Berry thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Too risky, you’re right.”
“Yeah, but the hacking thing might work. In fact, it’s perfect. No explosives. Nothing basic that could kill lots of people. And it’ll be too sophisticated for them to be able to control every aspect of it.”
“Meaning we’ll have plenty of opportunities to shut it down if it ever got that far.”
“Exactly. Have you been watching this new TV series, Mr. Robot?”
Berry shook his head.
“It’s very cool.” Khoury considered it briefly, then smiled. “Yeah, I think this might work.”
8
The man only had a few seconds’ head start, but he was fast. He already had a fifty yard lead by the time Reilly and Malone burst out of the restaurant.
“You gonna tell me what the hell that was all about?” Malone asked, panting.
“Later,” Reilly shouted back. “Need to grab him first.”
The man spun around for a quick look, gauged how far back they were, then cut across the wide sidewalk and onto the road, oblivious to the cars coming in his direction. He zigzagged through them and made it to the opposite side, where cars and buses were heading south towards Hyde Park.
Reilly and Malone tried to follow, but they were interrupted by a wave of cars that screeched as they swerved to avoid them while blaring their horns.
The two agents were dodging the traffic when they saw a red Routemaster bus, one of the new models, drive past on the opposite roadway, obscuring their target momentarily before the man reappeared behind it, only now he was sprinting even faster, fast enough to leap onto the open platform at the rear of the bus just as it accelerated away.
“Crap,” Reilly shouted. “He’s getting away.”
He looked around in a panic and spotted possible salvation: a trio of tourists pedaling peacefully down the road on Santander bikes, ones provided across the city as part of London’s bike-sharing scheme.
He didn’t hesitate.
He rushed up to the lead bike, grabbed its rider and pulled him to a sudden halt.
“Sorry, I’m going to need this,” he blurted as he pulled the rider off his seat. Seconds later, he was pedaling furiously after the bus, with Malone in his wake on a second bike.
The bikes were no match for the bus, not when there was a long stretch before the traffic lights at Marble Arch. They could see their target standing on the platform at the back of the bus, watching them through its angled rear window.
They lost more ground as the bus neared the intersection, where the lights were red. A few cars were stopped there, waiting.
“If the lights go green, we’re screwed,” Malone yelled.
They went green.
The cars drove off, far enough ahead so that the bus didn’t even have to slow down. Instead, it just motored on, veering left around Marble Arch before heading down Park Lane.
“Shit,” Reilly shouted.
He pedaled more furiously, as did Malone. The two agents were still a good twenty yards away from the lights when they went from green to amber. By the time they reached them, the lights were red, and cars were already moving into the intersection from the right.
“Keep going,” Reilly hollered.
He kept going, cutting into the intersection inches ahead of the lead car to his right. The car screeched to a stop, causing the one behind to plow into it. Malone was a few feet behind Reilly and just managed to avoid the scrape. The two agents kept pedaling and banked right to head down Park Lane, oblivious to the mess they’d left behind.
Then they got lucky.
The traffic ahead was heavy, with cars and buses blocking the way long before the red light that was a couple of hundred yards down the road.
Reilly saw the Routemaster grind to a halt. The target’s head swung left and right as he considered his next move, then he leapt off the bus and ran.
Reilly and Malone kept going. Other cars and buses coming from Oxford Street had filtered in ahead of them before stopping too. They had to slow down before threading their way through the stopped traffic, but at least, their quarry was now on foot.
“We’re going to lose him,” Malone shouted as he and Reilly maneuvered between the stopped cars. They could see their target as he ran across the wide, planted median and cut through the traffic coming up the opposite carriageway before making it to the other side and running into Hyde Park.
“Damn it,” Reilly hissed as he dumped his bike and sprinted ahead.
Malone did the same.
It took them longer to get across the road, with its four lanes of cars to dodge. By the time they made it into the park, the man was over a hundred yards ahead of them.
Reilly looked around without pausing. There was nothing for him to requisition — no bikes, not even a skateboard.
They kept running, chasing him down the Parade Ground and past Reformer’s Tree, heading south. They weren’t catching up on him.
“Would have been easier without those damn shawarmas weighing me down,” Reilly yelled to his partner.
“Forget the shawarmas. It’s the garlic that’s burning me up,” Malone quipped. “And I don’t even like garlic.”
They followed him around the Look Out Educational Centre and down towards the Serpentine, which was spread out at the bottom of the hill like a huge, black mirror. Dozens of small pedal boats carrying tourists and families idled peacefully on the water, mingling with the resident swans and ducks.
All of which presented their target with a problem. He’d have to go around the lake, either left or right. When he did, Reilly and Malone could triangulate in his direction, cutting the distance between them.
The man kept going straight.
“We’ll gain ground on him now,” Reilly blurted.
Only the target didn’t turn right or left. Instead, he kept going straight towards the lake until he reached the boathouse, where he barged through the waiting crowd, leapt onto an empty pedal boat, and set off across the surface. By the time Reilly and Malone reached the shore, he was a good thirty yards away from the bank.
“Come on,” Reilly yelled as he charged through the crowd and grabbed a pedal boat that had just come in.
Malone jumped onto it alongside him.
They started pedaling.
Up ahead, their target was now halfway across.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Malone said as he pedaled furiously. “I can swim faster than this.”
“You wanna go for it?” Reilly asked. “Be my guest.”
Malone glanced at the water around them. It was freezing, and he was fully dressed. By the time he shook his clothes off, the man would be on the opposite shore.
It wasn’t a particularly inviting prospect.
“Maybe another time,” Malone said. “Keep spinning.”
Minutes later, their target rammed his pedal boat onto the bank, jumped off, and sprinted away.
The agents did the same.
They crossed Rotten Row and were all heading down towards the Edinburgh Gate and the gleaming glass towers of One Hyde Park.
“We need a bike, a cop, or something,” Reilly said between labored breaths.
“How about horses?” Malone asked.
“As long as they don’t have guys with swords on them, I’m happy,” Reilly quipped, panting heavily.
“If he gets to the big department stores in Knightsbridge, we’ll definitely lose him.”
The target reached South Carriage Drive and rushed across it, easily avoiding the sparse traffic heading up the single lane.
Reilly saw him disappear behind a white van that was parked by the Pan Statue. He and Malone didn’t slow down. They crossed the road and rounded the van — only the target was gone.
They stopped running and for a split second, Reilly didn’t get it. Then he turned to face the side the of the van and saw the target inside.