‘Hold on tight!’
Ethan waited two seconds and then he dropped the truck out of gear and yanked up on the handbrake.
The truck’s tires instantly locked up on the damp asphalt but there was no flare of red from the brake lights behind him and thus no warning for the pursuing SUVs. He fought to keep the wheel straight, the truck pinned between two lines of traffic and the SUVs behind him left with nowhere to go. The delivery truck shuddered under a massive impact and a crash of splintered glass and tortured metal as the first SUV smashed into the back of the truck. A second crash signalled the impact of the second SUV into the rear of the first.
Ethan disengaged the handbrake and slammed the truck back into gear as he stomped on the gas and accelerated away. He peered into his mirrors and saw the first SUV with its headlights now dark and figures just visible floundering behind the safety impact bags that had inflated upon impact from the dashboards, blocking their view.
‘Two vehicles down,’ Ethan chortled with glee into the truck behind him. ‘We’re in the clear!’
Ethan hurled the truck into a right turn to join the autobahn that would head south-east towards Schipol airport. The truck’s headlights swung around to point down the new road and immediately a clatter of gunfire sprayed out in savage bursts of light and hit the truck’s engine grill head-on. Ethan flinched and ducked to one side as he hit the brakes, even as the engine note of the truck altered as its engine was struck by rounds and then one of its tires was blown out. The truck squealed as the tire deflated and the metal rim hit the road and bit deep into the wet asphalt. The vehicle swerved into a broadside and Ethan grabbed hold of the dashboard as it tipped and slammed over onto its side, the metal cage of the truck screeching along the asphalt before it hit the sidewalk and came crashing to a halt.
XXVII
Ethan hauled himself out of his seat as he struggled to orientate himself, sparkling chunks of glass spilling from his hair. The truck had spun a hundred and eighty degrees after crashing onto its side, the cabin now facing back the way they had come. Ethan took immediate advantage of the cover provided by the rest of the vehicle as with one boot he kicked out what remained of the windscreen and clambered from the vehicle.
He slumped onto his knees and tried to clear his head. He looked up and saw that the traffic was being diverted around the scene by a series of bollards, as though workmen were busy digging in the road. But there were no workmen and now the crashed truck looked as though it was already cordoned off by police. Armed police.
The sound of running boots crunching on broken glass reached his ears. Ethan tucked himself in against the vehicle’s front fender, the smell of leaking oil acrid in the air as the damaged engine spilled its contents onto the asphalt. He heard the back of the truck being opened and the shouts of men commanding Lopez and Lucy to come out with their hands behind their heads. Russian accents, angry and determined.
Ethan knew that Lopez would probably have concealed her pistol somewhere on her person, but the voices sounded far too efficient to neglect to search for the weapon. He could not tell how many there were: only that he was seriously outnumbered.
Ethan gripped his pistol tighter and prepared to take on the first man that appeared at the front of the truck to check the cab. He knew he would only have seconds to disarm and take them hostage in the hopes that he could trade Lopez and Lucy for one of their own.
In the distance he could hear sirens, and suddenly he hoped that the law enforcement they were trying to evade might now come to their rescue. If he could only hold them off just a few more seconds…
‘Ethan Warner!’ The name was shouted out like an accusation. ‘We have them. Come out now with your hands insight!’
The sirens were still too far away, no doubt held up by the same traffic that had hindered their own escape. Ethan could hear nothing but the click of a pistol being cocked.
‘I’ll kill the Latino first,’ the voice growled.
Ethan cursed as he got to his feet with his hands in the air, the pistol held in plain sight as he got his first look at their attackers.
‘Step forward and put the gun down on the ground, now!’
Ethan placed his pistol on the ground and took a pace forward as three gunmen surrounded him. Lopez and Lucy were held between two men, and a sixth man was sitting in a vehicle nearby waiting for his colleagues to make their getaway.
The apparent leader of the group, a man with slick black hair and sly eyes whom Ethan assumed must be Vladimir Polkov, gestured to Ethan.
‘Hand over the quipu.’
‘I don’t have it,’ Ethan replied.
‘One of you does, and it’s going to end up in my hand in the next two seconds or we’ll be rummaging through your dead bodies for it.’
Ethan forced himself not to look at Lopez as he recalled her putting the quipu in her pocket. Instead, his mind was spinning as he tried to understand how it was that so many people had ended up pursuing them. The men at the museum were clearly American agents, and yet now they were being confronted by Russian mercenaries. He was attempting to put the two together when there was a sudden screech of rubber on asphalt and headlights swept across them all as three new SUVs pulled in, glossy black vehicles on private plates. The doors to the vehicles swung open as one, the occupants spilling out but remaining hidden behind the doors as they aimed pistols at the Russians and a sharp American voice yelled out.
‘Weapons on the ground!’
The Russians stared about themselves in amazement as they were suddenly outgunned and outnumbered. Ethan and Lopez likewise exchanged a stunned glance as they watched as the Americans weapons aimed at the Russians.
‘We’re going nowhere without the quipu!’ Vladimir yelled back as he grabbed Lucy Morgan as a human shield and pressed his pistol tight against her neck.
There was a moment of silence before the American replied. ‘Then we have ourselves a problem. You don’t hand her over, you’re going nowhere.’
The sirens became louder as they closed in on the scene of carnage, and this time Ethan thought he could heard the distant, rhythmic thump thump thump of helicopter blades surging through the night air.
‘You don’t hand over that quipu, nobody is going anywhere!’ Vladimir bellowed defiantly back.
Ethan was about to speak when Lucy Morgan called out. ‘Take the damned quipu and fight over it amongst yourselves!’
Ethan this time glanced at Lopez, and she pulled the quipu from her pocket and held it up in the air.
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’
The Russian yanked Lucy Morgan around, the pistol still pressed to her neck as his eyes locked onto the valuable artefact. ‘Hand it over now or I’ll ventilate her!’
‘Give up on the theatricals, Ivan,’ Lopez mocked. ‘You want the quipu, you let her go. You go back to your vehicle with me and we go for a little drive so the Americans don’t open fire and shred you and your goons, and I’ll hand it over before you take off.’
Vladimir peered at her suspiciously and at the massed ranks of Americans aiming their weapons at him. Then he shuffled over to Lopez’s side before hurriedly switching Lucy for Lopez and pressing the pistol against her neck.
‘You try anything, it’ll be the last thing that you do,’ Ethan heard him hiss to Lopez.
Ethan watched in silence, the Americans also making no move to intervene as the Russians began retreating towards their vehicle, Vladimir using Lopez as a human shield once again as he backed up against the side of the vehicle and climbed carefully into the rear passenger seat. He hesitated there for a moment as his men got on board, and then he pulled Lopez into the vehicle with him and shouted a command.