Radford leaned in. “Another dance partner?”
Collins shoved him. “Shut your goddamn face.”
Drake set off at a sprint. “Move it!”
Crouch eyed those choppers still sat near the hotel’s parking lot, many of which had lost crew and pilots. “I have an idea,” he said thoughtfully.
Russo and Healey grinned at the same time. “Yes, sir.”
Drake headed for the shadowy first-floor level of the TGI Friday’s multi-story parking lot, seeing several patrons hovering around their cars. Knowing it would be traumatic for them and hating himself for it, but still putting the safety of the greater world first, he waved his gun at the sky.
“Keys,” Alicia said, dashing past and commandeering a vehicle.
Drake leaped onto the back of a midnight-black MV Augusta, opening the throttle even as he landed on the seat. Alicia, already climbing into the car — an old Alfa Romeo — shot him an irate look.
“Bastard.”
Dahl altered his run at the last moment, jumping up behind Drake. “Nice idea, Yorkie.”
“Thanks, Ikea. You’re only on here to piss Alicia off.”
“Of course!”
Drake peeled out of the parking area, threading a line through parked and exiting vehicles, swerving around the side of a black-and-white police cruiser. Alicia, Mai and Trent were in the Alfa, struggling to keep up. The huge yellow TGI’s writing set against a long, curving wall and red-and-white livery flashed by to their left as they hit Fallsview Boulevard at speed.
Hayden stayed in their ears. “We’re a minute behind you. See the Tower Hotel to your left, white fascia?”
“Aye, and the Marriott,” Drake drawled.
“Forget it. Head back down Dunn Street and then left on to Ailanthus. Then it’s the 49 to Stanley. Got it?”
“Yup.”
Drake gunned the Augusta, feeling Dahl wrenched back in surprise behind him. The Swede’s scrabbling hands tugged at the front of his jacket for a moment.
“Careful, Dahl,” Drake breathed. “If I were Alicia you’d be dead by now.”
Alicia’s voice came over the comms. “He just grab your tits?”
Drake chuckled. “Yeah.”
“He’s right, Torsty. I don’t stand for that groping crap.”
Dahl took hold of his seat and exhaled with gusto. “Just drive.”
Drake took the hint, unleashing the Augusta’s power as they leaned into the corner that led to Ailanthus.
Hayden’s voice came over the comms. “A truck is preparing to leave the facility. Hurry!”
Crouch ran for the nearest chopper, sprinting across Dunn Street in full view now that their enemies had regrouped a little further away, preparing to utilize the helicopters nearer the hotel and still on the roof. At first they ran unseen, cutting the gap in half, but then the call went up.
“Damn!”
Crouch herded Caitlyn behind him and ordered Russo and Healey out front. When he looked around he also noted the presence of Silk, Radford and Yorgi.
Two birds then, he thought. Bloody hell we’re going to cause mayhem.
Was there an easier way to guard Hayden’s and Drake’s back and complete this takedown?
Right then the question was rendered moot as four mercenary helicopters took off from the grounds of the Maple Lake Hotel, their innards bristling with paid, corrupt men toting machine guns, rocket-propelled grenades and much more.
“Let’s take this battle to the skies,” Crouch shouted as he reached the first unmanned chopper and waved Russo into the second.
The mercenaries swooped into attack formation.
Drake followed Hayden’s instructions, leaving the tourist areas of Niagara Falls behind and proceeding into an open-plan industrial area. Drake marveled at the wide roads, huge intersections and appealing tree-lined avenues.
“If this were back ‘ome,” he grumbled. “There’d be a multiplex, a supermarket, three bathroom outlets and a bowling alley on one road, two gyms, a police station and a nightclub on another, one bus route and some knobhead counsellor who doesn’t drive sitting in an office, looking at ways to make it even harder for cars to get around.”
Dahl pointed ahead. “There!” he shouted. “Coming toward us. That’s the truck!”
Drake gunned the bike, swerving around the front of the white van and laying the bike into a short arc as he passed around the back. For one moment his eyes met those of the men in the front.
“Ain’t gonna be no mercy shown here, guys.”
Three hundred yards from the secret facility, Drake chased the escaping van along the wide road, using the Augusta’s speed and dexterity to bring him close to its rear. Dahl unstrapped his gun from around his shoulders.
“Force it off the road?”
“Oh, yeah. And Hayden, Alicia, when you guys do finally get here, head straight to the facility.”
“Copy that,” Hayden’s reply was as expected.
“Don’t be a twat, Drake.” As was Alicia’s.
Dahl aimed at one of the truck’s rear tires. The rattling noise of the truck’s rear tailgate interrupted him.
“Bollocks!”
Drake turned sharply, leaning the bike over. Four men stood inside the back of the van, pointing weapons at them. They fired immediately, the bullets passing over Drake’s head as he tilted the bike over, only one sparking off and denting the fairing.
Dahl sputtered, hanging on for dear life.
Drake steadied the Augusta as an enormous truck loaded with wrapped plastic tubing appeared ahead, lumbering along at low speed. The furniture-van sized truck they were following didn’t hesitate, just pulled out and overtook, causing oncoming traffic to veer across the sidewalks and the road verges. Drake blipped the throttle and closed the gap once more.
“Shoot those bastards, Dahl.”
“Get closer!”
Dahl peppered the rear of the truck with a hail of bullets, sending their enemies scuttling.
“You sure? They—”
“Closer! Now!” And the mad Swede lived up to his name as he began to climb. Drake shrugged off utter disbelief, realizing he shouldn’t be shocked where Dahl was concerned. The Swede maneuvered his body so that he crouched in his seat before quickly firing again. Then, with his enemy distracted, he urged Drake right up to the tailgate of the truck and climbed onto his shoulders, using the Yorkshireman’s head to balance. The Augusta raced hard in pursuit of their enemies, trees and buildings whipping by. Dahl kept his balance easily for a moment before leaping off Drake’s shoulders, rolling through mid-air, and landing inside the truck, allowing his body another two rotations before planting his feet and looking up.
Eight pairs of eyes stared back in utter shock.
Dahl sprayed them with lead, tackling the nearest with one arm, smashing an elbow to his throat and then hurling him from the truck. The Swede took a bullet to the chest and staggered. Drake took out a pistol and joined in the battle. Dahl came up hard, head first, sending a second merc tumbling into space. A third was down, incapacitated by bullet wounds, the fourth injured. Even so he came hard at Dahl. The Swede slipped aside with more grace than a man of his size ought to possess, caught the merc’s head under an arm and flipped the man onto his back. Drake knew when he was superfluous, opened the bike rapidly, employing its swift acceleration, and surged right up to the front cab. Without warning he shot out the windscreen and then took out the passengers. In another moment the truck was shuddering and freewheeling to a halt.
Drake spun the Augusta hard, laying rubber onto the asphalt, billowing smoke from the spinning tires. Dahl jumped down from the back of the truck and waited for him.
“Nothing in back,” the Swede said calmly through the comms. “Possibly a diversion.”