“Actually,” Drake sniffed. “I do have a backup to plan C.”
“Isn’t that just plan D?” she wondered.
“No, just grab my sack.” Before she could comment he added, “And be careful. It’s loaded.”
Alicia couldn’t help but wonder about the Yorkshireman’s wording as she felt her way around his rucksack. “Hello, something’s pleased to see me. What the hell’s this? A rocket… where’s the rest of it?”
“Yorgi has the launcher in his pack. Couldn’t fit it all in mine.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the friggin’ Yakuza. Where else? I had to take half a dozen of the little bastards out to crash that truck y’know.”
“Oh, diddums. Slow down.”
Drake was already slowing and pulling alongside Dahl. The Swede fixed him with a suspicious stare. “Yeah?”
Drake shook his head, knowing the Swede would be keeping up through the comms system, then swerved his bike so that his left knee was almost touching Dahl’s right. Both bikes steadied. Above, the first pylon shot past, white and enormous against the vault of the night, standing starkly beautiful in its unending battle against the seas of Mother Earth. Alicia reached over and took the launcher from the fumbling fingers of a nervous Yorgi, berating him over the comms.
“So you can climb up the outside of a building without fear, but put a few hundred CCs between your legs and you’re suddenly all aquiver? I thought you were better than that, Yogi.”
The Russian remained silent, clearly unsure what to say. Drake gunned the Ducati so that it spurted ahead. “Time to gain us some ground.” He pulled away quickly from the other bikes, staying low, the gray concrete and white lines flashing beneath their tires, the engine screaming. Alicia stayed upright, tugged by unnatural forces, but fighting against them as she loaded the RPG.
“Only one shot,” Drake said.
Alicia snorted. “Yeah, I figured that unless you got another rocket down the front of your pants.”
“You’re not having that one.” Laughing, Drake coaxed more speed out of the Ducati, his sudden increase in velocity leaving the seaplane behind. When Alicia tapped his shoulder, indicating she was ready, he applied the brakes and spun the bike.
Facing their oncoming friends, Alicia raised the RPG and took aim.
She also saw the lights of pursuing vehicles: motorbikes, fast cars and jeeps, they spread out across the entire bridge behind them.
A bloody mobile army, she thought, then sighted in the seaplane.
“Sayonara, you son of a whore.”
The plane was slow to react, but then probably hadn’t expected an RPG being fired at it from the back of a motorbike. It dipped fast, severely, a bomb suddenly falling out of the skies. The maneuver was so quick Alicia found that she had to readjust.
“Pricks. Just stay still so I can shoot you.”
But the seaplane’s pilot had other ideas, dipping beneath the topmost horizontal cable suspended between towers so that it was now running in between the dozens of thick vertical lines that supported the roadway.
Alicia’s mouth turned down in concentration as she tried to sight on the plane between cables. “Ya think that’s gonna stop me, asshole? Not a chance.”
Alicia depressed the firing button. The missile streaked away trailing smoke, shooting between the rows of support wires and straight toward the seaplane. What her aim lacked, the heat-seeking sensor made up for, arcing the warhead until it locked onto the aircraft’s welcoming signature and, even though the plane dipped at the last minute in an evasive attempt, the missile struck true and detonated.
The seaplane exploded, wreckage curving away from the main body and down into the black seas. Alicia dumped the now useless weapon as Drake revved the Ducati again and aimed its front end for the far side of the bridge.
Engines roared at his back and the other three bikes flew past. But as he prepared to make his tires scream in pursuit still more engines announced their presence as they continued to give chase.
“Still coming,” Drake said over the comms. “We’re not out of this yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The remainder of the night unfolded at a more reasonable pace as Drake and his teammates shot onto Awaji Island, cutting between high concrete reinforcements and then keeping the expanding sea view to their left. Their pursuers tried in vain to keep up, but Drake had chosen wisely with the four bikes. He half expected another seaplane to appear, or at least a chopper, but the Yakuza must not have been able to rustle anything up.
Probably all out moving their friggin’ contraband… among other things.
He recognized the hotel to his left from pictures and peeled through the entrance, switching his lights off and coasting down a sharp, twisting incline toward a long, wooden dock.
Two speedboats sat tied up, bobbing gently in the undulating swell.
Drake ditched the bike, taking care to conceal it before hurrying over to a waiting figure.
“Cheers for doing this.”
“No thanks required, man, so long as I get paid.”
“This guy’s our banker.” Drake pointed at Dahl. “Or something like that.”
The figure pulled a hood back to reveal young features set within a pockmarked, scarred face. He didn’t reveal his hands. “Don’t care how many of you there are. Pay up now or I start killing.”
Drake coughed in surprise. “Okay, pal, calm down, calm down.” He dug into his jacket, still sweating inside his mask and trying to adjust to life at less than one hundred and twenty miles per hour.
Mai squeezed past him. “Nice friend you got there.”
Drake paid and ensured they were all secure before casting his eyes back along what he could see of the highway. “Better without your running lights,” he told the youth. “At least for now.”
“I know how to smuggle,” came the reply. “You still aiming for HK?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Get in.”
Drake noticed the only space left was one between Hibiki, Mai and Chika. Unconsciously, he winced. Outwardly, he gave the others an aggrieved stare. This was all he needed. What he actually wanted was to hold Mai, to share his relief and sheer pleasure at saving her life, but this sure as hell wasn’t the time. Not even close. Gingerly, he picked his way aboard the speedboat and took a pew next to Hibiki.
The boat powered up, stealthy at first, nudging out of the cover of the dock and over the rolling waves. The horizon opened up ahead, black and empty, and a sea breeze ruffled their clothing. Slowly, both speedboats ventured further out.
Drake gripped Hibiki’s shoulder. “Great job back there, pal. You guys really owned that lobby for a while.”
“I’m just happy everyone made it out alive,” Hibiki said, staring between Chika and Mai. “How’s the gunshot wound?”
Mai glared over. “Hurts like a bitch. How’s the face?”
Hibiki blinked, not understanding. “Okay, thanks. I didn’t—”
Mai leaned over and slapped him hard. “How about now?”
“Shit!” Drake couldn’t help himself. “We came here for you. Everyone’s here for you. Even bloody Alicia.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Mai snapped at him. “You brought Grace.”
“She wanted to come.” Drake knew the words were lame before he uttered them but his mouth ran away with itself. “To be fair the plan was that she stay back at the hotel.”
Mai shook her head, saying nothing and staring at the dark horizon. Chika chose that moment to smile at Hibiki, the gesture achingly sad through all the blood, cuts and bruises that covered her face.