CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
T hat wasn’t them! That wasn’t them!”
Naomi sprinted over to the detectives from Scotland Yard. “It wasn’t them. The car was bogus. Did anyone get a look at the plates?”
The two policemen looked at them, completely stunned. Then they jumped in their car, one with his cell phone out, the other spinning it around, siren beeping, and took off after the Mercedes.
Naomi started in after.
“No.” Hauck grabbed her by the arm. He remembered the maze of one-way streets that led out to Park Lane. The SUV could be on any of them. “Come with me!” He pulled her in the other direction. “This way!”
He took off in the opposite direction, Naomi running a stride behind. Toward Hyde Park, out of the quiet mews. How could this have happened? Everything had been tightly controlled. Only insiders knew. It was like with Thibault all over again. He just knew they had to get to that car before it disappeared into traffic. Or they’d never see the al-Bashir family again.
They shot around the corner. It led to a short residential row of Georgians that intersected Chesterfield on the diagonal. Mayfair Terrace. Hauck stopped, frantically tried to reconstruct the labyrinth of streets and squares and how they led back onto the main road. He realized he had only minutes. He pointed toward a street. “Down here!”
They ran down it, his pulse on overdrive, as if his own daughter was in that car.
Naomi took out her gun. She kept up stride for stride. They got to the end of the street. It led to two more streets, each splitting off in a different direction. Hauck had no idea where they led. He scanned both ways, trying to calculate where the Mercedes would have to intersect back with Park Lane.
Naomi looked in both directions, white with fear. “We can’t lose them, Ty!”
“Down here!” He chose left and prayed. The street was like a replica of Chesterfield Mews. More expensive homes. There was a fancy, small hotel across the street. Ahead of them a family stepped out on the sidewalk with a stroller. “Federal agents,” Naomi yelled, almost barreling into them as they ran by.
At the corner they both stopped, looked around in frustration. “Are you sure?”
“No,” he said. He scanned around frantically for some sign of the car. “I’m not sure!”
He didn’t see it! He knew they had only about a minute to find the car, maybe seconds, and then it would disappear into traffic. There could be dozens of black Mercedes SUVs around the city.
Without a read on the plates, they could be anywhere.
His heart was pounding.
His gaze turned to a small street that cut off on a diagonal in the direction of Park Lane, a church on the corner. His instincts said go. The bell was tolling. People milled around in front. Past them, Hauck could see that it seemed to connect with a larger street up ahead. He spotted traffic, people crossing by.
Naomi took off ahead of him. “Up here!”
This was going to be their one and only chance. He took off, praying what they saw up ahead was Park Lane. Praying even harder the Mercedes hadn’t gotten there first. He recalled how they had to weave around through the grid to get out of there earlier. Sweat was coming through his clothes, soaking him.
He caught up to Naomi as they neared the end. They both came to a stop, huffing. The lane fed into the main thoroughfare. Thank God. The Mercedes would have to have come through here. It had to wind around. That’s what they had done the day before. But there could have been many ways out of the mews.
“This is it!”
They got to the corner, praying they weren’t too late. Feverishly, they looked around in every direction.
Naomi shook her head in frustration. “I don’t see it! Damn it, where is it, Ty?”
Then, about a block ahead, he caught sight of the front grille of a black vehicle, about to turn, pulled up at a light.
It was his only option. He ran toward it.
The car turned onto Park Lane. A Mercedes SUV.
His heart sprang with hope. “There it is!”
He sprinted after it, praying it was the same vehicle. Naomi kept up a couple of lengths behind.
There was no sight of the Scotland Yard car. They ran into the middle of the busy street, dodging through traffic. A cabbie stopped and angrily blew his horn at Hauck.
The distance between them and the black Mercedes began to narrow. Please, be it, Hauck begged.
Park Lane was a bustling thoroughfare. Six lanes. People everywhere. Obstructing them.
Hyde Park was to their right. Up ahead, the Mercedes pulled up at an intersection. Onto Piccadilly. It had its signal on, about to turn. Piccadilly was a long, traffic-free straightaway.
This was their only chance.
Holding up his palms, knifing in between oncoming cars, Hauck ran across the street. His lungs were bursting now as he pursued as fast as he could.
Naomi stayed right with him. “Get there before it turns, Ty…”
Hauck ran through the middle of the crowded street, searching for a policeman but not seeing one. A car pulled out from behind the Mercedes’s lane and now they had a clear shot.
Thirty yards ahead.
Twenty. The vehicle in front of the Mercedes made its turn.
The Mercedes lurched. They were out of time.
Hauck heard Naomi’s voice shout from behind. “Get out of the way!” She stopped and kneeled into a shooting position. She had a clear shot, no pedestrians in front of them.
She extended her gun.
She squeezed off three quick shots, aiming for the Mercedes’s tires.
Two skidded off the asphalt; the third clanged uselessly into the underbelly of the vehicle.
None of them seemed to find its mark.
“Shit!”
Suddenly people everywhere began to scream.
The Mercedes’s tires screeched and the vehicle jerked into a sharp turn. It forced its way through the onrushing traffic. Hauck chased it in the oncoming lane, ten yards behind.
Five.
Damn it-it was turning. Naomi’s shots hadn’t struck home.
In his one last chance, just as the vehicle jolted forward, he dove.
He felt his hands scratch against the driver’s-side rear window, then make contact with the door. He clung desperately to hold on to the metal handle. He squeezed, trying to open it, his only hope.
The sonovabitch was locked.
The SUV sped up on Piccadilly, starting to pull away.
Hauck held on, one hand on the handle, his other groping for the luggage rack above. His feet dangled against the pavement as he was dragged along. He caught a view of the startled family inside-Marty, his wife-suddenly realizing what was happening to them. Screaming at the driver. Somehow Hauck had to pry the door open.
He had to stop this car.
The vehicle picked up speed and wove between lanes in an effort to shake him off. If he could just get his other hand on the luggage rack, he could stay on. Someone would have to see them. A policeman. See what was going on.
Stop them.
His heart bursting through his chest, he lunged with both hands for the rack. The Mercedes lurched to the side with a jerk. He tried to pull himself up, every muscle in his body straining. Hold it, Ty…Now, just a second more…
The SUV jerked to the right. His fingers slid off. No…
He hit the road, screaming inside.
The Mercedes accelerated sharply along the straightaway, no traffic to obstruct it now.
Helpless, Hauck watched it drive away, prone. He sank his head against his arm, mashing his fist into the road.
The frightened face of al-Bashir’s youngest son looked back through the darkened window as it sped away.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Empty, dejected, Hauck found his way back to Naomi, who was waiting, ashen faced, at the corner of the park.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He wiped off his clothes and looked at his hands, which were imprinted with deep, red marks from his attempt to hold on to the car.