Austin choked a little, still peering up and to the right. The road opened up even further ahead, flat green lawns dotted here and there with trees. Austin stood on the gas pedal once more, overtaking a late-night slow driver, making the small engine protest with a roar. Alicia made sure her seatbelt was tight, wondering for a moment just how long the kid had been driving.
“You think they know?” he asked.
“What, that we’re chasing them?” Russo had his face pressed to the window. “Hard to say.”
Alicia glanced back at the big man. “Always took you for a window licker, mate. It looks well on you.”
Russo grunted. Caitlyn leaned across him. “Crouch had all the links to the FBI. He had the mission info. All we can do at this point is try not to lose them.”
“Inconsiderate bastard,” Alicia murmured. “Getting taken like that.”
They wound through several more curves in the road, traveling at speed, the tires screeching around the bends. Austin overtook another driver, and received a blast on the horn for his trouble.
“If they’re not honking, they’re not happy.” Alicia watched the other driver as they passed.
“Who? Americans?” Russo asked.
“No. Fools.”
The wide Potomac came ahead now, a sight to behold, illuminated dimly in the dark. The highway widened to four lanes, the landscape so open that they could clearly see the people sitting in the chopper as it flew across the rolling river.
“I see Crouch,” Russo said. “In the middle.”
“Yeah, Cutler and Lee too,” Caitlyn added.
“They’re staying pretty straight,” Alicia said. “Maybe they don’t know we’re following.”
The river undulated to either side of the road for what seemed forever, but at the speed they were going was less than a minute. The chopper was painted black, with decals along the side that promised the best city views.
No doubt stolen, Alicia thought. In another few minutes they were speeding along another blacktop with the Pentagon nestling to the right.
“Doesn’t look much from ground level.” Alicia peered across.
“No way will that chopper be allowed to—” As she spoke, Caitlyn suddenly broke off. The chopper veered right over them, avoiding any proximity with the Pentagon, now flying low to their left. Alicia heard its powerful roar as it crossed their path and saw the underside of the body.
“Keep ’em in sight!” Russo yelled.
The chopper was still drifting to the left, moving further away.
Austin swerved over to the left-hand lane, which sent him away from the small flow of traffic and over a bridge, crossing over a network of coiling roads. The landscape was still open, but tall buildings ahead promised a lessening of vision in about five minutes. Austin kept up the pace.
Buildings rose up on both sides. The chopper threaded through them, following the line of the highway. In front, the road was clear, but Alicia refrained from trying to force the aircraft to land. Too many things could go wrong.
We can’t follow it all night.
What else could they do? Crouch had all the FBI contact info and passwords. Without a direct communication to the right people it could take hours to get hold of someone, and previously they hadn’t sounded all that interested even for Crouch.
Maybe the mall event had finished.
For now, we chase… chase the…
“What did Crouch say?” she suddenly asked. “Back there? He shouted something before they took him.”
Caitlyn nodded. “He said something like: ‘I’ll make it work. Long way to go. Chase the fucking gold!’”
Alicia pursed her lips. “Any ideas?”
“Clearly, it’s cryptic,” Caitlyn said, still thrown left and right by the car as Austin overtook a slow vehicle. “But why? Often, he refers to us as the Gold Team. We’re always hunting the gold. It sounds like he overheard something, because he said: ‘long way to go’. Somehow, we have to chase the gold.”
Alicia let out a sigh. “Maybe he’s the gold, in this case.”
“Or the banner?” Caitlyn suggested.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Russo said. “Since they’re both together.”
“For now,” Alicia said. “For now.”
Still, the landscape remained relatively open, and the chopper’s flight was easily spotted in the night. It veered even more to the left, but the car went with it, leaving their highway and joining 18th Street and then Bell Street as they tried to keep it in sight. These roads were narrower, more dangerous, but Austin kept the car planted nicely. Concrete structures rose to left and right, hindering visibility enough so that Austin had to switch again and again to track the chopper. The tires complained with every turn, the tailpipe belching out fumes. Alicia held on to the grab handle to help settle her stomach.
South Clark Street came next, according to the satnav, a road that ran alongside the wider Jefferson. Alicia hoped for a better road, but then the chopper flew right over them, tilting drastically as if the pilot were trying to evade something.
“Shit, that can’t be good,” Alicia said.
The chopper veered back, and this time they got a quick glance through the side windows. Crouch had made a move, or Alicia at least thought it was Crouch. She guessed it could as easily be Cutler. The figure was fighting with the mercs in the back, and then she saw him wrap an arm around the pilot’s throat.
“Get after it!” she cried.
“I’m trying,” Austin said. “Bloody thing’s all over the place.”
“That can’t be Crouch.” Russo scrutinized the helicopter as it swing from side to side. “His military training would prevent it. It’s too risky.”
“Civilian then. Paul Cutler.” Alicia wondered briefly how the thieves had fallen out with their employers. Hopefully, they hadn’t known about the terror event. That would put them firmly in the camp of Crouch’s allies.
The chopper half-rolled and lost altitude, then swooped right above them, cutting between concrete buildings. Alicia winced as she watched, aware the pilot had little control and could crash at any time.
“Oh, my God,” Caitlyn said. “It’s going down.”
A rotor clipped an upright pillar, shearing off. The noise was the stuff of nightmares, a loud crunching clang. Bits of concrete sheared off along with the rotor, which skimmed along the street and ended up embedded, still shuddering, in a shop window. The chopper tilted, its nose scraping the asphalt as the pilot sought to save it. The body came down then, and the whole thing became a skimming receptacle, sparks and road surface thrown up to left and right and showering out behind. The protesting roar of the engine and metal ripping to pieces was tremendous.
Alicia held onto the grab bar and the car roof, fully alert as Austin drove their car hard in pursuit of the crashing, sliding chopper, flinging the wheel to left and right as he sought to evade torn off bits of steel and glass.
“Fuck me!” Russo cried. “Back the fuck off, lad!”
But Austin somehow managed not to hear, playing chicken with the skating aircraft, keeping the car’s front firmly in its wake. A chunk of metal broke the windshield, another made a huge dint in the hood before skipping overhead. The chopper began to turn then, the back end forcing the front around, and they could see through the side windows as they continued the chase.
Men fought, guns raised. Two shots were fired up through the roof, perforating the metal. The pilot struggled, alone. Alicia could see a spray of blood across the glass, and then a face pressed up against the window.
“Get ready.”
The chopper slowed, scraping against the sidewalk curb and shuddering to a halt, smoking, falling apart even as she watched. Austin brought the car alongside with a ninety-degree handbrake turn, tires screeching and rubber burning.