Someone in the growing crowd spoke English. ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’
‘Never mind that, call the cops,’ Eddie ordered, turning to locate the Audi. The driver clambered woozily out. ‘Shit! They’re still moving.’
‘What about Tova?’ Nina asked in alarm, concern overcoming discomfort.
Eddie scrambled out of the capsized Twizy. The Russians were pulling Tova from the Audi—
No, they were trying to pull her out. But she was limp, apparently unconscious. Her captors seemed little better off. One man hobbled around the car, his hard gaze darting between the historian and the onlookers before he barked a command to his companions. The trio abandoned Tova and ran towards a park to the north-west.
‘Nina, make sure she’s okay,’ said Eddie as he set off — not to intercept the Russians, but back towards the bus, where he had spotted something on the road.
‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded.
‘Find out who they are,’ he called back. He reached what he had seen — the dead man’s fallen gun. He picked it up. It took him a moment to identify it: an SR-1 Vector, a high-powered sidearm used primarily by the FSB — the Russian intelligence service that had succeeded the KGB. That pretty much confirmed who had tried to kidnap Tova Skilfinger — but the question now was why?
Only one way to find out. As Nina climbed from the wrecked Twizy and started for the Audi, he raced after the fleeing men.
The leader was hurt, running with a limp, but he clearly had the training and fortitude to overcome the pain. As he and his comrades reached the park entrance, he glanced back and saw Eddie following. Another barked order, and one of his men skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, then drew his gun—
Eddie dived and rolled behind a stationary Volvo as the Russian opened fire. The woman in the car screamed and hunched down in her seat as bullets struck her vehicle.
‘Jesus!’ Nina gasped, dropping low beside the Audi at the crack of gunfire. Panic spread amongst the people nearby, sending them scattering like terrified birds. The Russian kept shooting, blowing out some of the Volvo’s windows, then looked back over his shoulder for a moment to see how far his companions had gone—
A moment was all Eddie needed.
He popped up and fired through the car’s cabin in front of the hysterical driver. Two bloody bullet wounds burst open in the Russian’s chest. He crumpled to the ground. The Englishman offered a quick apology to the woman, then ran across the road to kick away the Russian’s gun in case he was still a threat.
He was not, eyes frozen wide. Eddie gave the dead man an angry look, then ran into the park after his companions.
Nina watched him go, then rose and leaned into the Audi. Tova was sprawled on the back seat, unmoving. ‘Tova?’ the American asked fearfully, reaching out to check her neck. ‘Are you okay?’
For a moment she felt nothing… then she found a faint but steady pulse. Tova reacted to the touch, flinching before crying out in Swedish. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay!’ Nina told her. ‘They’ve gone.’
The historian stared at her, still frightened. ‘Who were they? What did they want with me?’
‘I don’t know, but you’re safe now. The police are on their way. Are you all right?’
Tova sat up, putting one hand to her head. ‘I–I think so. I hit my head when we crashed…’ She took in Nina’s own injury. ‘Oj herre Gud! You are hurt!’
‘I’ll live,’ Nina replied through gritted teeth.
‘And what about Eddie? Is he okay?’
‘God, I hope so.’ She turned to see her husband running into the park.
Eddie hurdled a low fence, pounding across a snow-covered flower bed to cut a corner before reaching a wide path. The two Russians were about fifty metres ahead, having passed a large statue on a high stone plinth. The limping leader looked back again, seeing that Eddie was still in pursuit. Another barked order, and the other man stopped and raised his gun.
‘Shit!’ Eddie yelped, hurriedly changing direction to put the plinth between them. The supersonic whipcrack of a bullet passed just behind him. More screams echoed across the park as people realised the firefight was coming their way.
He reached the statue. Castings of old-fashioned cannons or mortars acted as fence posts at each corner, chains hanging between them. He jumped over the obstacle and pressed his back against the plinth. Raising his gun, he edged sideways to peer around the corner. Was the Russian just trying to slow him down, or actively attempting to kill him?
A gunshot and a shower of stone chips from the plinth’s corner as he hurriedly ducked back into cover gave him an answer. Until the car crash the Russians had minimised collateral damage, but now that the kidnappers had lost their target and were in danger of being cornered, all bets were clearly off.
He leaned back out as far as he dared, trying to see what his opponents were doing without exposing himself to fire. The leader was cutting across a lawn in the direction of a red church beyond some trees. Even with his limp, it wouldn’t be long before he was lost to view — and Eddie had no doubts that he had been well trained in melting away into a city’s population.
If he got away, then Tova was still at risk of another kidnap attempt — or worse. He couldn’t let that happen.
But he had to deal with the gunman first…
Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket. He threw the garment out from one side of the plinth — as he darted out into the open on the other.
The Russian fired — at the first target, the jacket twitching in mid air as a bullet punched through it. The man was quick to realise that it was a decoy, already swinging round to take aim at the second—
Eddie was quicker. His shot hit the shooter squarely in the forehead, a wet spray erupting from an exit wound in the back of his skull. The man almost somersaulted backwards to land in the snow, red flowering across the white expanse.
No need to check if his target was dead this time. Eddie hopped over the chains, snatching up his punctured jacket and running after the last Russian.
He quickly gained, the kidnapper’s painful ankle slowing him. The Russian left the park and ran up a road past the church. Eddie closed the gap. Twenty feet, ten. The man heard him coming and looked back, raising his gun—
Eddie tackled him to the ground.
Both men skidded through the snow before tumbling to a stop. The Russian’s cap came off. Eddie drove a punch at his groin. He made contact, but his opponent had twisted so the blow struck his hip. His foot lashed out in retaliation. Eddie jerked away. The man’s heel hit his shoulder. The Englishman rolled back, whipping up his gun.
As did the kidnapper—
They each got their first clear view of the other’s face — and froze.
Eddie’s gun remained locked on the other man — just as the Russian’s own weapon stayed fixed on him. The kidnapper was taller than his pursuer, intense pale eyes set in a hard, lean face. They regarded each other for a long moment.
The other man broke the silence. ‘You know why I am here, Chase.’ A statement, not a question.
‘Yeah,’ was Eddie’s only reply. The kidnapper nodded, then lowered his gun. Eddie did the same.
The Russian’s level gaze remained fixed on him, thoughtful, calculating — then without a word he stood and hurried away. Eddie rose, silently watching him round the red-painted church and disappear from sight.
Only when the limping figure was gone did he move, putting his battered leather jacket back on and slipping the gun inside. He heard someone approaching from behind and turned. ‘Eddie!’ Nina called, running to him. ‘Are you okay?’