She lay in her position, allowing her brain to scan her body, sending impulses to neurons, receiving acknowledgement, and decided she was fine — bruised, dazed, but in one piece — the thick leather she wore cushioning her fall. She removed her helmet and saw she was about twenty feet away from the edge of the highway, where the line of woods started. She could see the hoods parked in the distance behind her, her bike sprawled sideways at the edge of the highway. Eric’s taillights brightened as he slowed down ahead, and in the far distance she could see the two Escalades. She checked her watch, less than ten seconds since her crash.
Breathing deeply, once, twice, clearing her mind, she pressed the earbud back in and heard the urgent voices calling out for her.
‘I’m fine, guys. The bike slipped around a pothole, but I’m fine. Eric, you carry on. Broker, could Tony get me?’
‘I will, ma’am. I’m a mile behind you.’
Bear twisted back in his seat and took the scene in in a glance. ‘Chloe, are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes,’ she said impatiently. ‘You guys stick to the plan. Tony and I will catch up with you.’
Bear relaxed at her impatient tone and mouthed at Roger, ‘She is fine.’
‘The lady’s spoken. Let’s haul ass,’ Broker announced, and they floored their rides.
Cruz’s motorcade was visible in the distance; it had slowed down when the last vehicle had called them, and then had picked up speed, hustling down the narrow road.
One hitter stuck his head out of an open window of the lead vehicle, shouted, his words lost in the wind, poked his head out again, and fired an automatic rifle, the bullet singing harmlessly in the air.
The lead vehicle abruptly left the highway, crashing through the undergrowth in a thinner section of the woods with waist-high grass and shrubs, the tree line about a mile away. They could see heads turning and watching them through the darkened windows of Cruz’s vehicle as the two vehicles flattened undergrowth, heavy going on the soft, uneven ground. The shrub was a flat, green, dense expanse, stretching wide and deep to the tree line, with an occasional tree spearing up.
‘Woods,’ Bwana yelled, and Broker nodded. If they reached the tree line and vanished into the dense foliage, their hunt would be harder.
He swung hard, catching them, ramming Cruz’s ride in the rear, whipping it from side to side before its driver controlled it, but not before it surged forward and grazed the lead vehicle.
The two vehicles sped up, now having the advantage over the heavier pursuers. Broker’s Escalades were great for tarmac; here, they were weighed down by the armor plating and moved slower and sluggishly.
The lead vehicle angled, and two hoods opened fire from the rear windows, their bullets singing in the sky harmlessly, some spattering against their roofs. They ducked back inside when Bwana cracked his window open and loosed a long spray at them, the going too uneven for accurate shooting.
‘Come on,’ Broker growled, coaxing more torque, the RPM already in the red. ‘Rog, can you go faster?’ he shouted.
‘Nope, on this soil, this is a frigging tank.’
Two hundred yards between the pairs of wheels when luck swung their way.
The lead vehicle came to a sudden stop, its follower nearly crashing into it from behind. Bwana risked a quick poke out of the window. ‘Tree fallen across, long and wide.’
He paused for a beat. ‘Lead vehicle will pour covering fire for the rear, and they’ll make a run for it.’
‘Roger, Bear?’ he called out.
‘Yo. We know what to do.’
On cue, the first automatic opened up from the lead, followed by three others, making time for the second vehicle to turn sideways, driver side to them.
Broker opened his mouth to shout, but Bwana had leapt out, making for the brush, rolling down beneath the stream of fire, most of it going high above them. Broker turned off the ignition and, flinging his door open, dived under its cover, into the shrub.
The automatics turned off one by one as the hitters ran behind Cruz, Diego, and their driver, their heads bobbing above the waist-height shrub.
Thirteen hundred yards to the tree line.
And then the firing opened again, steady, bouncing off the now empty Escalades, seeking them in the thick grass.
Bwana looked at Broker, beneath their ride, and didn’t need to speak when he saw it in the other’s eyes. Some, maybe all five of them behind the log, providing covering fire while Cruz ran for safety.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, Roger, and nodded at what he saw in his eyes.
Roger drifted off in the undergrowth, making as much noise as a big cat, Bear shadowing him on Broker’s side. The two split wide, heading to the log from behind which the hitters were firing sporadically. They had unleashed a barrage at the green foliage and then realized they were more likely to run out of ammo than hitting anyone and had settled down to firing occasional bursts.
Bwana took a breath and leapt up once, taking in the scene at a glance. Cruz, Diego, and their driver were running to the sanctuary of the forest, trotting since Diego and the driver weren’t in the best shape, and had covered about a hundred yards.
Bwana ducked back and crawled ten feet away swiftly, just in time, avoiding a hail of bullets. ‘I’m good. Rog, Bear, take those guys out,’ he said softly before anyone asked him.
They would flank the tree from either side, about a hundred feet away, and would either take the hoods out from whatever cover they could find, or disarm them. Bear patted his pockets, he’d enough magazines with him for his handgun, but would have preferred the M41 back in their ride. He visualized the fallen tree, mentally marked where he would come at it, and the foliage opened to welcome him. The hitters had Uzis and AK-47s from the sound of them, and they had Glocks. He shrugged mentally. Felt even to him.
Bwana crawled back towards the vehicle and rolled under it, joining Broker. Broker was fiddling with something he had drawn from his fatigues, and when Bwana looked at it closely, he saw a thin cable camera that had a phone attachment at one end.
Broker twisted the long cable, and it became a firm five-foot stalk. Plugging in the phone end, he raised it above the grass, slowly, so that it didn’t stick far above the shrub.
The picture came blurry initially and then cleared, like a live video feed. The guns had gone quiet, and in the distance they could see the three who had fled had stopped and were gesticulating at one another. One of them, the driver, came running back and said something to those behind the tree, and head shakes and furious hand gestures followed.
After another round of furious hand waving, backed up by some shouting from Diego and Cruz, the driver ran backward, his hand cradling his automatic rifle. They could see heads bobbing up and down behind the log, and twin bursts of firing followed, providing covering fire for two hitters darting out, bent double, and disappearing in the shrub at opposite ends.
Bwana raised his hand and shot blindly in their direction, but knew he had missed. Broker and he crawled swiftly away, but they didn’t draw fire.
‘Bogeys coming your way, one each, maybe two,’ Bwana said in a low tone in his mic.
He got two acknowledging clicks.
‘I think all four have left the tree,’ Broker told him in a low voice.
Bwana risked another quick leap and saw no bobbing heads. He crouched down and looked as Broker scanned his camera and shook his head. He hustled a few feet at an angle, in the direction of the tree, and raised his head again, gun ready. Nothing.
Cruz and his companions were making distance, and Bwana, after motioning to Broker, set off after them, his Glock held high and ready.