“Hey,” the man protested as he tried to open the driver’s side door — but Khoury just floored the pedal and sped off.
Berry gave him a sideways glance as they banked out of the lot. “I never thought that kind of throwing your weight around actually worked in real life.”
“Neither did I, but it’s what our boys would have done.”
“Absolutely,” Berry replied, then he scanned the road ahead. “Where’d they go?”
“I can’t see them, but I know this area. We’re in Battersea. Not far from my place. I’m just across the river.”
“Convenient,” Berry quipped. “I hope those agents are all right. Maybe they need medical assistance. Shouldn’t we go back?”
“Someone in that complex is bound to have heard the shots. They can call an ambulance if it’s needed. Besides, we have to get these guys.”
“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?”
“God bless Spock.”
“Make it so, Number One.”
“I think you’re confusing Star Trek series.”
“Just keep driving,” Berry ordered.
Khoury followed the lane as it banked around the warehouse complex. They were about to merge into the main road when Berry blurted, “There.”
The two agents were sprinting across the road from the warehouse complex, waving at the passing cars and trying to flag one down.
Khoury pulled up next to them.
Malone started to say, “Thanks for stopping—” then he recognized them. “You? How did—”
“Get in, Berry ordered.
Reilly and Malone hustled into the back of the Audi, then Khoury hit the gas and powered away.
“Where are they?” Reilly asked.
“We lost them,” Berry informed him.
“The main road leads to the river,” Khoury said as he scanned the area. “I say we just keep going, the odds are that’s the way they’re headed.”
They careened down the wide road which veered left past a big Land Rover dealership before snaking along the Thames.
They were blowing past the Battersea Heliport to their left when Berry shouted, “Stop. Right there.” He was pointing out from his window.
Khoury slammed on the brakes and swerved off to the side.
They all followed Berry’s lead.
The Galaxy was parked on the tarmac in the heliport after evidently crashing through its thin metal gate. The two goons were by a small chopper that had its rotor already spinning. By the looks of it, they were arguing with the pilot, whose door was open — then the lead goon pulled the pilot out and flung him to the ground, gestured for his henchman to go around the front and get in, and climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“They’re going to fly off,” Berry shouted.
“This guy knows how to pilot a chopper?” Reilly asked in disbelief.
“He did mention he took flying lessons,” Khoury said.
The three others’ heads swerved slowly in unison to face him.
“What?” he protested. “That’s what the guy said.”
The others held him with their triple-deadpan gaze.
“We don’t have time for this,” Khoury muttered, as he threw the Audi into reverse, backed up, spun the wheel, then charged ahead.
Right at the chopper.
“Raymond,” Berry said in a low voice as his fingers tightened around the handles next to him.
Khoury didn’t let up.
“Hey, buddy,” Malone said from the back, “There’s probably a lot of fuel in that thing. And it’s flammable. You do know that, right?”
The Audi was still rocketing ahead.
“Seriously, dude,” Reilly added. “We’ll get him. He’s got to land somewhere.”
The revs kept rising.
The chopper was just lifting off the tarmac.
“Don’t worry,” Khoury said. “I’ve researched this.”
And just as he reached the chopper, he turned the wheel slightly and the Audi banked left, and instead of crashing into the chopper’s main body, the Audi’s right front wing clipped its tail rotor. The spinning propeller ate into the car’s bodywork, slicing it up in a scream of grinding metal — but it was enough to break the blades, which flew off in pieces.
Khoury piled on the brakes, hit reverse and floored the gas.
The Audi pulled back just as the chopper, now without a tail rotor, started spinning around its own vertical axis, out of control. The chopper banked right, then left, going around like a spinning top, before it angled left, clipped the edge of the tarmac, and flipped over — crashing into the Thames in a huge white plume.
The four men dashed out of the Audi and rushed to the river’s edge just as its dark water swallowed the chopper.
They stared down as the last bits of its fuselage disappeared under the surface.
“Shouldn’t someone dive in to try to rescue them?” Berry asked.
Reilly looked at Malone, then they nodded grudgingly.
“I guess,” Reilly said, as he started pulling his clothes off.
Berry and Khoury walked off.
“Wait,” Reilly called out after them. “You can’t just leave. We’re going to need your statements about what happened.”
“We haven’t had lunch,” Berry shouted back. “We’ll be in touch.”
“We’ll call the London field office tomorrow,” Khoury said. “I think we could both use some rest. Who should we ask for? What’s your name?”
“Reilly,” the agent said. “Sean Reilly. And he’s Cotton Malone.”
Khoury stopped dead in his tracks. Glanced over at Berry.
Berry looked back at the two men, turned to Khoury, then shook his head. “They’re just messing with us. They must know who we are.”
The two authors chuckled and walked away as the agents dove from the bank and into the murky river.