The white van turned suddenly onto a side street; its tires screeched loudly in protest at the sharp turn. Looking in his mirror, the driver cursed when he saw that their tail had also made the turn. The man was good; he had to give him that. The pursuing car’s driver was relentlessly closing in on the back of the van.
“Boss, I hate to spoil the party, but we’ve got company,” yelled the driver over his shoulder. “Behind us, there’s someone driving a black BMW, and he’s been following us for the last couple of blocks.”
Teplov moved to the back of the van and looked out the rear windows; his mood instantly soured as he watched Mitchell change lanes and race around a red mini-van until he was right behind them. He shook his head; he knew he should have pushed his employer to allow him to kill Mitchell, but she had been adamant that they avoid the police. That was not going to happen now as he could hear sirens closing in on them.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, three police cruisers turned onto the street, their sirens blaring, lights flashing red and white. They rapidly closed in behind Mitchell’s car and joined in the pursuit.
“No one said this was going to be easy,” said Teplov, shaking his head. Mumbling to himself, he reached down and grabbed an AK-74M fitted with a grenade launcher underneath the fore stock. Making sure the weapon was loaded with a high-explosive round, he steeled himself and then threw the rear doors of the van open, quickly raising the AK tight into his shoulder.
Mitchell’s eyes focused instantly on the business end of an AK. He did not even think; acting on pure adrenaline and the instinct of self-preservation, Mitchell turned the wheel hard over to the left and floored the gas pedal just as the weapon opened up. Bullets streaked through the air. Mitchell was fast, but not fast enough as rounds chewed through the passenger-side headlight while the remainder of the burst struck the asphalt instead of the BMW. Speeding up, Mitchell flew past the van, placing himself squarely in front of the vehicle.
Teplov could not believe that he had failed to stop the BMW. Looking back, he saw the police cars close in behind the van. Teplov knew that it was only a matter of minutes before a police chopper joined in the pursuit, making it near to impossible for them to get away. With a smile on his face, he decided to give the authorities something else to worry about tonight besides them. Dropping to one knee, he brought up the AK and emptied a full magazine into the nearest police car. They never had a chance as the glass windshield imploded, spraying glass and bullets into the doomed passengers. The driver died instantly in a hail of bullets, his hands still holding the wheel as his lifeless body slumped over. A second later, the car drifted over into oncoming traffic. With a loud crunch of compacting metal and glass, the front of the police car hit a bus, crumpled in, and was sent flying through the air straight into the next police car, exploding into a bright-red fireball that shot up into the night sky.
“That’ll do,” said Teplov as he slammed the rear doors shut. The Russian mercenary handed off his AK and made his way to the front of the van. Seeing Mitchell’s BMW right in front of them, his blood began to boil. Swearing at the top of his lungs, he told the driver to smash Mitchell off the road. With a smile on his face, the driver jammed his foot down on the gas pedal. A second later, the van leapt forward like an enraged bear chasing down its prey.
Looking through the rear-view mirror, Mitchell saw the van speed up. It closed the distance in the blink of an eye, hitting the rear end of Mitchell’s stolen BMW, easily destroying the bumper, and crushing in the trunk several feet. Mitchell felt the impact shake the car. This would not do. Speeding up, Mitchell moved his BMW a car length away. Looking ahead for a moment, Mitchell saw more red and white flashing lights racing towards them. Whatever happened now, Mitchell knew the men in the van were rapidly running out of time.
With another loud crunch, Mitchell felt his car being rammed from behind. With his hands grasped tight on the steering wheel, he fought to keep his battered vehicle from spinning about on the slick road. He’d had enough of this crap. The police were not getting there fast enough for him. Slowing down slightly, he pulled into the lane beside the van and waited until he was even with the vehicle. Deciding that it was now or never, Mitchell swerved over, striking the van with his much lighter sports car. Sparks flew, like a swarm of fireflies in the night, as the metal crunched in on both vehicles, but mainly on Mitchell’s stolen BMW. Keeping the wheel turned over, Mitchell hoped to force the van into a parked car, causing it to stop.
“Jesus Christ, Johnson!” screamed Teplov at the driver. “Get us off this street before we all get killed and get rid of that fucking car if you can. It’s really beginning to piss me off!”
With a grin on his face, the driver applied the brakes and turned his wheel slightly, striking Mitchell’s car on the rear passenger side and causing it to spin around like a child’s toy on the road. Without waiting to see what happened to Mitchell, the driver expertly sped up, aiming to turn down an upcoming street.
Mitchell ground his teeth in anger, as he fought to regain control over his spinning car. Reaching down, he pulled up on the emergency brake, turned the steering wheel hard over, released the brake, and then floored the accelerator as the car’s tires noisily gripped the road, taking off once more in pursuit of the escaping van. Mitchell saw the van just as it turned onto a side street. He sped up and soon found himself weaving in and out of the infuriatingly slow traffic on the one-way street.
“Damn, that bastard is persistent,” yelled the driver over his shoulder. “He’s back and closing on us, for God’s sake. Teplov, do something, will you?”
“I’ve had my fill of this crap for tonight. Time to finish this off,” snarled Teplov as he got out of his seat, made his way to the back of the van and then angrily grabbed his AKM-74 from the man holding it for him. Putting in a fresh thirty-round magazine, he kicked open the rear doors of their van; cool air instantly rushed inside. He could see Mitchell two cars back. Taking careful aim, the thug fired a 40mm high explosive round into a cab driving right behind them. With a bright yellow flash, the car exploded, sending the hood of the engine cartwheeling skyward along with hundreds of deadly fragments of shrapnel flying into cars on both sides of the street. Behind the destroyed cab, cars smashed into one another as they slammed on their brakes, trying to avoid the flaming wreckage.
“Yeah that’ll do nicely,” said Teplov dryly as he admired the devastation behind them. His work done, he slammed the van’s rear doors closed.
Seeing the cab disintegrate right in front of him, Mitchell never hesitated. With his foot jammed down on the gas pedal, he shot through the burning wreckage, barely missing a mangled piece of engine lying in the middle of the road.
The van’s driver was looking in his rear-view mirror when suddenly, from out of a darkened alley, a speeding police cruiser ran straight into the side of the van. Neither driver had been expecting the collision. Inside the van, people were thrown around like rag dolls as the vehicle tumbled over from the force of the impact. Sliding on its side, the van came to a sudden jarring stop when it plowed into the back of a parked tow truck.
Mitchell saw the collision; his heart missed a beat at the thought of Jen being injured or killed. He quickly geared down, bringing the car to a screeching halt a few meters short of the smoldering wreck. Mitchell leapt out of the BMW even before it had come to a complete halt and darted for the rear doors, praying that Jen was all right.