Webb stood before a red-marked exit door, looking over at him as if drawn by the incredible thunder spitting from the car. Three enemies loomed close behind, their guns not pointed at Webb but being forced to protect their own backs. Alicia, Mai, Dahl and Smyth bore down upon them like avenging demons, straight at the readied barrels of three weapons.
Drake floored the accelerator, letting out a yelp and a cheer at the instant turn of speed. The beast pounced, burning rubber, slewing slightly as it ate up the distance between it and the cultists. Unable to ignore the impending threat, they turned.
The car plowed into them. One flew over the low hood, taking flight as his arms and legs pinwheeled faster than a skier falling down the seventy-meter slope. Another rebounded, the thump bone-jarring, the sudden stop and reverse momentum mind-blowing. The third somehow landed hard on the hood, denting it enough to make Drake wince as the two shared a look through the sparkling windscreen.
“Get. Off. My. Car,” Drake mouthed.
The man’s eyes bulged as Dahl grabbed his ankles, pulled him clear and swung him across the floor. He skidded further than expected, the high gloss complementing the slide, ending up far enough away to shake his head and then start reaching for his gun. Mai finished him off with a single shot, then rolled her eyes at Dahl.
Drake flung open the door, now opposite the exit Tyler Webb had used only a minute ago. The chatter through his comms tripled, excited voices exuding information at a rapid rate. He joined Alicia and Smyth at the door.
“Thought you’d fucked off ’ome,” Alicia greeted him.
Drake wrenched the door open. “And choose between you and the car?”
Smyth shouldered through the gap, ignoring them both, game face on. Drake followed, knowing the soldier expected instantaneous backup. Surprisingly, they emerged into another hall, this one much smaller though nonetheless high and spacious, and filled with trailers, vans and every mode of car transportation, either en-masse and cheap, or private and overpriced. Offices bordered the building, with gantries and metal bridges spanning the gap. Drake stopped in the face of uncountable obstacles.
“We’re gonna need a bigger—”
Hayden joined them. “How many exits?” She spoke into the throat mic.
Drake heard the reply. “Eight, plus three double doors.”
“You have people on them?”
“We’re… trying.”
Drake shook his head. “Split up,” he said, without much hope. “We may get lucky.”
Alicia hadn’t the spirit left to summon up a double entendre.
“So that’s it?” Smyth growled. “Webb gets away. Damn it!”
“Not yet,” Dahl said, ever the optimist. “Not bloody yet.”
But outside the skies were blacker than a killer’s heart, the streets as helpful as a call center. Webb could have gone a dozen different ways, and then a dozen more. Drake took a breath and waved at his colleagues.
“We’re not done yet. Webb’s here for a reason, and it wasn’t to watch football or ogle high-end brands. He’s not finished here yet, and we still have a good lead.”
“What?” Smyth rasped.
“The woman.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
With Mai and Smyth double-checking their perimeter, the SPEAR team strode back around the side of the arena toward the front doors. Conversation was passed, the most significant part of which for Drake, was a comment made by Beauregard.
“The cultists’ men, they are slow. Lacking, due to years of watching and no action. Perhaps they are complacent, but have now become aware that they will have to step it up.”
“These are mercenaries,” Hayden said. “Not true cultists.”
“That is exactly what I mean,” Beau told her. “That their bosses are slow, lacking. Inactive. They will have to improve and amplify their skills if they are to achieve their own goals.”
Hayden nodded slowly. “You could be right. Idleness breeds complacency. They can’t remain idle.”
“One more reason for a trip to Dubai,” Drake appended.
Upon returning to the front entrances, Drake began to wish they hadn’t. The unsure masses had congregated and milled around whilst being told what to do. The clamor drowned out all conversation. Hayden waved them all back again.
“Argento.” She tapped the comms. “Where are we?”
“No facials. Webb has gone. The dead terrorists are simply that at the moment. No identification. On a much brighter note our new female friend just started to sing higher and longer than Pavarotti. She—”
Hayden smiled grimly, taking in the team. “We’ll be there soon, Armand. Good job.”
“Of course, of course. I am merely magnificent.”
“Now.” Hayden breathed out a ragged sigh and glanced around, her hair framed by a huge white Motor Show sign. “Where the hell can we find a car?”
Despite the proximity of innumerable vehicles it took thirty minutes for their transport to turn up. By that time the team was chomping at the bit and bordering on irritable. With no further information forthcoming, Webb’s trail was growing colder by the minute. Beat cops and informants failed to find anything on the street. CCTV cameras came up blank, even the covert ones.
And Europe was a big continent. So many places to disappear.
A minibus packed them all in, with Dahl taking the wheel. Ironically, as he set off, the streets of Barcelona became much easier to navigate as people left the area or turned in for the night.
Alicia wiggled her elbows into Yorgi’s ribs. “Whoa, it’s a good job you’re smaller than a woman, Yogi. And stop friggin’ wriggling, ’less you want me to headlock ya.”
Drake turned partway around. “Don’t let her bully you, mate. Give her as good back.”
“Webb came to Barcelona for a reason,” Hayden was saying. “Are we to believe it was just for her?”
“She had skills,” Dahl said. “Took a major weapon to take her down.”
“A blunt instrument.” Drake thought about the litter bin and then glanced over at the Swede. “And a major tool.”
“Weapon,” the Swede amended.
“Y’know, I’m not convinced—”
“Still,” Hayden interrupted. “If the woman’s so important — who is she?”
“Just wait,” Kinimaka said. “And we’ll find out.”
“Maybe not Barcelona.” Mai always thought outside the box. “Maybe Spain.”
“To recap then,” Hayden said. “We have fanatics dedicated to preserving the secrets of Saint Germain, and Tyler Webb journeying from Transylvania to Versailles to Barcelona, digging through old chemistry books and enlisting the help of expert teams… and people. What is he ultimately chasing, though? And why?”
“Dude willingly abetted the destruction of his own organization to get where he is,” Smyth said, then tapped his forehead. “Crazy. This situation could exist entirely in his head.”
“The cultists don’t think so,” Lauren said.
“He’s collecting items. Or following a map. Or stealing artefacts.” Drake shrugged. “Whatever. We’ll ask him when we find him.”
“If we don’t get taken off this thing first,” Hayden fretted. “I mean, the entire team chasing one man?”
Drake scratched his forehead as Dahl wound through the quiet streets. “Don’t be daft. The world’s most wanted man, and a path of destruction and danger across Europe? Of course we’ll see it through. Not to mention the personal angles.”
A call came through, which routed through Bluetooth to the vehicle’s phone system. Dahl touched a button.
“Yes?”
“Argento here. We have progress, mi amico. The woman is a ghost, a fringe-walker that nobody has ever heard of or seen before. How about that?”