Pulling the car back into the lane, I take a moment to brush myself off. The rain batters me through the gaping hole, now making it nearly impossible to see. I reach into my backpack with one hand, grab my goggles, and slip them on. Now I could drive through a dust storm and it wouldn't bother me. I then glance in the rearview mirror and see that my mug is lightly dotted with streaks of blood. Sons of bitches. I draw my own handgun and speed up. Most of the other drivers on the freeway are now aware of us and try to give us a wide berth. It's as if they're all communicating with each other--"Stay away from those mad-men in the limos!" Only in Hollywood.
I'm now neck and neck with Enemy Limo, riding alongside his left. I lower the passenger window, point the Five-seveN, and squeeze the trigger. The round sears the driver's nose, destroying his window in the process. I hear the guy yell as he grabs his face. Enemy Limo skids into mine and we both careen across the lanes, out of control. I'm forced to apply the brakes to avoid spinning into another goddamned limousine. They're all over this town! Enemy Limo has a few seconds to recover and the driver picks up speed. I straighten the wheel and take off again in pursuit. With the gun in my left hand, I reach out the window and fire at the limo's back tires. The road is too bumpy and my aim isn't great with my left. I succeed in knocking out a taillight but that does little good except prompting the bozo with the weapon to lean out his window again. This time, however, he's got a rifle.
The guy is Yvan Putnik! Katia's killer! He was in Enemy Limo all along.
He fires but I'm already jerking the wheel to the left and guiding the limo into the next lane with the force of a tank. I broadside a taxicab but bounce back into the lane as I hear police sirens growing louder. I can see them now, three patrol cars with lights blazing, making their way through the scattered traffic behind us. We're getting closer to the 405 again as we cross over Sherman Oaks on the left and Van Nuys on the right. I can see another block of congestion ahead and I dread there's going to be some real carnage if I don't put a stop to this real soon.
Enemy Limo finds itself trapped between a ten-wheeler in front and a bus in back. This gives me the chance to floor the pedal and shoot up the lane beside it. I raise the handgun, aim out the passenger window, and squeeze the trigger as I pass the driver. This time I don't miss. The guy's head explodes in a mass of red and black goo.
Whatever causes the ten-wheeler's driver to suddenly change lanes, I don't know, but that's what he does--right in front of me. With no one at the wheel, Enemy Limo wavers, finally moving on a collision course with the right rail. I desperately try to steer around the stupid ten-wheeler when the asshole slams on his brakes. I remember two things. The first is that I see someone in Enemy Limo climbing over the partition to grab the steering wheel. The second thing is the back end of the ten-wheeler in my face.
"SAM?Sam? Sam? Sam? Sam? Sam . . . ? . . . Sam . . . ? . . . Sam . . . ?"
I think I hear Coen's voice. I'm not sure if it's a dream or what the hell it is. I feel pain in my shoulders and back. I'm aware of a puffy balloonlike thingin my face and then realize it's an air bag. I'm wedged in the front seat of the limo. I see my arms and hands flailing on the outside of the bag and there's blood on them. I then notice the odd angle of the horizon outside the bent and misshapen dashboard. The road is perpendicular to the limo's hood. Damn, the car is on its side and I'm stuck inside. And there's water everywhere.
And then everything goes dark.
31
Iopen my eyes inside an ambulance. Coen is sitting beside me with an expression of concern on her face. The vehicle shakes and bounces over the road and I hear the piercing siren above the rumble of the engine. I take stock of my body and am happy to find no oxygen mask attached to my face. I feel pain in my side but for some reason I'm not dead.
"Hey," Coen says. "Look who's still with us."
"What's going on?" I manage to ask. My voice comes out hoarse.
"You're on the way to the hospital, pal. Doesn't look too serious, so you can relax."
Then I remember. "I wiped out."
"Yeah, but your bulletproof vest saved your life. And the air bag."
Damn, I forgot about that, too. Lambert and Coen made me put it on under my civvies before I left the Sofitel.
"They have to X-ray you," she continues. "You're gonna be pretty bruised up. And your face looks like a pizza. But other than that you're probably gonna be fine."
I'm suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue. "Then if you don't mind, I'm going to take a nap until we get there," I say.
"Go right ahead."
And I do.
I'Mreleased from the hospital around dinnertime. Coen was right, it wasn't too bad. I have two cracked ribs that should heal on their own if I take it easy. There's a bad gash on my left leg from when the limo crashed into the truck. That required eight stitches. My shoulders hurt like hell from the impact but thankfully nothing was broken or sprained there. I suppose my neck might have been broken, but as they say, I was lucky. Finally, my face looks like I've been through a perforator. Again, it appears worse than it is. The nicks and scratches should heal within days and leave me with no permanent scars.
However, for the wound on my heart--Katia's death--they couldn't do anything.
In the morning I'll be flying to China via Osprey. Lambert and I had a long talk at the hospital and we agreed it was the best thing for me to do. If I went home to Maryland now I'd simply go nuts. I'd be so consumed with the thirst for revenge that I'd probably go berserk in a shopping mall. Cracked ribs aside, I'm in good enough shape to go after the bastards. Mentally, I'm focused and determined. I have to see this mission through to the end.
The three characters in Enemy Limo got away, of course. By the time the police arrived at the scene, the dead driver had been thrown onto the road and someone else had taken the wheel. Because of the rainstorm there were no police helicopters in the air to follow the car. However, the limo was found abandoned off of one of the freeway's exits. We figure the passengers were Oskar Herzog, Eddie Wu, and Yvan Putnik. Where the trio is now is anyone's guess but Lambert believes they're already out of the country. A chartered plane registered to GyroTechnics and carrying three passengers left Burbank Airport a couple of hours after the freeway incident. An hour ago, when the FBI figured out that GyroTechnics was now a defunct company, it was too late to stop them. The plane had already landed in Hawaii and was left on a private runway. The three fugitives must have caught another means of transportation back to Hong Kong or wherever they're headed. My guess is that they're going straight to China to meet up with the controversial General Tun in Fuzhou. And they're most likely carrying the MRUUV guidance system device.