"Where are you going?" Nazari asked, having not been privy to Declan's conversation with Osman.
Declan pumped a round into the shotgun. "After a coward!"
Chapter Seventy-Five
Gradually Declan made his way from the forest onto the Tobacco Heritage Trail, aiming the shotgun in front of him. The trail was nearly as wide as a two lane road and covered with finely crushed aggregate to make it ideal for bikes or horses, though from the overgrowth it looked scarcely used. He'd seen Ruslan Baktayev flee from the schoolyard and run east away from the building. In order to make it to the vehicles he would have had to double back once he reached the forest, but Declan couldn't imagine him going anywhere else if he wanted to escape the area.
Carefully, he surveyed the two white cargo vans and worn Honda SUV that Baktayev and his men had arrived in and that were now parked in a line along the edge of the trail, about a thousand feet from the nearest road. The engine compartment of each vehicle was open, evidence of Nazari's sabotage, and if Declan had to guess, he was sure that Nazari had either pulled the fuses, removed the distributor caps and disabled the rotors, or blocked the air intake to keep the vehicles from starting. Either way, no one was going anywhere with any of them.
He sank to one knee and listened intently. Sirens had started in the distance and were growing closer, and the occasional burst of gunfire came from the school, but it was clear that the fight was winding down. Having been caught on open ground, Baktayev's crew had been cut to pieces by the surprise attack. Declan focused his attention in front of him, listening for anyone approaching, but he heard nothing. Had Baktayev continued east on foot? Had he hidden another vehicle near the school? A stick snapped in the forest to his left and Declan turned, aiming the shotgun into the darkened trees as he took cover behind one of the vans. Suddenly the commotion increased and continued toward him, leaves crushing and twigs snapping under the weight of the approaching figure. In the darkness, Declan didn't see it until it was nearly on top of him. A slender doe bounded out of the tree line, stopped suddenly and looked at Declan before bolting to the right and continuing across the trail into the forest beyond.
Slowly Declan turned and redirected his attention to the east. The trail ahead of him was still empty, with no sign of the terrorist leader. A dim red light shone suddenly through one of the cargo van's tinted windows and a sputtering sound came from the forest. Declan moved fast to the front of the vehicle and aimed his weapon into the trees east of his location. Through the thick overgrowth he could still see the square red light, brighter now that he wasn't looking through the darkened windows of the cargo van, and the sputtering continued. Realizing what it was, Declan shouldered the shotgun and ran forward along the trail as the sound of a twin cycle engine roared to life and the little red square of light began advancing through the forest.
Declan ran furiously trying to intercept the dirt bike. Thirty yards from the cargo van, its rider jumped the slight incline at the edge of the trail and landed the bike on the road a few feet away. Declan jumped forward as the rear tire slid on the fine gravel and wrapped his arms around the rider's waist, bringing him and the bike to the ground, the shotgun sliding off his shoulder as they landed.
With a bellow of surprise, the man struggled to free himself from Declan's grip, throwing his elbow behind him and connecting twice with the side of Declan's head. Declan rolled away from the man and stood, the rider of the bike doing the same and turning to face his attacker with a threatening growl.
In the low light, Declan easily recognized the man in front of him as the same man he'd seen a week earlier when Abaddon Kafni had been murdered at the Briton-Adams Mansion. "Hello, Ruslan," he said, breathing heavily and assuming a fighting stance as he looked at the Chechen.
The Chechen narrowed his eyes as he pulled a long, serrated knife from inside his camouflage coat. "Who the hell are you?"
"Crossing guard," Declan quipped. "No motorbikes allowed in school zones."
The Chechen growled and launched forward with the knife. Declan blocked the attack with a sweep of his arm and thrust his fist into the side of Baktayev's jaw as the man stumbled past him. Baktayev absorbed the impact by turning with the strike and again attacked, this time stabbing downward. Declan grabbed the hand that held the knife as it came down and propelled the heel of his boot into the Chechen's stomach, rolling onto his back and allowing the man's momentum to carry him over. Baktayev landed on his back and the air rushed from his lungs in a painful gasp.
Declan raised himself to his feet and watched as the Chechen did the same, but with more difficulty. The man's crude fighting skills were clearly no match for him. "C'mon, Ruslan, I was expecting so much more from you."
"Arghh!" yelled the Chechen, advancing again, swinging the knife wildly from side to side. Declan stepped backwards methodically, allowing the blade to narrowly miss him each time. On the Chechen's fifth attempt, he blocked the attack and drove his heel into the man's side, causing him to double over and stumble backwards at the same time. As Baktayev tripped on the loose gravel and fell onto his back, Declan heard the sound of another twin cycle motor.
A single headlight washed over the area and Declan dived out of the way as another rider on a dirt bike sped past, attempting to run him down. The rider braked hard and spun the bike around. Declan stood as the rider revved the engine and sped forward, pulling a pistol. Shots sounded and he ducked low, running into the trees for cover as the rider stopped at the fallen Baktayev and continued firing. From a prone position out of the rider's line of fire, Declan watched as Baktayev got slowly to his feet and mounted the bike behind its rider, who continued to aim the pistol into the trees and fire the occasional shot. The rider revved the engine again, stowed the pistol and the bike shot forward, churning gravel behind it as it tore down the trail.
Declan jumped to his feet and ran for the dirt bike that he'd knocked Baktayev from and that was still lying on the ground, its engine idling. He quickly scooped up the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder as he stood the bike up, mounted it and gripped the accelerator. The bike shot forward, its front wheel lifting off the ground momentarily. Declan stood from the seat and shifted his weight forward to bring the bike back onto two wheels. Ahead he could see a tiny flicker of red light and knew it was the fleeing terrorist several hundred yards down the trail. Where was the man going and who was the other rider who had appeared from nowhere? Was it part of a backup team with a second target in mind? Declan couldn't risk that, he knew he had to catch them. He pulled the accelerator tighter and leaned forward, the air slapping him in the face and bringing tears to his eyes as the bike sped up.
With the bike ahead of him carrying two, Declan was lighter and able to travel faster. He gained ground steadily as he crossed underneath an overpass and rounded a curve. Ahead he could see that the trail was beginning to open up, the forest on one side coming to an end. Baktayev's bike was a hundred yards from him when the trail opened into a vast field containing three large metal buildings and a long, flat stretch of pavement. From the flashing lights near the buildings and along the pavement, Declan knew it was an airport. Quickly, he scanned the runway and saw a single engine plane near the far end, the lights on its wings blinking. Was this Baktayev's destination?
A gunshot sounded ahead of him and he swerved the bike to the noticing that Baktayev had turned in the seat and had a gun aimed. Declan pulled the accelerator as far in as it would go and the bike shot forward closing the distance between him and Baktayev to fifty yards. Baktayev fired several more times, but couldn't get a decent shot. The terrorist leader turned forward, giving up as the rider of the bike slowed and pulled off of the trail, riding down an embankment towards the airport's runway and the waiting plane.