“Er, excuse me, love—” Drake began as the gap closed fast.
Dahl braced himself. The woman had her long blond hair wrapped into a vicious bob which slapped both sides of her face as she ran. The trainers were vivid green, Asics, and brand new. The outfit was tight, made for running, the Barcelona shirt now gone, and the small baseball cap barely hanging on. Drake saw only one way to go and moved forward himself, not believing she would actually tackle the two of them but preparing for the chance.
The woman skidded in, dropping low and kicking out at Drake’s knees. The polished floor was a perfect surface for her, almost as if she’d planned for it. He skipped left, avoiding a broken shin or knee, and tried to tackle her about the waist. The position was awkward. She sailed past.
Dahl waded in too, but the woman angled her body so that the mad Swede toppled over her. He hit the floor hard, groaning. Kinimaka positioned himself at the end of her slide, reaching out with open arms. The woman skipped left, then right, gave him a wide berth and prepared to take off again. In fact, Yorgi was the only one capable of matching her with his buildering skills and knowledge of parkour, but what he gained in movement he lacked in fighting ability. The woman met him head on — literally — and gave him a bloody nose.
Drake scrambled toward her, using the floor for purchase. “Shit, did you see—?”
“Slipperier than a Frenchman covered in baby oil,” Alicia agreed. “And nothing solid to hang on to her with. Shit, you two are bloody useless.”
Drake dived for the woman, a headlong plunge, just as she jinked right and scurried for the stairs. His outstretched fingers brushed her ankles, but she evaded him, leaving him sprawling and staring at the well-polished floor.
“Bollocks.”
“You were saying?” Mai panted as she skipped over him. “About nails?”
Drake rose, but Dahl cut him off, managing to barge the woman at the exact moment she turned on the speed. Her momentum changed and she staggered headlong, reaching to keep her balance. Then she spun, drove a hand under Dahl’s neck and another into his groin, left him shuddering and shocked, moaning on the spot.
“That was close,” Kinimaka said.
“Get the f-feeling she held back,” Dahl said.
“Good job you were here though,” Alicia mocked. “To slow her with your balls.”
At the top of the stairs now their quarry chanced a look back. Mai was almost upon her, Alicia a step away. Drake and Dahl scrambled up and Kinimaka lumbered alongside. The flight down to the next level wasn’t long. Mai slowed slightly and reached out.
Alicia barged past her. “Pull your big girl panties up, Sprite. This bitch goes all the way down.”
The Englishwoman barged hard into their quarry, smashing her against the handrail and forcing out a scream. Without pause the woman rebounded past Alicia, saw a gap, and leapt four stairs straight into it, landing like a cat and with perfect poise.
“Talk about a freakin’ cat burglar,” Kinimaka said.
Drake had never seen anyone so ‘on it’, except perhaps for Beau. This woman had mad evasion skills and was embarrassing the team. What had Webb required of her? Alicia was fuming, almost angry enough to take her shoe off and throw it at the escapee.
Dahl then stepped around them all. “Let’s stop pussyfooting around, shall we?”
The Swede reached out, ripped a metal trashcan from its moorings, held it aloft and dropped it over the railing, timed perfectly to land on the fleeing woman’s head. She never saw it coming, but the impact was a loud, resounding clang. The force of the heavy object sent her into a slump and a slither down the rest of the staircase.
Now, finally, she stopped moving.
“Shit, Torsty, we didn’t want to kill the bitch,” Alicia growled.
“She’ll be okay,” Dahl said. “See, she’s twitching.”
“Let’s hope she can still speak.”
Drake hurried toward her, then reached out tentatively. The woman was well and truly out cold. He keyed his mic.
“We have the woman. Beau’s on his own though, chasing Webb.”
“Seriously?” Hayden came back. “It took five of you to take her down?”
“She was one thorny little snag,” Alicia said.
“Beau?” Hayden said. “You there?”
“Lowest level,” the Frenchman said. “I have eyes on Webb. Thought he’d evaded me but I got lucky. Come fast, he’s about to run again.”
“Still in the chase, guys,” Hayden said. “Stay on it. Take Tyler Webb down.”
“And stay alert out there,” Kinimaka added. “We haven’t heard from this cult yet and I get the feeling we’re about to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tyler Webb was finding that the last few days of running had started to give him a new lease of life. Ignore the cramps and the pain, the shin splints, the knee jabs and the black spots dancing wildly before your eyes, and it really wasn’t too bad. Overcome the agony, and he felt he could probably run forever. Outrun an Olympian. Take on one of those new-fangled mud sports.
In any case, I can shake off Drake and his cronies.
Not that he wanted to shake off all of them. Hayden Jaye — she still had possibilities which he longed to be in a position to explore. Maybe later. Maybe after.
For now, Webb escaped the stadium with only Beauregard close enough to worry about. Only Beauregard. Bit of a contradiction there; he knew the Frenchman’s capabilities. Almost on a par with his own. Little to choose between them. But still, he’d best evade a fight. He laughed out loud.
Webb raced past security men too engrossed in their Bluetooth comms to see him coming. He’d stashed a gun outside the ground earlier, and now felt retrieving it might help slow the pursuit. He headed that way via the big gates, seeing the Frenchman coming closer but more interested in what Sabrina the thief had told him.
She was the best of her kind, a midnight prowler without reputation, rival or equal. The world’s greatest thief that nobody had ever heard of. And mostly, that fact soothed her. Occasionally it infuriated her.
Webb didn’t know her well or call on her often, but the huge retainer he’d deposited in her account every month paid for a short window of loyalty. This was it. The woman — named Sabrina Balboni as far as he knew — was a tall, lithe woman with a fiery Italian heart, moves that made The Flash look sluggish and a temper that could overpower volcanoes. Though appearing blond, she had jet black hair and jet black eyes. Webb had called upon her because the next few steps of his quest were beyond most people — even him. They required entry to some complex places.
The last clue in Paris had been so wondrous, revealing the arts of ancient alchemy to his awestruck eyes and providing pointers to the next stage of his quest, here in Barcelona. The thing that rankled was that Drake and co. had found it after him, and were now no doubt scratching their heads over the discoveries. But never mind, he was still way ahead of them and counting down toward the culmination of all he had ever sought.
The great treasure of Saint Germain.
Webb was roughly snatched out of his dreamworld and catapulted back to the present as Beauregard caught him up. Too desperate to be shocked, Webb barged through the gates and outside the ground, spied a gaggle of tourists and onlookers, and plowed straight into them. Screams sounded as Webb put on a high-pitched dramatic voice.
“He has a gunnnnnn!”
Beau was slowed and Webb accelerated. Something realistic and regular inside told him he stood no proper chance against the Frenchman, so he quickly sought an alternative. Red hot flashes sped from the soles of his feet to his hips as he almost toppled. This running around would be the death of him.