The first SUV made a sudden getaway — over the curb and onto the plaza.
Sophia stamped on the gas pedal, smashed through another set of table and chairs. She caught up to the SUV while it was still in second gear. She had a chance. Positioning herself just to the side, she brought the nose of her squad car hard into the side of the target vehicle and aligned her front wheels with their back wheels. She steered sharply into the SUV, as hard as she could. At this slow speed she’d need a good hit to destabilize it. The SUV wobbled, went out of alignment, started sideways.
Sophia continued with her own turn, correcting herself just before colliding with the traffic on Seventh Avenue. The SUV looked about to straighten up.
Don’t you dare.
She accelerated.
The SUV started to right itself.
It struck a pole. Came to a sudden stop.
Sophia found herself boxed in between the traffic on her left, a statue on her right, the SUV in front. Her rear would soon be populated by NYPD and the second SUV. It was about to get messy.
She did the only thing she could do.
She hit the brakes and crashed into the SUV cabin, sandwiching it between her half-obliterated squad car and the pole, which now leaned at a precarious angle. They weren’t going anywhere.
Her airbag deployed, smothering her face. She leaned back, released her seatbelt and checked for her Glock. It was still in her waistband. Her arms hurt, her head seemed fine. She remembered her face paint and wondered vaguely how disturbing she must have looked taking down those two NYPD officers as a skeleton from another realm.
She opened the door to step out. Dizziness took over. She realized she wasn’t fine at all. She was concussed. She tried to stand but collapsed beside the squad car. Looking up, she saw the SUV’s rear hatch flip open. Armed men in black fatigues hustled the bound operative out.
The bound operative was led toward the traffic, out of Sophia’s view. Sophia tried to move but couldn’t. All she could manage was stopping the world from spinning around her. And even that was a challenge. She turned to brace herself on the squad car and noticed another vehicle speed out into the plaza behind her. Great. It wasn’t the NYPD. It was the second SUV.
Fear twitched inside her.
Move.
Hurling herself to one knee, then both knees, one foot. She touched over her head, through her hair, feeling for anything warm or wet. It came away dry, smudged with ash from the museum explosion. She staggered around the open door, using it to hold her steady.
The second SUV was a blur in her vision. It pulled up behind her. She could see more masked soldiers in black, carbines in hand. An NYPD squad car pulled up behind it. Not good. She staggered around the hood of her squad car.
She had to move faster.
She reached the edge of the hood and almost fell. The gridlocked traffic on Seventh was only twenty feet away. If she could get there she would have some concealment. She took one step. And another. Then a third. Her legs were fine but her head had other plans, lurching her to the left and then to the right. Her balance was completely shot. She staggered dangerously to the left, slumped against a 4WD. To the commuters she must have looked drunk.
She ran her hands along the 4WD’s hood, let it guide her. She found her way into the traffic. Through the lanes she could see the masked soldiers in the distance, rushing up the avenue toward her.
One of them fell.
She heard someone yell. In pain.
Moving across the center lane, Sophia collapsed between two cabs. Her Glock slipped from her waistband. She found the handgrip. It was all she had.
She heard glass shatter. Shots fired. The discharged rounds echoed down the avenue, the sound bouncing off the vehicles like a hundred whips. She aimed her Glock at the attacker.
‘Motherfucker,’ Nasira said. ‘What the hell they do to your face?’
Sophia remembered her face paint. She took her finger off the trigger, turned to see the second gray SUV idling behind them, just past the statue. Aviary was in the driver’s seat and three black-masked heads lolled unconscious in the back.
‘Get in!’ Aviary yelled.
‘Thanks for smashing into us back there,’ Nasira said.
Sophia looked back over at two black shapes slumped on the plaza pavement and realized Nasira had in the last forty seconds taken out all of the masked soldiers from the second SUV.
‘Where did they take the operative?’ Sophia said. She tried to get to her feet and almost fell.
Nasira caught her. ‘They took her,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’ She helped her across the traffic and past her beaten-up squad car.
Everything went a bit fuzzy after that. Sophia found herself in the back of the SUV with three bound soldiers, their masks removed to reveal glaring eyes. She ignored them and propped herself against the side, her dizziness receding.
‘Who are you?’ Sophia said.
They didn’t respond. Their hands were bound in their laps so she could see immediately if they tried to free themselves. She kept out of arm’s reach while Nasira took the wheel, relegating Aviary to the passenger seat.
‘They can probably track this vehicle so we need to ditch it,’ Nasira said.
‘Follow the operative,’ Sophia said, her voice slowly gaining strength. ‘Then we do a costume change.’ She aimed her Glock at the nearest soldier. ‘And a bit of Q and A.’
Chapter 17
Damien sprinted through a grid of white boxes on legs, each box containing a miniature flowerbed.
Over his shoulder he saw Jay a few paces behind, his face pale from the jump. At the end of the green terrace he saw the Corinthian soldiers land. They started toward Damien and Jay, swords and daggers in hand.
‘Not giving up easy, are they?’ Jay said.
Damien started running again. He reached a row of beehives. He could see the bees inside, crawling across honeycomb. Behind him, Jay ducked a spatha and kicked one of the soldiers into a garden bed. It collapsed and both the soldier and the garden bed hit the ground together, spilling soil across the fake grass. Jay stole one of the wooden legs and kept moving.
Another soldier rushed through an aisle of boxes toward Damien, puglio gleaming in one hand. Damien stepped to one side, revealing a beehive behind him. He ripped the cage door from its slide. It wasn’t the swarm of angry insects he was hoping for, but a flurry of unsettled bees launched into the soldier, slowing him enough for Damien, still holding the beehive door, to bat the puglio from his grasp and slip the cage door under the soldier’s golden helm, crushing his carotid artery. The soldier passed out, covered in confused bees, and fell back onto another beehive. It tumbled to the floor and spewed more bees. These ones were angrier.
In a clear demonstration of bee avoidance, Jay circled behind Damien and sprinted for the door at the end of the terrace. No fewer than five soldiers followed. Damien knew the remainder would be gunning for the elevators in this tower to cut them off.
Jay had reached the door at the end, his lockpicks already in the lock.
‘Got it!’ Jay said just as Damien arrived.
An arrow shot past Damien’s ear. It punched through Jay’s shoulder as he opened the door. Damien rushed toward him, helping him through as he lost his footing. He almost deafened Damien as they stepped into a day spa.
‘What the fuck!’ Jay yelled. ‘Who shoots someone with a fucking arrow?!’
Blood dripped over the marble floor. Damien could see the arrow was a narrow one, fortunately for Jay it was designed more to penetrate armor than cut as many arteries as possible. Jay hadn’t recognized his good fortune quite yet; he was now on both knees as he looked down at the arrowhead in disbelief.