Was that the nuke calling his name?
Marsh saw that it was time to act and made the call, speaking to a charming waitress and then the thick-accented Englishman. The guy had one of those bizarre tones of voices — something smacking of peasantry — and Marsh made twisted faces as he tried to decipher vowel from vowel. Not an easy task, and made somewhat harder with a woman’s hands squeezing your nutcracker suite.
“Tell me what you found or I will give the order to kill two New Yorkers within the next minute.” Marsh grinned as he said it, ignoring the annoyed looks cast by his disciples across the room.
The Englishman hesitated some more. Marsh found a slice of cucumber fallen out of the salad bowl and stuck it deep into Zoe’s hair. Not that she’d ever notice. Minutes passed and Marsh conversed over the burner cell, becoming more and more excited. A cold bottle of Bollinger sat nearby and he spent half a minute pouring a large glass. Zoe snuggled up to him as she worked, and they sipped from the same glass, opposite rims of course.
“Five,” Marsh said into the phone. “Four, three…”
Zoe’s hands took on a particular urgency.
“Two.”
The Englishman tried to barter with him, clearly wondering what the hell was going on. Marsh imagined the vehicle he’d arranged to be plowed through the front window at a pre-determined time, aiming now, accelerating, bearing down on the unsuspecting restaurant.
“One.”
And then everything exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drake flung his body toward the restaurant wall, grabbing the waitress around the waist and taking her with him. Glass and brick fragments sluiced off his rolling body. The oncoming van squealed for traction as its tires struck the restaurant floor and its middle rocked over the window sill, its back end now rising and smashing into the lintel above the pane. Metal screeched. Tables collapsed. Chairs piled up as debris before it.
Alicia had also reacted instantly, scrambling around a table and away, her only wound a small gash across the shin from a fast-moving splinter of wood. Mai somehow managed to roll across the top of a moving table, escaping any harm and Beau went one better, leaping above her and jumping from surface to surface, at last timing a jump so that his feet and hands struck the side wall and helped him land safely.
Drake looked up, the waitress screaming at his side. Alicia stared accusingly.
“So you grabbed her, did you?”
“Look out!”
The van still came forward, slowing by the second, but now the barrel of a gun poked out of the lowered passenger window. Alicia ducked and covered. Mai rolled some more. Drake withdrew his own handgun and fired six bullets at the disembodied hand, the sounds loud in the confined space, vying with the van’s deafening roar. Beau was already in motion, darting around the back of the vehicle. At last the wheels stopped turning and ground to a halt. Broken tables and chairs cascaded from the hood and even from the roof. Drake made sure the waitress was unharmed before moving forward, but by then Beau and Mai were already at the vehicle.
Beau had smashed the driver’s window and was grappling with a figure. Mai checked positioning through the smashed windshield and then picked up a splintered length of wood.
“No,” Drake began, his voice a little croaky. “We need—”
But Mai wasn’t in the mood for listening. Instead she threw the improvised weapon through the windshield with enough force that it stuck hard in the driver’s forehead, quivering in place. The man’s eyes rolled up and he stopped struggling with Beau, the Frenchman looking bemused.
“I did have him.”
Mai shrugged. “I thought I should help.”
“Help?” Drake repeated. “We need at least one of these bastards alive.”
“And on that note,” Alicia piped up. “I’m fine, ta. Nice to see you saving Waitress Wendy’s ass though.”
Drake bit his tongue, knowing at some deep level that Alicia was only ribbing him. Beauregard had already dragged the driver out of the vehicle and was rifling his pockets. Alicia headed over to the miraculously untouched laptop. The USB had finished uploading and had deposited a hash of pictures onto the screen — disturbing images of silver canisters that made Drake’s blood run cold.
“It appears to be the inside of a bomb,” he said, studying wires and relays. “Send it to Moore before anything else happens.”
Alicia leaned over the machine, tapping away.
Drake helped the waitress to her feet. “You okay, love?”
“I… I think so.”
“Mint. Now how about rustling us up a lasagna?”
“The chef… the chef hasn’t arrived yet.” Her gaze swept the destruction fearfully.
“Hell, and I thought you just threw ’em into a microwave.”
“Don’t worry.” Mai came over and laid a hand on the waitress’s arm. “They will remodel. Insurance should take care of this.”
“I hope so.”
Drake again bit his tongue, this time to stop a curse. Yes, it was a blessing that everyone was still breathing but Marsh and his cronies were still wrecking people’s lives. Without conscience. Without ethics and without concern.
As if by psychic link the phone rang. This time Drake picked it up.
“Are you all still kicking?”
Marsh’s voice made him want to hit something, but he kept it strictly professional. “We’ve forwarded your pictures on.”
“Oh, excellent. So that’s that bit sorted out then. I hope you grabbed a bite to eat whilst you waited because this next part — well, it could kill you.”
Drake coughed. “You do know we haven’t verified your bomb yet.”
“And, hearing that, I see that you want to slow events down whilst you try to catch up. Not happening, my new friend. Not happening at all. Your cops and agents, military people and fire department, may be part of a well-oiled machine, but they are still a machine, and take a little while to get up to speed. Therefore, I take that time to tear you apart. It’s quite fun, believe me.”
“What do the Pythians get out of all this?”
Marsh clucked. “Oh, I think you know that conceited group of ragamuffins recently imploded. Was anything ever more certain? They were led by a serial killer, a psycho stalker, a megalomaniac and a jealous domineer. All of whom happened to be the same person.”
Alicia leaned closer to Drake at that moment. “So tell us — where is that bastard?”
“Oh, a new girl. Are you the blonde or the Asian? Probably the blonde by the sound of it. Darling, if I knew where he was I’d let you flay him alive. Tyler Webb only ever wanted one thing. He abandoned the Pythians the moment he knew where to find it.”
“Which was at the bazaar?” Drake asked, now playing both for time and information.
“A hive of heinousness that place, am I right? Imagine all the deals done there that will impact the world for decades to come.”
“Ramses sold him something,” Drake said, testing.
“Yes. And I’m sure the tricky French Pain Au Sausage has already told you what that item was. Or you could always ask him right now.”
So that confirmed it. Marsh was watching them, though he didn’t have eyes in the restaurant. Drake sent a quick text to Moore. “How about telling us where Webb went?”
“Well, seriously, what am I, Fox News? You’ll be asking me for cash next.”
“I’ll settle for that terrorist asshole.”
“And back to the job at hand.” Marsh spoke the words and then seemed amused at himself, abruptly laughing. “Sorry, private joke. But we’re done now with the verification part of the chase. Now I want to give you my demands.”
“So just tell us.” Alicia sounded weary.
“Where’s the fun in that? This bomb will detonate unless I am completely satisfied. Who knows, dear, I may have even chosen to own you.”