Jonathan handed him the French passport. “You’ll have to wait for the photographs. Eva had them. You don’t have to worry. This is the end of the operation. No one’s going to bother you anymore.”
It was then that he noticed the commotion ahead of them. A squad of soldiers moved into the center of the road, setting down riot-control barriers to block both lanes of the traffic. Policemen swarmed the sidewalk, barking instructions to pedestrians. Some ran in the other direction. Others cowered against the wall in a pantomime of panic. A few even fell to the ground and covered their heads with their hands.
Jinn’s phone rang. He answered with a grunt. His eyes swept to Jonathan. After ten agonizing seconds, he hung up.
“The police have surrounded the hotel,” said Parvez Jinn. “They are looking for the man who delivered the Mercedes. It appears, my friend, that you have killed me.”
68
Jonathan kept his eyes straight ahead. A squad of policemen advanced down the center of the road, guns drawn and aimed at the Mercedes. A glance in the rearview revealed more of the same, approaching from the rear. He heard the thrum of a helicopter’s rotor overhead. A compact, determined man dressed in a suit and overcoat emerged from the pack in front of him. He had bags beneath his eyes, but there was no mistaking the energy in his step, or the barely veiled anger. It was the same policeman who’d led the charge up the Villa Principessa’s drive two days earlier.
“Who do you work for?” asked Jinn. “CIA? MI6? Mossad? A man has a right to know who he’s dying for.”
“I don’t work for any of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m her husband.”
“Whose husband?”
Jonathan shot Jinn a sidelong glance. “Eva Kruger’s.”
“But…” A curtain fell over Jinn’s features. “Give it to me,” he demanded. “Give me the flash.”
“Sorry,” said Jonathan. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“But the police will find it…everyone will know that I gave it to you. I must have it back.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Jonathan looked at the phalanx of police and soldiers converging on him. All along, he’d planned on turning himself in once he had proof. Now, though, he had the flash with a record of Iran’s entire nuclear program, as well as the spy who could corroborate his every claim about the events of the past days, and he realized that he still didn’t have enough. The police would confiscate the flash drive. Jinn would be returned to his delegation and whisked out of the country. And Jonathan? He’d be hung out to dry, doing twenty to life.
There was only one way clear. He had to get out of the city. He had to give the flash drive to the only people who would know what to do with it.
Shifting into reverse, he began backing up, swerving in and out of the line of cars. After twenty meters, he braked, threw the transmission into drive, spun the wheel, and accelerated up a side road. Moments later, sirens began to wail. He caught sight of several soldiers taking a knee on the road behind him, machine guns set against their shoulders. It was an easy shot: thirty meters, unobstructed, and straight as an arrow. But no one fired. There was no need. The city was a locked cage.
Jonathan punched the gas and the Mercedes devoured the steep slope. He turned left at the top of the hill. He was driving parallel to the Promenade, past chalets and apartments. It was only a matter of time until they stopped him. Still, time was what he needed. Time to think. To plan. To scheme. He was one of them now. A member of Emma’s team. A professional.
“Stop!” cried Jinn. “You’ll get us both killed!”
Jonathan looked at him from the corner of his eye. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
A police car turned onto the road behind them. It kept its distance, content to hem in one side of the trap. Jonathan turned at the next corner. The road narrowed until it was hardly more than a single lane. Pines grew overhead. He was no longer in the official Forum area. Snow had not been cleared from this part of the village. Ice crusted the road as it curved uphill into a shady forest before ending abruptly. A wall of snow blocked the path. Jonathan slammed on the brakes and the car fishtailed before stopping.
Jinn fumbled with the door in an effort to escape. Jonathan punched the central lock and slammed the Iranian into his seat with his right arm. “Stay put!”
He reversed down the road in time to see a police car blocking his retreat. A pasture lay to his right. A hiking path on his left. Jonathan yanked the wheel to the left and accelerated onto the trail. Wooden fences lined either side. The path dipped, flattened, then plunged downhill. The car caromed left and right, battering the fences. Remarkably, his breath was calm, his heartbeat hardly elevated. The snow was his element. Instead of panicking, he gave in to a steely control. He held the steering wheel lightly, nudging the nose left and right, not daring to oversteer.
“Watch out!” shouted Jinn.
Directly ahead, a mother and father dragged their young children on a pair of sleds down the path. Jonathan touched the brakes, causing the car to slide left, but not to slow in the least. He slammed his palm against the horn. The couple stared back in horror and began to run. One of the children looked over her shoulder, smiled and waved.
Jonathan tapped the brakes again, which only amplified his lack of control. There was no way to slow the car.
The Mercedes rapidly ate up the distance between them. Twenty meters separated the car from the family. Fifteen. Ten. The mother slipped and fell. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.
A path opened to the right.
Jonathan spun the wheel. The Mercedes lost its tail. He nudged the accelerator and the car found its bearings. The tires asserted their grip, the nose lurching forward. But only for a moment. In front of them the walking path continued downhill, but now it was bathed in the shadows of a pine legion. Snow became ice. The tires lost all purchase. He was sliding, hopelessly out of control. The tail swung right, then left, continuing through forty-five degrees, as they careened backward down the hill, gathering speed.
Jinn sat wide-eyed, one hand pressed against the ceiling, screaming.
The car jumped as it crested the path’s boundary. It hit a hard object and caromed away from it like a billiard ball from a bumper. Jonathan saw a hut flash by. Everything was moving too fast. He gripped the steering wheel and held on for life. The tail bounced violently, and suddenly, the ride grew smooth. The jarring noise disappeared, and there was silence. Jonathan realized that they were airborne. The rear of the car plummeted. The hood rose like a black wave before him, and he blinked as the sun flashed in his eyes. With a terrific thud, the car landed, tumbled onto its side, turned over once, twice, and then came to a rest on its roof.
Jinn was unconscious, his eyes closed. His teeth had dug into his lip and his mouth was bleeding, but otherwise he didn’t look hurt. Jonathan forced open the door with his shoulder and rolled to the ground. His ears were ringing and his left arm was numb. Shakily, he rose to his knees. The Mercedes had plunged off a ledge, rolled down a short slope, and ended up in a small pasture. The air was alive with the seesaw whine of a dozen sirens, all of them coming his way. He could see blue lights flashing along the path in the forest above him. He blinked, and realized that he was seeing double. A sure sign of a concussion. He squinted and his vision cleared.
Looking down the hill, he caught glimpses of the Davosstrasse between the backs of stores and buildings. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the stores. Dazed and numb, he maintained enough presence of mind to feel for the flash drive.
Thank God, it was there.
A warm breath of wind touched his back, and suddenly he was airborne. The fury of the explosion engulfed him. He landed on his stomach, his face buried in the snow. He raised himself on an elbow and peered over his shoulder. The Mercedes was awash in flames, windows blown out, the hood bent into an A-frame.