dropped into the bucket seat and slammed the door. Rothschild swung herself awkwardly into the passenger seat beside him. ‘All right, never driven one of these before. Hope Top Gear was exaggerating about how hard they are to control!’

  He depressed the clutch, slotted the gearstick into first, then rocketed into the night at the head of a huge trail of spray.

  15

  Even from a wet standing start, the speedometer needle surged past ninety in mere seconds. ‘Whoa, bloody hell!’ Eddie cried, struggling to hold the Porsche in a straight line as the wheel squirmed in his hands. ‘Guess this one’s a turbo.’

  Rothschild clutched the door handle with one hand and the centre console with the other, fingernails digging into both like claws. ‘Oh my God!’ she screamed. ‘Slow down, slow down!’

  ‘I’m chasing them – going fast is the whole fucking point!’ The one-way street became two-way at a junction. He swung to avoid the flaring headlights of an oncoming car, then slammed the power back on to whip around another vehicle ahead. The road ran along the riverbank, the long facade of another museum rising across the water to the right. ‘Can you see them?’

  ‘Not yet – and what exactly are you planning to do? They’re in boats, we’re in a car! And you don’t have a gun any more; how are you going to stop them?’

  ‘Not a clue. But if they get away with the angel, I’ve got no chance of finding Nina. So that’s not going to happen, whatever I have to fucking do.’ The clenched fury behind his words deterred her from asking further questions.

  The channel curved, the road following it. ‘There!’ Eddie said, spotting churning wakes on the dark water. As the Spree widened, the boats had moved out into its centre. The Porsche was gaining rapidly, but as Rothschild had pointed out, there was no way of reaching them. ‘This sluice canal – how far away is it?’

  ‘Four or five— Ah!’ She gasped in fright as the Porsche swerved to overtake another car. ‘Four or five
miles,’ she concluded, her voice noticeably higher in pitch.

  ‘We should be able to beat ’em there, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Exactly. They’ve got guns, and we don’t. And the rate they’re going, they’ll still arrive before the cops sort themselves out, especially as we haven’t even called the cops yet!’

  ‘I’m sure the poor man whose car you stole will have done that by now.’

  ‘Yeah, which means they’ll be chasing us, not the bad guys! Shit, and Derrick needs an ambulance an’ all,’ he remembered. ‘Why didn’t you stay and help him? He’s your friend!’

  Rothschild bristled. ‘You told me he’d be all right! And if I hadn’t come with you, you wouldn’t have known where they were going. They’ve stolen a priceless artefact – we can’t let them get away with it.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Eddie muttered. ‘You’re as bad as Nina!’

  Ahead, the boats went under a bridge. ‘Which way?’ he demanded. ‘Stay on this side or go across?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she protested. An intersection was coming up fast, a long tram trundling towards the bridge blocking their view of what lay beyond. ‘I . . . This side, stay on this side!’

  Eddie jammed the wheel to the left, stabbing at the brakes to send the Porsche around the tram’s rear. He felt the car’s heavy back end threaten to snap out on the wet road; even with decades of development and technological aids, the 911’s rear-mounted engine was still a trap for the unprepared driver. A punch of adrenalin as he caught the slide, then straightened – only for the headlights to reveal that the road along the river was blocked by building work, signs warning that it was for pedestrians only. ‘Shit!’

  He braked hard, debating what to do. The sight of the boats pulling away made his mind up in an instant. He accelerated again, sounding the horn as he ploughed through the signs and traffic cones.

  ‘No, no, oh my God!’ Rothschild wailed. Shocked Berliners dived out of the way, one man vaulting the railing and hanging above the edge of the Spree as the 911 thundered past. ‘You’re going to kill someone!’