The motorcycle suddenly swerved into Bond’s lane, preventing him from passing. Bond was forced to ease his speed down to seventy, which gave the two men behind him an opportunity to close the gap.
Now at a distance of thirty feet, the two pursuers were side by side in the same lane behind Bond. Bond swerved into the far left lane, but all three motorcycles followed suit as if they were operating by remote control.
There was no doubt now, Bond thought, these men had to be professionals. He changed lanes again, back to the center, and then to the far right, as the superbikes immediately adjusted to pin him in again.
Bond was peering at the riders behind him in the rearview mirror when he noticed a sudden puff of black smoke just below one of the windshields. He felt a series of fast, hard jolts in the back of the Jaguar.
Bond set his jaw. The bastard had fired a volley of machine gun bullets at his petrol tank.
The two riders looked at each other as if to ask. “Why didn’t the car explode?” Bond allowed himself a smile. The body’s chobam armor was impenetrable and had reactive skins that exploded when hit, thereby deflecting the bullets. The metal was self-healing by virtue of viscous fluid.
Apparently able to communicate with each other via headsets, the riders prepared a new strategy. One of the men behind Bond pulled into the right-hand lane and sped up so that he was parallel to the Jaguar. The rider looked at Bond and mouthed what must have been an unsavory epithet.
Bond pulled the wheel sharply to the right, ramming into the motorcycle. The Kawasaki was knocked off the road and onto the shoulder, where it fell on its side and skidded for a hundred feet before stopping. Bond had hoped the cycle would be completely wrecked, but the rider apparently wasn’t harmed and would be back on the road in a minute or two. He moved the J mechanism into manual mode and floored the accelerator. The Jaguar shot ahead of the front cycle, then maneuvered around slower civilian vehicles to put some distance between him and the green bikers. Bond hoped that he wouldn’t have to use deadly force against these men on such a busy highway, and wondered if he should telephone the Belgian police on his mobile phone.
The remaining two cyclists darted in and out of the traffic to catch up with Bond. Road repairs had caused the far left lane to be closed at one point. Now relegated to only two lanes, the traffic was thicker. Bond sped up and soon found himself tailgating two ten-wheel lorries that were blocking both lanes. They were both traveling at unsafe speeds, attempting to outrace each other. Bond honked the horn, hoping that one would pull into the other’s lane. The driver in the lorry in front of him blasted his own horn, challenging Bond to do something about it.
“Defense systems on,” Bond said aloud. One of the new features that Q Branch had put in the car was voice activation for all systems— phone, audio, lighting, and, of course, weaponry. An icon flashed on the telematics screen on the dashboard, indicating that Bond’s command had been executed.
“Activate flying scout,” he said. An outline of the scout, a device the size of a small model airplane, appeared on the screen. It was stored underneath the chassis until it was activated from inside the car. The scout could fly out from under the vehicle and reach an altitude of Bond’s choosing. It was steerable by joystick or satellite navigation.
The display changed to read SCOUT READY.
“Launch scout,” he commanded. He felt a sudden whoosh behind the Jaguar as the scout ejected from its bay. The batlike vehicle soared out and up into the air, then turned so that it was traveling thirty feet above and parallel with the Jaguar. The two motorcyclists couldn’t believe their eyes. One of them pointed to the scout and shouted something.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Bond used his left hand to manipulate the joystick. He sent the scout forward and increased its speed so that it would move up beside the lorries, which were still barreling down the road neck and neck.
Bond lowered the scout slowly without decreasing its speed. Like a hummingbird, the aircraft gently positioned itself so that it was flying at door level in between the two lorries. The driver of the Lorry on the right looked to his left and saw the strange contraption flying just outside his window. He gasped and almost ran off the road, but he managed to straighten the wheel in time.
The chobam armor, which also coated the scout, was quite effective for battering purposes. Bond moved the joystick so that the plane swung to the right with great force, shattering the driver’s window with its wing. He pulled the scout up and out of the way as the driver then completely lost control of the lorry. It careened off the road, over the shoulder, then turned over and crashed into the ditch.
That should get the attention of the police, Bond thought. He increased the speed and shot past the other lorry, whose frightened driver had dropped his speed to forty. The scout, meanwhile, returned to its place above the Jaguar.
Surprisingly, a stretch of road ahead of Bond was relatively traffic free. He opened up, hoping that the two pursuers would follow him into the clear area. In a moment he saw them zoom past the lorry that he had left behind. One Kawasaki was gaining fast, the other dropping back a bit.
“Prepare silicon fluid bomb,” Bond said. Another new feature on the car, the oil or silicon fluid explosives could be dropped from the rear bumper into the path of a pursuing vehicle. They were more direct and caused “cleaner” damage than the Jaguar’s heat-seeking rockets, which were meant for heavier targets.
The Kawasaki moved into position behind Bond, and the rider fired its machine gun again. Bond felt the impact ricochet off the back of the car, then said, “Launch bomb.”
A device the size of a compact disc dropped out of the bumper and rolled out onto the road. The rider on the motorcycle saw it and attempted to swerve around it, but it was too late. The device exploded with a tremendous blast, sending pieces of the Kawasaki and its rider into the air. The highway was soon littered with black smoke, burnt metal, and seared body parts.
The other rider pulled into the left lane and zigzagged around the debris, staying on Bond’s tail. When he was in range, he fired his guns at the Jaguar, too.
“Ready rear laser,” Bond said. The icon appeared on the screen.
The cycle moved closer, the bullets still flying. One of the back tires burst, but the car was engineered so that it could run on flats.
“Count of three for one-second laser flash,” Bond said. “One . . . two . . . three.”
The sudden bright light confused the rider behind him. At first he thought it was glare from the sun, bouncing off a piece of reflective metal on the back of the Jaguar. Momentarily blinded, he kept the handlebars straight, hoping that his sight would clear in a few seconds— but then the pain began. His eyes felt as if they were being burned with hot pokers, and then there was nothing but darkness. The laser flash had permanently seared his retinas.
Bond watched in the rearview mirror as the Kawasaki wobbled and veered to the left. It crashed through the repair lane and guardrail, then slid into the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road. Horns blared and drivers slammed on their brakes. Several cars crashed into one another in an effort to avoid hitting the motorcycle, but the Kawasaki was run over by a van and dragged at least two hundred yards before both hunks of metal came to a stop.
Bond could hear sirens in the distance. They were coming from the city, the opposite direction from which he was traveling. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the third motorcycle, the one he had bumped off the road earlier, had rejoined the chase Bond presumed correctly that this rider was unaware of the flying scout soaring above the Jaguar at a safe distance. He gently pushed the joystick so that the scout decreased speed, then made an about-face. Bond brought the scout down to a level equal to that of the cyclist, then pushed the throttle. It shot back toward the cycle at full speed.