A pair of Russian Mi-34 high-manoeuvre helicopters stood in the gravel courtyard behind the Spetsnaz commandos, their rotor blades still turning.
'Oh, man,' Schofield breathed. 'Could this get any worse?'
Down in Monsieur Delacroix's office, Aloysius Knight spun at the sound of gunfire up in the garage.
He looked for Schofield in the ante-room at the other end of the tunnel.
Not there.
'Damn it,' he growled, 'can't this guy stay out of trouble for more than five minutes?'
He bolted out of the office.
Monsieur Delacroix didn't even bother to look up.
Schofield's turbo-charged WRX stood before Zamanov in the entry to the garage.
The two men locked eyes.
The look of surprise on Zamanov's face quickly transformed into one of sheer hatred.
'Floor it!' Gant yelled, breaking the spell.
Bam. Schofield hit the gas pedal.
The rally car shot off the mark, exploding through the doorway, scattering the Skorpions as they dived out of the way.
The WRX zoomed across the castle's courtyard, kicking up gravel, before it shot like a rocket out through the giant portcullis and sped across the drawbridge, heading for the mainland.
Dmitri Zamanov clambered to his feet just as shoom.'-shoom!-shooml-shoom.'-shoom! five more cars whipped past him, blasting out of the garage after the WRX. There was a red Ferrari, a silver Porsche GT-2, and three yellow Peugeot rally cars with 'axon' sponsorship logos on their sides.
ExSol.
In hot pursuit.
'Fuck!' Zamanov yelled. 'It's him! It's Schofield! Go! Go, go, go! Catch him and bring him to me! Before Delacroix gets his head, I am going to skin him alive!'
Four of the Skorpions immediately leapt to their feet and dashed for their two choppers, leaving Zamanov and two others at the castle with their head.
The chase was on.
WHITMORE AIRFIELD (ABANDONED) 40 MILES WEST OF LONDON 1230 HOURS LOCAL TIME (1330 HOURS IN FRANCE')
Thirty minutes earlier—at the time Schofield, Gant and Knight had been arriving at the Forteresse de Valois—Book II and Mother had been landing their stolen Lynx helicopter at the abandoned airfield where Rufus had dropped them off.
They didn't expect to find Rufus still there. He'd said that after unloading them, he would head to France to catch up with Knight.
But when they landed, they saw the Black Raven parked inside an old hangar, surrounded by undercover police cars with strobe lights on their roofs.
Rufus stood sadly by his plane, helpless, covered by six trenchcoat-wearing undercover types and a platoon of heavily-armed Royal Marines.
Mother and Book were grabbed as soon as they landed.
One of the trenchcoat-wearing men approached them. He was young, clean-cut, and he held a cellphone in his hand as if he was halfway through a call.
When he spoke his accent was American.
'Sergeants Newman and Riley? My name is Scott Moseley, US State Department, London Office. We understand you're helping
'Even though some areas in France, including Brittany, are significantly west of London, the whole of France adheres to a single time zone, one hour ahead of England.
Captain Shane M. Schofield of the United States Marine Corps in his efforts to avoid liquidation in an international bounty hunt. Is that correct?'
Book and Mother blanched.
'Uh, yeah . . . that's right,' Book II said.
'The United States Government has become aware of the existence of this bounty hunt. From the information available to us at this time, we have assessed the presumed reason for it and have come to the conclusion that the issue of keeping Captain Schofield alive is one of supreme national importance. Do you know where he is?'
'We might,' Mother said.
'So what's this all about then?' Book II asked. 'Tell us the grand conspiracy.'
Scott Moseley's face reddened. 'I don't personally know the details,' he said.
'Oh, come on,' Book II groaned, 'you've gotta give us more than that.'
'Please,' Moseley said. 'I'm just the messenger here. I don't have the clearance to know the full story. But believe me, I'm not here to hinder your efforts. All I have been told is this: the person or persons behind this bounty hunt have the capacity and perhaps the desire to destroy the United States of America. That is all I've been told. Beyond that, I know nothing.
'What I do know is this: I am here at the direct orders of the President of the United States and my orders are these: to help you. In any way I can. Anywhere you want to go. Anything you need to help Captain Schofield stay alive, I am authorised to give you. If you want weapons, they're yours. If you need money, I have it. Hell, if you want Air Force One to take you anywhere in the world, it is at your disposal.'
'Cool . . .' Mother breathed.
'How do we know we can trust you?' Book II said.
Scott Moseley handed Book his cellphone.
'Who's there?' Book said into it.
'Sergeant Riley?' a firm voice at the other end said. Book II recognised it instantly—and froze.
He'd met the owner of that voice before, during the mayhem at Area 7.
It was the voice of the President of the United States.
This was real.
'Sergeant Riley,' the President said. 'The full resources of the United States Government are entirely at your command. Anything you need, just tell Undersecretary Moseley. You have to keep Shane Schofield alive. Now I have to go.'
Then he hung up.
'Right; Book II whistled.
'So,' Scott Moseley said. 'What do you need?'
Mother and Book exchanged a look.
'You go,' Book said. 'Save the Scarecrow. I'm going to find out what this is all about.'
'Ten-four,' Mother said.
She turned quickly, pointing at Rufus, but addressing Moseley. 'I need him. And his plane, fully fuelled. Plus free passage out of England. We know where the Scarecrow is and we have to get to him fast.'
'1 can arrange the fastest possible—' Moseley said.
'Yeah, but I don't trust you yet,' Mother growled. 'Rufus, I trust. And he's just as fast as anyone else.'
'Okay. Done.' Scott Moseley nodded to one of his men. 'Fuel the plane. Clear the skies:'
Moseley turned to Book. 'What about you?'
But Book wasn't finished with Mother. 'Hey, Mother. Good luck. Save him.'
'I'll do my best,' Mother said. Then she dashed off to join Rufus at the Sukhoi. After a few minutes, its tanks replenished, the Raven rose into the sky and blasted off into the distance, afterburners blazing.
Only when it was gone did Book II turn to face Scott Moseley. i need a video player,' he said.
Schofield's rally car boomed along the coast of north-western France.
The road leading away from the Forteresse de Valois was known as La Grande Rue de la Mer—the Great Ocean Road.
Carved into the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, it was a spectacular coastal highway, a twisting turning blacktop that featured low concrete guard-fences perched over sheer 400-foot drops, treacherous blind corners and the occasional tunnel that carved through rocky outcroppings.
In truth, since the fifteen miles of land surrounding the Forteresse de Valois belonged to Jonathan Killian, it was actually a private road. At two points along its length, side-roads branched off it—one headed upward, to Killian's private airstrip, while a second by-road plunged steeply downward, plummeting to the water's edge, providing access to an enormous boatshed.
Schofield's electric blue WRX ripped along the spectacular ocean road at 180 kilometres per hour. Its engine didn't so much roar as whizz, its turbocharger engaged. With its powerful all-wheel-drive system, the rally car was perfect for the Great Ocean Road's short tight bends.