The Swede looked for a way to head Webb off, but the stadium was uniformly laid out and offered no short cuts. “Where are you?” He keyed the neck mic.
“Coming in from your right,” Drake shouted and then he was there as Dahl swept around a sharp bend, the Yorkshireman using his shoulder to reduce speed.
“Just behind you,” Smyth said.
“And me,” said Yorgi.
“I am, of course, ahead,” Beau said, the slippery tones extremely smug. “And waiting for Webb.”
And now Dahl saw the Frenchman. Somehow he’d gotten above Webb, probably vaulted from seatback to railing and over vendors, knowing him, and was crouched on top of a barrier waiting for Webb to race into range.
Dahl slowed and readied.
“The last of the Pythians is about to go down,” Drake said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Beau sprang. Webb didn’t see him coming, but certainly felt the impact, letting out a grunt and a half-scream before collapsing to the floor. Beau bounced off the Pythian’s stomach and landed on two feet, as fleet as a cat and more deadly. Drake and Dahl slowed even more, coming up to a struggling Webb. Hayden’s hesitant but hopeful voice filled his ears.
“Did you get the bastard?”
Drake paused, cautious. Webb was already upright, glaring at Beau as if he might have the power to melt the man with eye lasers. Luckily for him, he was unscathed.
“You betrayed me, Beauregard Alain. Protected my back long enough to thrust a knife into it. You were never a believer.”
“In chaos and death and the accumulation of supreme power? No, I will never believe in that. These days, I believe only in myself.”
“Then you are weak. Just like the rest of them.”
“Hey, pal,” Drake called out. “You’re the one who’s about to go weak. At the knees when I break your bloody nose.”
“Get in line,” Kinimaka growled.
Webb turned to stare at them, the whole scene now peculiarly still. The crowd still roared and the fans cheered or jeered depending on who had the ball and the state of play or the referee’s decision. But a small sphere enveloped them — the sphere of absolute focus.
“Do you think I would do all this with no backup plan? Ladies and gentlemen—” the madman spread his hands “—I have, and they’re limitless.”
There it was then. Drake held his breath, conscious that this monster could cook up the most terrible of brews. Yorgi suddenly had eyes everywhere.
“She’s run off,” Dahl said. “Your woman friend. Gone.”
“You will never stop me. Never kill me,” Webb said with a smile. “Do you know why?”
Drake stood prepared. “Because death’s too good for you,” he said with a surety.
“Because I am the next ascendant. I will find the elixir. And I will not only join the Master — I will assume his position!”
The cops moved in slowly. Dahl chuckled. “I know one position you’re going to be assuming, old boy. Just as soon as we get you into general population.”
But Webb flung his hands into the air, a black device in one hand, and pressed a red button.
“Let them fly!” he screamed. “Let them fly now!”
Drake froze, ready for anything, the first image he had of the new threat was a sparkling rush from above. Flashing edges of light caught his eyes, which were drawn to the skies.
People in the crowd were letting loose small drones, not many but enough to scare the security and some of the crowd. Drake took immediate shelter behind the concrete wall at his side, but the drones just hovered there, menacing.
Panic swept the area.
Drake knew how this went. Everyone who’d seen the cops chasing a man now saw the drones and assumed the worst could be happening. These drones were tiny, though, too small to hold any real threat, but nobody really knew that. How had Webb pulled this off?
No matter. They’d come to that eventually. Right now… He cast around for Webb.
“Where…?” Dahl surveyed the area.
Now they saw Beau, presumably in pursuit of Webb, leaping from railing to railing, but the crowd were starting to get in his way. Some were already clogging the aisles, others sheltering there. In another moment the drones all dived and spun in the air and then made their way back to their owners, eight in total.
No danger. Just threat. This was what Webb had been reduced to, but the madman still made good use of implied terror.
Somewhere above, at the Nou Camp’s top level, Webb raced up the stairs, heading for an exit. Hayden jumped on the comms, filling Drake’s ears with American expletives. Drake cut across her.
“Do you have eyes on him?”
“Yeah, but go. Just go!”
Drake took off fast, jumping two or three steps at a time, trying to pick his way through a confused, milling crowd. His urgency seemed to upset them even more and some followed in his wake, making it harder for Smyth and Dahl behind. Beau slipped up ahead, distracted by an anxious couple tugging at his arm, and trying to calm them.
“Slow down, people.” The voice drowned out Hayden and surprised Drake.
“Argento? What—”
“You’re inside a full capacity Nou Camp stadium. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if panic fills that place. Now slow down and act as if all is well.”
“Armand!” Hayden cried.
“I understand your frustration, but Webb is one man. And this is his get-out plan. One hundred thousand souls are packed into that stadium. Think smarter. Use the CCTV, Hayden, and catch him outside.”
Despite everything, Drake agreed with the Italian. With a conscious effort and fighting every instinct in his body, he slackened the pace and smiled around into concerned faces.
“All okay, folks,” Dahl called out. “Just a pickpocket.”
Drake shook his head. “You’re worse than a daily rag for finessing the bloody facts. As if they’re gonna believe you.”
Dahl shrugged. “They want to, that’s what counts, mate.”
Drake saw it in their faces. None of them wanted to miss the match, this highlight of their week or, for some, their year; none of them wanted to walk away from the global atmosphere. Their own optimism bred new belief that someone had played a malicious prank.
“You’ll be okay,” Drake said to a dithering couple. “Take your seats.”
He believed it. Webb had shown his new and apparently only recourse — contacts who couldn’t or wouldn’t cause mayhem on a large scale. At least for now. Maybe it was Webb’s way of staying below the radar. Or maybe he had so few collaborators left this was all they could whip together.
Still, they seemed effective.
Drake reached the top of the steps, thankful that the crowd appeared to be settling. Thank God that the cult had held off. Perhaps they were waiting for Webb outside. Drake passed his thoughts along.
They pushed through a door and then switched right along an open area, looking for some stairs. Eateries stood to their right, causing Kinimaka to give vent to a groan of longing.
As he ran, Drake caught sight of familiar faces running straight at them, chasing a fleet figure. “Hey!”
“Quit fucking goggling and stop that roadrunner bitch!” Alicia’s mild tones caressed his ear drums.
“All right, all right. Calm down.”
Drake saw the woman who Webb had been meeting with race toward him, as fast as anyone he’d ever seen. Mai and Alicia were chasing hard but dropping back, no match for the quick runner.
“Ha.” Drake couldn’t help himself. “You two stop to get your nails done?”
Dahl also planted himself in the way. “I see it’s a good job I’m here. As usual.”
The woman didn’t slow; face untroubled as she saw the obstacles in her path.