Chae was playing a game of chicken with the oncoming traffic, and he was winning; other drivers veered out of their way, crashing into cars and nearby storefronts, and Park considered that perhaps it was partially down to the gun he was pointing towards them.
He pulled himself back into the car as he saw the Bajaj, and then the motorbike, take a right turn at the end of Cikini 1, merging with traffic going north on Jalan RP Suroso.
‘They’re turning right,’ he told Chae, who merely nodded in acknowledgment, his own mind locked onto the targets ahead of them.
Cole fought to control the Bajaj as he ducked in and out of the steady thrum of traffic headed north, the little engine struggling to cope with the demands he was placing on it.
Behind him, he could see the car struggling to keep up, but the bike was moving ever closer, able to weave through the other vehicles even more easily than the three-wheeled Bajaj.
He jerked the wheel left at the last second, careening on two wheels onto Gondangdia 2, a narrow road leading west. Cole pushed his foot down harder and took off at speed past the Menteng Regency apartment building, a group of tourists stopping to stare at the crazy Bajaj driver, mouths agape.
Cole could see that his maneuver had paid off; the bike hadn’t been left enough time to turn, and had gone sailing right past. But Cole knew it wouldn’t take the rider long to correct the error; he would either turn around quickly, or else carry on to the next parallel road and then cut across to intercept them further up.
And Cole knew that the car would certainly have enough time to respond, and would soon be after them.
With Wong Xiang still cowering on the floor in the back of the Bajaj, Cole whipped down the street and took a right turn at the end onto Gondangdia 3, which ran parallel to a set of train tracks.
Cole knew from his earlier research that the tracks led to Gondangdia Station, and an idea began to formulate in his mind.
Cole heard the supersonic crack of a 9mm round followed an instant later by the sound of a ricochet, and saw in his wing mirrors the agent he stabbed through the leg, gun in hand. He was leaning out of the car, which was accelerating fast towards him.
More shots followed, and Cole kept his head down as the bullets ricocheted off the metal skin of the Bajaj. And then he heard the screaming of an engine at high revs and looked right to see the motorcycle racing towards him down another side-street, gun in the rider’s hand. He saw a flash from the barrel, and buried his head under the wheel, the bullets tearing through the Bajaj’s canvas upper.
Cole immediately punched the accelerator down even further and turned left at the end of the road onto Cut Meutia, the motorcycle right next to him now, the rider pointing his handgun through the open window.
Cole wrenched the wheel across and knocked the bike off to the side, keeping the momentum going and coming off the road; suspension shaking, he mounted a grassed central reservation, ploughed through a barrier and crossed over onto Jalan GSSY Samratulangi, heading north.
The bike was out of action for the time being, but the car followed him, bullets flying out across the highway as he gunned the tiny engine and headed for the train station which was now just ahead.
Time to see if his plan would work.
5
‘We’ve got him!’ Chae said confidently. Traffic was clogging up outside the station, and soon even a Bajaj wouldn’t be able to get through.
Park grinned and leaned further out of the window, gun arm steady, waiting for the kill shot. He’d take the American out, and would then move in to grab Wong Xiang. It was even providential that it would happen outside the station; they could get Wong away from the area nice and quickly by just taking the train. By the time anyone thought to follow them, they’d be long gone.
But then Park saw the little Bajaj turning, cutting sharply across traffic, across pedestrians, across the sidewalk; and then the American and Wong Xiang were gone completely, the little vehicle having been driven inside the train station itself.
‘Are you crazy?’ Wong called from the rear, people’s screams reverberating off walls and ceilings having told him they were now driving indoors. ‘You’re fucking crazy! Let me out!’
Cole ignored him as he piloted the Bajaj past stalls and ticket desks, in and out of startled onlookers, looking for the escalator.
He saw it moments later and drove the three-wheeler straight towards it. He revved it hard and the front end shot up and mounted the steps, the escalator’s motors pulling the lightweight vehicle right onto it.
Screams came from all quarters, but again Cole ignored them, keeping the revs high to ensure that the Bajaj didn’t fall down backwards to the foyer.
And then they were at the top, the little vehicle’s front tire bit down, then the rears, and it catapulted forward onto the platform, waiting commuters jumping out of the way and running for their lives.
‘Son of a bitch!’ Park spat as Chae mounted the curb and they both got out at a run. What was the American thinking? What did he hope to achieve?
A security guard, alerted by the screaming and running crowds, stood in the foyer. A look of confusion and panic was on his face, but a gun was in his hands and Park shot him on the run, passing him and mounting the escalators.
But then he heard the high whine of an engine behind him and moved to the side as Song mounted the moving staircase on his bike, accelerating up past Park and Chae onto the platforms above, in hot pursuit of the wild Bajaj.
Cole gunned the little auto rickshaw along the platform, people jumping out of the way left, right and center. A security guard drew a gun, but Cole veered close and clipped him with a wing mirror, knocking him to the ground.
Behind him, Cole could hear the sound of the bike accelerating up the escalator and found himself being impressed; if Cole was determined to win, then so were his pursuers.
Cole drove parallel to a stationary train, which began to move away from the platform, passengers wide-eyed as they watched him from their windows.
He saw the biker in his mirrors, raising his gun and firing, and again Cole hunkered down, hoping that the thin metal of the Bajaj would protect him.
And then the train left the station completely and Cole veered across the platform and accelerated towards the edge.
The orange three-wheeler left the platform with a less than graceful leap, plummeting hard to the tracks below; but the Bajaj got traction and pulled away after the train, puttering over the railway line.
They were only doing thirty miles an hour, the Bajaj all but incapable of doing any more, but in the damaged, semi-open three-wheeled rickshaw, it felt much faster.
As Cole turned to see the bike perform a superb jump off the platform onto the train tracks, he knew that the motorcycle was fast, and would be on them soon.
But at least he had narrowed his pursuers down to just one, the other two left behind to watch uselessly from the platform as their lone comrade continued the chase.
Song accelerated down the railway line towards his prey. He would have to kill the American for sure; the skill would be in capturing Wong Xiang safely.
As the bike bounced up and down on the metal pilings, Song was forced to pocket his Browning; there was no way he could control the bike with only one hand. But he was catching the Bajaj rapidly now, and would soon be in a better position to attack.