It had to be the Nazis — they were using brute force to get away with their prize. How could he stop them?
A rapid check of the vehicles below, then he hopped up on to the balcony’s railing — and leapt from it.
He landed with a bang on top of a van. A shocked yell came from inside. Eddie ignored it, sliding down the windscreen and jumping on to the car in front.
Shouts rose in his wake as he vaulted from roof to roof, using the crawling cars as stepping stones. He saw the white van ahead. It was not far from an intersection with a wider road, where traffic was moving more freely.
He had to keep them from escaping. But how?
A dirty green garbage truck was just what he needed.
He scrambled over an elderly Renault that was trying to slip past the larger vehicle, then grabbed the truck’s door handle and yanked it open. ‘Morning!’ he said, pointing the gun at the startled occupants. ‘I need to take out some trash.’
The binmen practically fought each other in their haste to exit through the other door. Eddie swung himself into the driver’s seat, then experimentally shoved down the heavy clutch and revved the engine. It roared in response. ‘Okay, make way for the Perfume Wagon!’ he called, slamming the truck into gear.
It lurched forward — faster than he had expected. He swung the wheel hard, but still swiped the car in front. ‘Whoops, sorry,’ he said with a grimace.
Horns shrilled as he cut in front of other traffic. He kept up a harsh tattoo on his own horn, which did the trick; those in his path somehow achieved the impossible and cleared a lane. Even so, he drew more howls of rage as the truck’s hefty bumpers screeched along the sides of cars and clipped off wing mirrors.
But he was closing on the van, a blank-sided Mercedes Sprinter. With no windows in the rear, they might not realise he was chasing them until it was too late.
The van was at the junction, about to make a turn. He accelerated, swinging to catch it at an angle as it pulled out—
The collision threw him against the steering wheel. But the truck far outweighed the van, ramming it on to the sidewalk. Pedestrians scattered as the Sprinter was mashed sidelong into a street lamp. One of the rear doors burst open, a crate tumbling out and breaking apart on the pavement.
Eddie jumped down from the cab. Gun in hand, he circled around the wrecked Mercedes.
The first thing he saw was the statue of Bucephalus. It had been in the crate, protected by rolls of foam padding, and now lay on its side amongst the remains of its container. He considered shattering it with a gunshot, but noises inside the van warned him that he might need all the bullets for live targets.
He raised the MPX and looked through the open door — to see angry faces glaring back at him.
The van had no seats in the rear, the raiders having piled in with the crate. The crash had thrown them all against each other, but they were already recovering. Their own MPX-Ks came up—
Eddie fired — remembering too late that he had switched his gun to single-shot. It was still enough to catch the Nazi nearest the door squarely in the chest, sending him flying backwards into his comrades.
The confusion gave the Englishman a few seconds of grace. He ducked back, about to switch his weapon to full auto and perforate the entire van—
He nearly stumbled over the broken crate, his left palm landing on the statue as he caught himself.
His plan changed. He didn’t know why — some connection with Alexander’s history, Nina’s archaeological obsession rubbing off on him, or simply the urge to deny the Nazis their prize — but he clapped his free hand around one of the horse’s legs and hauled it from the smashed container. It was heavier than it looked, but its compactness at least made it merely awkward rather than actively difficult to carry.
And as long as he had it, his enemies might think twice about shooting at him…
Eddie fired again as he backed around the garbage truck. The bullet clanked against metal, but there were no screams, just shouted commands in German.
The collision had brought traffic on the wider road to a standstill. He ran between the stationary vehicles towards an alleyway opposite. Alexandria’s back streets, he knew from the previous night, were tight and twisty mazes. With enough of a start, he might be able to escape into the labyrinth—
The crack of a gunshot served as warning that the odds of that were not good. He dropped lower behind the cars. Men spilled from the van, guns raised.
One of them saw him, took aim—
‘Nein, nein!’ Rasche yelled furiously at his surviving team members. ‘Sie werden die Statue zu schießen! Nehmen ihn am Leben!’
Statue was German for ‘statue’, then — and Eddie guessed that the rest was an order not to shoot him in case it was damaged. His gamble had paid off and given him a bargaining chip, however small.
Whether he got a chance to play it was another thing. Still bent low, he ran into the alley.
The Nazis raced after him.
After making sure that Banna was okay, Nina left him with Macy and sprinted after her husband. Once she scaled the ladder and left the apartment building — with a moment of shock as she saw the dead man in the hallway — the shriek of horns and the crunches of colliding vehicles made it easy to follow his trail.
She ran along the sidewalk, shoving past bewildered pedestrians. A much louder crash told her that something serious had happened ahead. Apprehension turned to fear as she heard gunshots.
The Egyptians on the street were fleeing, forcing her to clamber on to a stalled car to avoid being knocked down. From her elevated position, she glimpsed Eddie vanishing down an alley with the statue.
Black-clad men charged in pursuit, Walther and Rasche amongst them. The latter yelled orders, gesturing at another alley nearby. Walther and about half of the raiders veered away to take the parallel route, while Rasche and the rest continued after Eddie.
They were going to try to trap him between two forces.
She jumped down and ran to the intersection. A third narrow passage ran between the buildings, closer to her. There was a chance she might be able to catch up with her husband.
If he didn’t turn away from her — and if he wasn’t killed first.
Eddie was already regretting taking the statue. It had seemed manageable at first, but now it felt heavier with each step. He should have just smashed the thing and been done with it…
He glanced back as he rounded a corner. One of the Nazis had pulled ahead of the rest, running with mechanical determination after his prey — and gaining fast.
‘Where’s Jesse Owens when I need him?’ Eddie said as he searched for escape routes. There were none; he was between two large apartment blocks, the next intersecting alley a good forty yards away on the right.
Pounding footsteps closed rapidly from behind. His pursuer was about to tackle him—
Eddie leapt, twisting to make a half-turn in mid air. He landed facing the Nazi — and threw the statue upwards.
The young blond man skidded to a halt, unsure whether to kill or catch. His orders won out, and rather than attack the Englishman, he lunged for the falling figure.
It landed in his arms with a solid thump. Relief crossed his face—
Which turned to pain as Eddie kicked him hard in the groin. The man convulsed and crumpled to the floor.
Eddie snatched back the horse and ran once more. He heard shouts as the rest of the Nazis rounded the corner. No gunfire; they were determined to take the statue in one piece.
But it was both his protection and his ball and chain. If he smashed it to keep it out of their hands, or even abandoned it to gain speed, they would kill him the instant they had a clear shot.