Ethan wound the Harley’s throttle open even as the blue van flashed by on his left as he hit the brakes and counter — steered the big Harley into a slide, the fat rear tire squealing and blue smoke spiraling onto the hot air as he turned the bike around and accelerated back up the street in pursuit of the vehicle. It weaved left and right, fighting its way past slower moving vehicles as Ethan tried to pick a moment to use the motorbike’s superior power and acceleration to slip past.
The rear — view mirror showed the face of the driver, watching Ethan intently as he swerved hard right and broadsided a blue Prius that careered to the left and smashed into the side of a tree on the sidewalk with a crash of rending metal and shattering glass. Ethan jerked the Harley to the left and just missed the rear of the Prius as it skittered to a halt, its front wheel warped and buckled and the tire flat as it rubbed along the sidewalk.
Ethan could see a major intersection ahead that joined K Street, a through fare running east — west through the city on the edge of downtown. If the van got out there it would have more room for manoeuver and Ethan did not have the time for a protracted pursuit.
A smaller intersection appeared and Ethan closed up on the rear of the van. As they rocketed across the intersection, Ethan kicked the Harley down a gear and twisted the throttle wide open as he swerved first right and then left to fool the driver. The van jerked about in an attempt to block Ethan and then the Harley roared past, the engine loud in Ethan’s ear as it was amplified between the passing buildings and the side of the van. Ethan passed alongside the van and the saw an articulated truck looming dead ahead.
The truck’s horn blared and Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned the Harley over and flashed through the rapidly closing gap. The truck swerved right to avoid him as Ethan shot by and out in front of the van and immediately kicked his heel down on the rear brake.
The Harley’s rear tire locked up in a cloud of blue smoke as Ethan twisted the handlebars against the bike’s slide. The heavy motorbike shuddered as it slowed and then its tires regained their grip. The Harley flipped upright as Ethan deliberately released the handlebars and launched himself out of the saddle.
The Harley high — sided and slammed down on its right side on the asphalt in a billowing cloud of sparks as chrome bodywork and metal scraped along the road. Ethan hit the ground and rolled over, coming up onto his feet as he looked back and saw the van hit the brakes, its tires squealing.
The van hit the Harley and the big motorbike wedged itself under the van’s front fender as a deafening crescendo of tortured metal screeched and echoed between the buildings lining either side of 17th Street. Ethan leaped out of the van’s way as it thundered past in a cloud of bright sparks that flared from the Harley’s engine block as it was forced on its side along the hot asphalt, the bike’s sheer size and weight bringing the van to a halt.
Ethan turned and sprinted to the van’s side even as the driver opened his door and hurled himself out of the vehicle. He turned in time for Ethan to swing a punch that impacted the driver’s bearded jaw with a sharp crack and spun him backwards into the open door. Time seemed to slow down as Ethan looked into the eyes of a burly, bearded man of Middle Eastern origin, the assault rifle held in both of his hands swinging up to point at Ethan as from the other side of the van a second man turned to flee.
The fleeing man was older, his hair and narrow beard gray, his eyes cold and cunning like those of a hawk and a smile that looked more like a sneer painted across his face as he looked back at Ethan.
Ethan hurled himself out of the line of fire even as the assault rifle shook and a flare of flame burst from its barrel. Ethan rolled by the vehicle’s front fender as he heard screams from pedestrians as the gunshots rattled out through the streets, bullets smashing through the open passenger door where he had been standing moments before.
Ethan pulled his pistol from its shoulder holster and rolled along the hot asphalt beside the ruined Harley Davidson as he took aim beneath the van. He could see the gunman’s booted feet as he hurried around the rear of the vehicle to catch Ethan as he appeared on the other side.
Ethan did not wait for the gunman to appear as he took aim and fired beneath the van.
The 9mm round smashed into the gunman’s ankle at a range of no more than ten feet and he heard a great roar of pain as the bullet shattered bone and the big man toppled down onto one knee at the rear of the van. The barrel of the emerged but moved no further as the crippled gunman growled in pain and began crawling the last few paces to bring the weapon to bear on where Ethan lay.
Ethan was already up and running, and as the assault rifle appeared around the rear fender so he swung one boot and smashed it up under the barrel to send the rifle spinning up into the air as it was wrenched from the gunman’s grasp.
Ethan turned around the corner of the wrecked van’s rear fender and saw the bearded gunman on his knees, his hands raised beside his head and a grim smile spreading on his face.
‘Alluhah Akbhar!’ he shouted.
The sound of screaming sirens echoed across the streets as Ethan circled around the kneeling gunman and with one hand managed to unclip a set of handcuffs from his belt and secure one of the big man’s wrists.
‘Get up!’
Ethan hauled the gunman to his feet, his pistol jabbed under the big man’s ribs as he hustled him to the driver’s door and then shoved him face first into the vehicle as he cuffed the man’s wrist to the steering wheel.
Ethan turned and began running in pursuit of the old man, Tariq Adel. To his delight and amazement, drivers in cars trapped within the dense traffic shouted and pointed up the street where Tariq had fled. Ethan pumped his arms and sucked in deep breaths of air, running hard down the street as he saw pedestrians cowering in driveways and crouching behind walls, evidently having thrown themselves into cover as Tariq rushed past with his rifle.
Ethan burst out onto the main intersection and heard screams ahead even as he heard rifle fire and saw Tariq standing on the sidewalk alongside Farragut Square, the rifle cradled in his grasp as he fired at Ethan.
Ethan hurled himself down on the ground as a shower of bullets smacked the sidewalk around him. Tariq was screaming obscenities as he fired at Ethan, the rifle’s recoil too strong for the old man to aim properly. Pedestrians screamed in their hundreds as they scattered away from the gunfire, and Ethan aimed his pistol and held his breath for a moment before he fired twice.
The first bullet hit Tariq low in the belly, the second high in the chest and the old man staggered backwards on the sidewalk and tried to bring the rifle to bear on Ethan while seeking an escape route. Ethan, lying prone on the hot asphalt, fired again. The round smacked into Tariq’s shoulder and threw him onto his back as the rifle spun from his grasp and clattered down alongside him.
Ethan jumped to his feet and sprinted across the road, weaving between vehicles as he rushed up to Tariq’s body, his pistol still aimed at the old man.
Tariq was lying on his back, blood spilling onto his hands as he clutched the wound in his belly, his shirt a bloodied mess where Ethan’s bullet had entered his shoulder and then exited his neck. Bright blood pulsed from severed arteries and Ethan realized immediately that the third wound was fatal.
Tariq seemed to know that he was doomed as he squinted up at Ethan, a slim, curved blade held tightly in one bloodied hand that he pointed at Ethan to prevent him from coming any closer.
‘It’s over, Tariq,’ Ethan insisted. ‘The President won’t be dying any time soon and it’s not worth you dying now. Let me help you.’