She raised her head. Her face was red and her eyes filled with water.
“They’d arrest you on the spot,” she said.
“Why me?”
“Because I’m with the CIA.”
Confusion turned to primal fear as he sensed his past catching up with him. He let go of her and engaged his survival instincts. He was apprehensive but cool.
“So you work for the CIA? How does that get me arrested?”
“Because you’re not Jake Savin. You’re Lieutenant Jacob Slate, responsible for the hijacking of the USS Colorado. I know everything. The Tai Chiang, the Miami, and now the Hamza. And because I lost my cool, I’m sure they’re going to bring you in as soon as they can.”
Jake knew she was unarmed but backed away as if she could strike with venom.
“I knew you were too good to be true,” he said. “Pierre warned me, but I didn’t believe him.”
“I’m not a complete lie,” she said. “Not everything.”
“What do I believe?”
“I want to help you.”
“Bullshit.”
She raised her voice.
“If I didn’t want to help you, you’d already be in a brig awaiting your Court Martial.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s say you got me by the balls, and you’re my only chance of freedom. Why would you help me?”
“Because I think you’re worth it,” she said.
For lack of a better option, he had to believe her.
“Pierre and I have pre-arranged escape scenarios,” he said. “I have some body armor and non-lethal weapons in my basement. We put on the armor, suit up, and—”
“I didn’t say I was going with you,” she said.
“You just said you have no one else. And from the way you’re behaving, it sounds like your career is over.”
“There’s a difference between having no career and being thrown in jail for abetting a fugitive.”
“You can risk an adventure with me or go back to whatever life you had. You make the call.”
Again her head dropped, and he sensed she was holding back tears. Instinct told him to hurry, but he let her struggle through her decision.
She raised her head.
“You can’t go back to your apartment,” she said. “The cops I saw at the gate had riot gear to keep you in the city. That means the local police are being mobilized, and your place is unsafe by now.”
“I have ways to sneak in. You know my past. I live where I live for a reason. We can get in and out unnoticed. There are tunnels and basements.”
“No,” she said. “I have a better idea. I’ll help you, and I’ll go with you, but you have to trust me.”
“Doesn’t sound like I have much choice.”
“You’re more valuable alive than dead. I’m pretty sure the cops don’t have orders to kill.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked. “How sure?”
“Sure enough to ride in front of you. Get on your bike, turn off your lights, and snuggle up to my tailpipe.”
She strapped her helmet to the back of her seat, unzipped her bright blue jacket, and fiddled with her bra.
“I figure when the cops see a hot chick on a bike with her hair in the breeze, they’ll hesitate. Then I’ll flash the cleavage. That always buys extra time.”
“They probably know you’re coming.”
“So what? They’re still men, right?”
Jake slipped on his helmet and followed Olivia around the corner onto Rue St. Michel, the main road out of the south gate. Fifty yards ahead he saw two police cars squeezing traffic through the gate to one lane.
Two cops aimed a flashlight into a Renault hatchback and waved the car through. Two more cops stood on the stone arch’s other side. A fifth cop, the evident leader, stood beside stacked riot gear.
Her hair fluttering in the breeze, Olivia pulled away. Jake accelerated and drafted her. Looking ahead, he saw the cops grow agitated. The leader chattered into a two-way radio while pointing at the riot gear. The other four flipped helmet visors over their faces. Two lifted riot shields and blocked the entrance.
The leader illuminated a blinding light. Jake squinted and heard the leader’s voice over a megaphone.
“Stop for identification.”
I hope you know what you’re doing, he thought.
Olivia arched her back, shook her hair in the breeze, and reached for her chest. The stupefied cops lowered their shields and ogled. The leader barked, and the shields rose again. The other two cops reached for their holsters.
Jake heard a belching drone, a squealing tire, and the whine of Olivia’s engine as she charged the blockade. Blue in the darkness, her exhaust smoke wafted over him. He gunned his engine to catch up to her, but she was already at the gate.
The riot shields parted and let her pass, and Jake thought he might get through unharmed.
“You are ordered to stop!” the leader said.
Jake pulled back on the Ninja’s throttle and let it catapult him through the blockade, but he met a different fate than Olivia.
The riot shields converged and hammered his shoulders. The first shield knocked him sideways, and the second knocked him backward. He flipped back over the seat as the Kawasaki leapt into the street, spat sparks, and ground to a stop.
Jake rolled and landed inches from the bike. He struggled to his elbow and growled in pain. He reached for the handlebars, but the bike idled on its side.
Ignoring the throbbing in his ribs, he fought to his knees. As he tried to stand, he noticed the two cops he had rammed lying on the ground, but two more appeared in front of him. One held a Taser, and the other aimed a sort of rifle that he didn’t recognize until it recoiled.
He heard the aerosol burst and smelled the pungent, burning spice. A second and a third ball hit him in the neck, exploding upon impact, and pepper spray wafted under his helmet. Despite searing pain in his ribs, he needed to breathe. Grimacing in agony, he lifted his arms to his helmet, removed it, and dropped it.
The Taser leads punched his kidney, and half his body convulsed under the electric current. Protected by the riding jacket, he had escaped skin-to-lead contact and was able to move one arm. As his vision blurred under uncontrolled tearing, he reached to rip off a wire.
A burst of bright blue flashed across his face, the wires tore away, and he stumbled as eddies of electric current subsided within him.
Olivia’s engine howled, and she screamed twice as she struck each cop. Jake could no longer see, but he heard her tire squeal in a rapid turnabout. Mucous ran down his nose, and he reached for his throat. Someone grabbed his arm, and he prayed it wasn’t a cop.
“Get on!” Olivia said.
Jake straddled her bike and wrapped his arms around her waist. He heard her pop the clutch shut and gun the engine.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, the bike accelerated, and the hand slipped off.
Jake felt Olivia leaning through a turn. He leaned with her but turned away from the hair whipping his face as she accelerated.
Tears streamed down his face, and he swallowed mucous to keep his airways open. He shut his eyes tight, held Olivia, and realized that he had to trust her if he wanted to remain a free man.
CHAPTER 17
Cued by the bike’s vibrations and the strands of hair that had become bullwhips, Jake gauged the Kawasaki’s speed at more than one hundred and twenty miles per hour. He buried his face in Olivia’s back.
Confident they had outpaced any pursuit, he tapped her thigh and yelled for her to stop.
The engine growled as Olivia downshifted. The bike veered to the side of the autoroute and stopped. Jake elongated and twisted his torso to work out soreness.
“Ouch,” he said.
“Don’t move,” Olivia said.