“You all okay?”
“We’re good. Assholes were packing enough firepower to assault Fort Knox. Took us by surprise.”
Drake cast his eyes over the group. “Yeah, I’m thinking some of us should stay behind. Safe at the hotel.”
Dahl was chomping at the bit. “Stay here if you like, ya damn Yorkshire sissy. I’m going!”
Drake bit back a tawdry reply. Instead he nodded toward Hayden. “Just you and Mano come with us. These bastards don’t care about collateral damage.”
Hayden nodded quickly. “Komodo, look after them.”
The big soldier acquiesced with a grunt, clearly wanting to join the action but accepting his responsibilities. He ushered Karin, Lauren, Yorgi and Grace back toward the lights of the hotels.
Drake heard the roar of a powerful engine starting up, and then almost instantly, two more.
“Shit. That can’t be good.”
A swift assessment of their situation followed. Drake found his eyes continually drawn toward the vehicles parked outside the hotel. “We can do this,” he murmured, then: “This way!”
He took off at speed, down the slope toward the roar of the approaching engines. Even Dahl shouted that he was crazy, but not one of his teammates hesitated for a second. They had his back. Drake powered down the sharp incline, skidding to a halt at the entrance to the car park and spying the attendant down on his knees, bleeding from the temple.
“Hey, mate. You okay?”
The attendant scrambled away. Drake was at his side in less than a second. “We’re the good guys,” he said. “Look. Just look. Help us. Those bastards are terrorists, and they’re taking guns onto the streets of London. Look!” Drake brandished his SPEAR identification.
Mai was down on her knees at his side. “Please.” She took the attendant’s head in her hands and locked eyes. “Help us.”
The attendant nodded, blood flying from his wound. Smyth cheered. “Good ole Maggie.”
Drake made a disgruntled noise. “Is there anything you can’t make men do?”
Mai smiled sweetly. “Not that I’ve found so far.”
“Drake!” Dahl cried out. “What the hell do you want him to do?”
The roar of engines was very loud now, and Drake could see two black boxy shapes and a bright orange wedge coming toward them through his peripheral vision.
“Keys,” he almost begged the attendant. “To the cars outside the hotel. We need them now or we’re gonna lose these guys.”
The attendant blanched. “I can’t. We should wait for the police.”
“The police aren’t equipped for war in the streets,” Drake yelled. “Not at this moment, anyway. We are.”
“I… I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s more than my job’s worth.”
The first black shape, a Range Rover equipped with smoked glass, roared up. A gun poked through a partially open rear window. The first shot passed by with a whine, the second kicked up shards where Smyth had been standing a moment before. Drake grabbed the attendant and rolled behind the nearest car, Mai at his side.
“Keys,” he said softly as more shots rang out and engines roared.
The attendant pointed quickly at a metal box attached to the nearby wall. “Tagged seven and twelve. Seven’s the Jag. I couldn’t stop you.”
Drake jumped to his feet. Dahl stared down at the parking assistant, clearly worried. “Don’t worry, the blood and bruises should help you explain how all these cars got stolen at once.”
Smyth hesitated as they started to run. “You think it would help if we hit the guy again?”
“No!”
Outside, Drake rolled fast as a second Range Rover shot past him. Mai and the others were trapped on the other side but quickly scooted across as it bounced up the slope. Drake stopped rolling, hit a curb with a grunt and climbed to his feet. A third vehicle, this one accompanied by a roar louder than Satan’s own personal steam vent, raced toward the exit. Drake sprinted up a patch of grass, keys in hand.
“Dahl,” he shouted, flinging a set of keys. “The Mercedes is yours. Try to keep up.”
The Swede grumbled, “I’d prefer the Jag.”
“Are you kidding?” Drake shouted back at full sprint. “We’re chasing a group of fully armed killers through London with God knows how many lives at stake and you’re complaining about the car you get to drive?”
“The Jag’s… better.”
“I know.” Drake grinned. “That’s why I’m driving it.”
They broke for the cars, Drake and Mai climbing into the white F-type as Dahl and Smyth reached the garishly yellow SLS. Drake clamped his foot down on the brake and pressed the Jaguar’s start button, listening as the potent engine screamed to life.
“Wow,” he said a little dreamily. “That’s a helluva V8.”
“Just drive!” Mai cried. “There’s no time!”
Drake jammed the accelerator to the floor and squealed into the road. Up ahead he could still see their quarry, still hear the echo and rumble of their mighty engines.
“Race is on now,” he said as Dahl’s Mercedes fishtailed into the road behind him.
The streets echoed with thunder and gunfire.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Drake powered the Jaguar up the narrow street, using the bronze paddles located behind the steering wheel rather than the automatic gearbox. When driving this fast he liked to at least feel he was in control. Parked cars flew by to either side, so close he clipped a side mirror.
“Matt,” Mai warned.
“The guy was parked at a bloody silly angle!”
Dahl roared up behind him, almost a challenge. Drake flicked the minus sign on his paddle, shifting down; then streaked away, taking the revs to the red line before flicking up to third. He swung the F-type around a corner as the tailpipe popped and crackled. Dahl was already closing. Ahead, the orange blur came into focus as it was held up by the two bulky Range Rovers.
“What the hell is that thing?” Mai squinted.
“Aventador,” Drake said. “By Lamborghini.”
Mai held on as Drake drifted the F-type around the sharp corner that brought them onto the multi-laned road at Marble Arch. “Is it faster than ours?”
Drake coughed. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“How on earth can these mercs afford such expensive cars?”
Drake thought about it. “Maybe on the Pythians’ dime? Maybe they just stole ‘em. And you can rent a supercar for about a grand a day.”
“Oh, is that all?”
Drake propelled the car around Marble Arch, the back-end fishtailing happily as it gripped tarmac just at the top end of Oxford Street and surged toward Park Lane. Dahl came alongside in the SLS Mercedes, its engine louder than anything Drake could have imagined. And now behind the Swede he spotted Hayden and Kinimaka behind the wheel of a cobalt blue Aston Martin DB9.
“Bond’s back,” Drake said with a smile. “And about bloody time.”
Ahead, due to the lack of traffic so early in London, their enemies pushed on. Drake imagined they would certainly try to lose them, and since the SPEAR team had no clue as to the whereabouts of the plague pit they were heading for, this, their only lead, had to pay off at all costs.
The cars flashed toward Park Lane. A pedestrian, out on this cold morning, whipped his head around, mouth open in amazement. The bleach white Marriott Hotel zoomed past, and another building covered in scaffolding and protective wrap. Drake raced up to the back of the Aventador, pulling out into the next lane. The Lamborghini swerved to cut him off and an arm thrust out of its passenger window.
“Gun!” Mai shouted.
Drake hauled on the brakes. Dahl’s yellow Mercedes shot by, tires squealing as he swerved out of the path of the bullet. White smoke plumed into the air. The SLS went broadside for a second but then Dahl managed to wrestle it back into shape. A bullet smashed into its lower bodywork. Hayden’s Aston kept its distance.