‘Yes, two men were shot! We’re in their car chasing the, ah, the perps - we’re on . . .’ He scoured the surroundings for landmarks. ‘I don’t know which street, it’s too foggy.’
‘Which car are you in? What’s its number?’
Boyce hurriedly searched for any identifying signs, spotting a plaque on the dashboard. ‘Car 643.’
‘Hold on, I’m checking its LoJack tracker . . . Car 643 is heading eastbound on Eddy Street, approaching Leavenworth.’
‘Yes, that’s us,’ Boyce told her. ‘We’re a couple of blocks behind the robbers - we’ll guide you to them. Just stop them before they can get away!’
‘We’re on it, uh . . . Mr Mayor. Units are responding. Take no unnecessary risks.’
‘Bit late for that,’ Nina muttered. A stalled car materialised from the murk ahead of them, forcing her to make a hard turn to avoid a collision. ‘This is like a damn obstacle course! Where’s the siren?’
The bike twitched under Eddie, the knobbly off-road tyres fighting for grip on the wet tarmac. ‘Shit!’ he gasped, risking a millisecond glance at the speedometer. He was doing over sixty down the three-lane street, and the Nemesis was still pulling away.
Noise from ahead, tyre squeals and blasting horns. The twin red eyes of the Nemesis’s tail lights disappeared round a corner, turning left to head north.
Other lights were strewn across his path where cars had skidded and collided as the bikes and the Bowler tore through the intersection. He braked, pumping the levers to stop the wheels from locking. The Honda shimmied and writhed. One foot down for balance, the sole of his shoe scraping on the road, he angled between two dented cars to make the turn. He was just about able to make out a sign on the corner: Taylor St.
The road led uphill, the rising line of streetlights telling him it got steeper ahead. The incline wasn’t affecting the Nemesis, though - the red eyes were smaller, fainter, pulling away.
‘I don’t know who he is,’ Fernandez said into the radio as the Nemesis powered up Taylor Street, swinging across all three lanes to overtake traffic, ‘and I don’t care. Just take him out!’
Ahead, the lights of the team’s bikes danced like fireflies as they dodged obstacles. Two of them flared, the Hondas and their riders materialising from the fog as they braked.
Fernandez watched the mirror as the Nemesis overtook them, the bikes falling back to intercept his pursuer.
Eddie was forced to swing wide to avoid a car pulling out of a parking space. He glanced back at the near-miss before returning his full attention to the road. Where was the Nemesis?
Twin red lights, not far ahead—
They split apart.
Bikers!
They had slowed, waiting for him to catch up. One went to each side of the street, a pincer movement to trap him.
Another intersection flashed past, an angry horn dopplering away behind. The bike to Eddie’s right was closer. He drew almost level, seeing the rider’s blank mirror-mask looking across at him.
Left hand reaching for something—
Eddie swerved sharply away as the rider drew an MP5K. He ducked as fire burst from its muzzle. A crash of glass came from the sidewalk as the bullets shattered a window.
But he couldn’t retreat any further, blocked by a line of parked cars - and the other bike was directly ahead, pinning him in the gunman’s sights.
Another intersection—
Eddie made a hard left turn, slipping between two cars waiting at the junction and riding up on to Taylor Street’s sidewalk. A pedestrian ahead - he jerked the handlebars, passing so close that his arm brushed against her.
The second biker dropped back to get a better firing angle. Head low, Eddie shot past another startled pedestrian. A green glow in the mist ahead - traffic lights at a crossroads. The biker would have a clear shot as he crossed the junction.
A shape in the fog, a man with an umbrella—
Eddie snatched the umbrella from his hand as he passed. The slipstream immediately snapped it inside out as he held it up to the wind. It flapped behind him like the broken wing of a bat.
Intersection—
Eddie swung back on to Taylor Street proper, crossing directly in front of the other bike. He whipped the ruined umbrella into the rider’s face. With his helmet and heavy leathers as protection, its flimsy spokes and fluttering fabric couldn’t hurt him . . .
But it could block his vision.
Only for a second, as he raised his gun hand to bat away the obstruction—
Eddie didn’t even need that long. Braking fiercely, he swerved to shoulder-barge the other man into a parked van.
There was a huge bang as the Honda came to an abrupt stop, its rider flipping over the handlebars to slam spread-eagled against the van’s flat back. He hung for a moment like a pinned butterfly, then dropped twistedly on to the mangled bike.
Eddie didn’t look back - the noise of impact was enough to tell him he had nothing further to worry about from that quarter.
The dead biker’s comrade was another matter. He swept towards Eddie, gun at the ready.
‘They’re heading north on Taylor!’ Boyce breathlessly reported as Nina turned and accelerated up the hill, the siren encouraging confused drivers who had become embroiled in the chase to move out of their way.
‘Roger that, Mr Mayor,’ said the dispatcher. ‘Units are moving to intercept.’
‘Where does this road go?’ Nina asked.
‘To the top of a big hill . . . and then down again,’ said Boyce, checking his mental map of the city. ‘But they could be going anywhere from here.’
Nina wasn’t sure about that. The robbers had a reason for taking this particular route. But as she didn’t know San Francisco’s geography, it eluded her. All she could do was keep following, and hope the SFPD would trap them.
Over the snarl of the Bowler’s engine, Zec heard sirens ahead - distant, but closing. ‘What if they beat us to the top?’
‘Make sure they don’t,’ Fernandez told him. Zec got the message and pushed the accelerator harder. The Nemesis overtook a crawling Volkswagen Beetle and powered up a steep section of the hill, an intersection approaching fast—
The blocky bulk of a cable car loomed through the fog to their right on a collision course.
‘Srati!’ yelled Zec as the Nemesis shot over the hill crest and went airborne. The cable car’s driver saw its headlights just in time and yanked the brake lever, sparks flying from the metal wheels. The 4x4 flew across the vintage tram’s track, clearing it by an inch before crashing back down. Fernandez gasped in relief.
Behind, the cable car screeched to a stop in the middle of the crossroads, blocking the street.
Eddie and the biker ducked and swerved in a deadly two-wheeled dance. The MP5K spat fire; Eddie heard - and felt - a burst of bullets crack past as he veered back across the street.
The other man tried to cut behind him. Eddie braked and swung the other way. If the raider got on his tail, it would expose him to an attack from behind. But if he slowed too much, he would make himself an easy target.
The road ahead steepened sharply, the front forks of both bikes compressing with a whump as they hit the incline. The other rider, tracking Eddie, was less prepared for the impact. His bike lurched.
Eddie saw his chance.
He blasted past the other man, racing up the hill. A VW was in one lane at the top; he moved to pass it. He needed to open up a gap on his enemy and catch the Nemesis. If he got close enough to the 4x4, it might deter the other man from firing.
An intersection was just ahead—
And a cable car right in his path!