‘No!’
The driver’s warning was too late as Ethan’s right hand whipped sideways and knocked the pistol away from his head. Ethan drove upward with one foot and turned as he swung his left fist and it impacted the technician’s jaw with a loud crack.
The technician’s body whirled and flew sideways as it hit the open door at the back of the van and flew out into mid — air. Ethan saw the man’s body smack down onto the hot asphalt behind them and roll to a halt in an unconscious tangle of limbs as vehicles swerved in chaos to avoid it.
The second technician’s right hand swept toward Ethan’s throat in a scything motion designed to collapse his thorax and choke him to death. Ethan jerked his left forearm up vertically and blocked the blow as he turned on one heel and slammed his right knee up into the Chinaman’s groin.
The technician’s eyes bulged like fishbowls as Ethan’s knee crunched into his testicles and he folded up with an agonized gasp. Ethan pivoted to his left and lifted his left boot up as he drove his right elbow down into the back of the technician’s skull, just behind his right ear. The blow sent the smaller man sprawling across the floor of the van as Ethan ducked down, grabbed the discarded pistol from the floor and aimed it into the cab.
Ethan offered the two occupants a breathless grin. ‘Fancy a chat?’
The two Chinamen looked at each other, and Ethan could see that they both knew that they had no plays left. The van began to slow as the driver sought a place to pull over.
The impact came from behind Ethan, his only warning the sound of a screaming engine. He turned in time to see through the open rear door the shape of a dark blue Chevrolet just as it smashed into the rear quarter of the van with the force of a fallen angel. Ethan was hurled across the rear of the van and smashed into the sidewall even as he heard cries of fear and pain from the cab.
The van mounted the sidewalk and as Ethan was smashed into the computer terminals he heard the engine roar and felt the vehicle lift off. He glimpsed through the windshield leaves and branches looming before them before the van suddenly smashed into a large tree.
Ethan crashed into the rear of the cab as though he had been hit by a train. His vision starred and dimmed and he sensed rather than felt himself collapse onto the floor in the rear of the vehicle as the computers smashed into the rear of the cab and toppled down onto him, the body of the gunman and technician landing alongside the equipment and pinning Ethan in place.
Ethan lay stunned and silent for a few moments, became aware of an acrid burning smell wafting through the vehicle. He tried to get up but his limbs felt numb and the weight of the computer equipment and two bodies was too great for him to budge. A bolt of nausea poisoned his guts as his vision swirled. He closed his eyes for a moment as he waited for the nausea to pass so that he could reach out and once more make a grab for either of the pistols on the floor of the van.
The rear of the vehicle moved, sank down, and Ethan opened one eye to see a figure vault lithely inside and move toward him, the bright sunlight from outside flaring and forcing Ethan to squint. Ethan shifted his hand to where he thought a pistol might be and instantly the shadowy figure lunged forward. A heavy shoe pressed down on Ethan’s wrist and pinned it in place.
The man leaned down and picked up the pistol, and then he looked at Ethan and aimed the weapon at him.
Ethan lay on his back, disorientated and pinned down by the computer equipment as he looked up into the eyes of Aaron Mitchell. The assassin looked back down at Ethan as in the distance the sound of wailing sirens grew louder.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Ethan croaked.
Mitchell looked down at Ethan for a moment longer, and then with his free hand he reached out and grabbed hold of a computer hard drive that was hanging by a set of leads from the twisted wreckage of the desks. Mitchell yanked the drive free and then looked back down at Ethan.
‘The right time,’ he replied in his deep, gravelly voice.
Mitchell lowered the pistol as he turned and jumped down from the rear of the van, and then vanished from sight. Ethan fought to right himself and sat up, pushing the wreckage off his chest bit by bit until he was able to struggle to his feet. Beside him lay the Chinese man he had struck first, groaning now as blood oozed in thick lumps from his shattered nose, his labored breath rattling in his throat. The technician was still unconscious, as were the two men in the front of the vehicle, their faces lost in impact bags that had burst from the dashboard before them. Ethan dragged the first gunman onto his side, fearful that he would suffocate, and then stepped down out of the vehicle and looked around.
Mitchell was nowhere to be seen, and Ethan slumped wearily onto the rear step of the van and sat there until SUVs screeched to a halt nearby and DIA agents sprinted toward him.
One of them vaulted up into the vehicle and crouched down alongside Ethan, handing him back the pistol he had dropped when he had pursued the van.
‘You okay, man?’
Ethan nodded as he slipped the gun back into his shoulder holster.
‘Two more in the cab,’ he gasped. ‘Get these assholes out of here and back to the DIAC building. They’ve got some talking to do.’
‘Roger that,’ came the reply.
‘Did you see the other guy? Six four, two hundred fifty pounds, African American?’
The agent looked at Ethan strangely. ‘I didn’t see anybody else in the vicinity.’
Ethan sighed as the agent held out a hand and hauled Ethan to his feet. Mitchell was here, and that meant that the MJ–12 now had the Chinese technology that Ethan had been trying to hunt down.
Ethan clambered to his feet as armed police rushed toward the vehicle and yanked the cab doors open. The two men were yanked from the vehicle and pinned down to the ground, a young man who remained stoically silent and an older man with a defiant set to his expression. The older man shouted a warning in heavily accented English.
‘You’ll kill them all!’
‘Stay on the ground!’ the police yelled in unison as Ethan covered them with his pistol as they manacled the two prisoners.
‘We’ll kill who?!’ Ethan demanded.
The older man glared up at Ethan, rage radiating from his expression.
‘We were trying to help! Now you’ve ruined everything!’
Ethan glanced at the police.
‘Get them back to the station as fast as you can, and get the techs’ to put these computers and screens back together. I need to know what they were doing.’
‘I want a name.’
The Chinese technician sat in the police interrogation room, his hands manacled to the Formica table top and his ankles likewise gripped in steel cuffs. He had been strip — searched, his clothes burned and was now dressed in a loose fitting gray jump suit, his nose swollen and the side of his face puffy and bruised.
Ethan sat opposite him, two law enforcement officers and two DIA agents accompanying them in the tiny room.
‘I don’t know any names,’ the technician replied miserably.
Ethan smiled bitterly.
‘I don’t think that you understand quite what’s happening here,’ he said, trying to restrain his anger. ‘All that’s standing between you and a major international incident is us, and you’re not helping. Who is your commanding officer? Who were you watching? Who sent you to Washington DC and why?’
The technician, who had revealed his name to be Sung, stared at the table top, his black hair glistening in the harsh white light from the ceiling, dried blood encrusting his lips.
Ethan smashed his fist down on the table before Sung and the Chinaman jerked in his seat and stared at Ethan.