Ice Claw (39 page)

Corentin ducked his head and checked their position, his eyes flitting between rearview and wing mirrors, searching for any gap in the traffic where he could take advantage.

“Two minutes.”

“There’s another girl. She’s seen another girl, walking towards her now. She’s slowed. Something wrong here….”

“Damn!” Corentin swore as a city trolley bus blocked his way. He thrust a street map at Max with one hand, swung the steering wheel with the other. “Can you read a map? Get us to Parc la Grange!” Corentin didn’t wait for an answer. “We’re on Rue du Roveray.”

Max’s eyes scoured the street map, but his mind raced faster than the engine revved. Who was the girl Sophie was meeting?

Max’s finger traced their intended route as the big car swung through the traffic. “Rue de Montchoisy, left!” Max instructed.

“No! Gridlocked! Next! C’mon, kid, c’mon!”

The pressure was on him, but Max stayed focused. He was the navigator now, and the big man had to follow his instructions. “First left, Rue de Nant, it’s one way—in our favor.”

Corentin was driving fast and expertly, ducking and
weaving. Horns blew. A near miss. Brake. Heel, toe, clutch, change down, high revs, engine screaming. Redline the rev counter.

“I see it!” he told Max.

Thierry’s voice: “Can’t get any closer, Corentin. Come on! How close?”

“One minute …” Another surge of power.

“I have to take her now. They’re arguing. She’s got a necklace or something. Trouble! Bikers!”

“Give them the pendant!” Max shouted. “It’s worthless!” But he knew his cry of alarm meant nothing. “Turn left, fifty meters, then right!” he ordered Corentin.

“Dammit, kid! More warning!” Tires burned rubber as Corentin heaved the big car across the intersection. “I see the park!” he yelled at the phone. “Three hundred meters! Two … one fifty! Thierry, where are you?”

Thierry’s labored breathing heaved down the phone. “Picnic site …” Interference scrambled the line, then the last words picked up again: “… fighting … Get here!”

Max gripped the dashboard.

Corentin’s face was dark and threatening, eyes locked onto the park entrance. He shuddered the car to a halt and was out of the door before Max could release his seat belt.

Max ran. Sedate rose gardens and sculpted ponds lay farther to the left, then the park merged into trees and open grassland. He could see the rolling fight two hundred meters ahead. Thierry was throwing one of the bikers to the ground, the machine’s wheels spinning dirt and grass, roaring as the throttle jammed. The kid had no chance against Corentin’s partner—he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Bikers swirled like attacking wasps. Corentin, fifty meters ahead, was already grabbing one of the outriders, literally kicking the bike from under him. Max knew what those iron fists were doing to the rider.

He saw Sophie run after the girl whose back was to him. She spun around, faced Sophie and grappled with her.

Peaches!

Max almost stopped running in shock. Two other bikers headed for the girls. No sign of Sharkface. Where was he? He had to be here. Had to be.

“Peaches!” Max yelled.

His ploy worked. The girl lost concentration for a split second, looked across towards him, and fell hard to the ground as Sophie stepped in and body-slammed her down.

The two bikers would have reached Max but for Corentin and Thierry, who were playing their own game of block-tackling. The hardened ex-soldiers had known war and conflict, had endured physical and mental punishment few could imagine, so those two bikers were going to get stopped. And hurt.

Max was just thirty meters away now. He knew that Peaches was not only a strong athlete but also a killer, and she wasn’t going to let Sophie win an easy victory. She scissor-chopped with her legs. Sophie went down, rolled, grabbed the edge of the nearby park bench, pushed her legs like pistons, balanced, twisted her body as if she were on a pommel horse in a gymnasium, and was back on her feet.

Max could see that Peaches had the pendant wrapped around her fist. That didn’t matter anymore. Saving Sophie did.

It was then that Peaches spun like a karate expert.

Generating enormous power, she gripped something else in her fist: a blunt metal stick.

“Look out, Sophie!” Max shouted.

His warning saved her. She lurched back. Another grapple and she would have Peaches at a disadvantage. But her leg gave way and she fell badly, going down on one side, her head hitting the concrete base of the park bench.

Max saw her slump. She was unconscious.

“Corentin!”

The warning cry was no sooner out of Max’s mouth than he saw the hard man react. Max sprinted after Peaches. She had all the answers.

Corentin was almost at Sophie. “Look after her!” Max yelled, then ran as fast as he could towards the escaping girl.

There was no further threat from the bikers, who were all down. Max sucked in air, pumped his arms and drove his legs. He was gaining.

Sharkface loved his crew. They were the only family he had ever known. And he was well aware that Tishenko could hurt one of them if he didn’t succeed—that was a hold the withered-faced man kept on him. But now Tishenko’s killer, the pretty one, the one who looked so glamorous, who had no physical blemish—she was taking the glory. She had replaced Sharkface, a common thug, in Tishenko’s favors. Once she delivered the pendant she could have whatever she wanted from the madman.

Sharkface waited, silent and unmoving, in the cab of a 4×4 in the trees. From his vantage point he saw the men in leather
jackets fight his boys, saw them getting hurt, and watched as Max Gordon ran into the fray. Tishenko had told him that only the Fauvre girl and Max would arrive. But these two men were professionals. Their presence was a mystery.

Peaches had won her fight, and she ran towards him. Sharkface’s instructions were to get Peaches, the pendant and Max Gordon back to the mountains. But the situation had changed. Max and Sophie were outnumbered, but these two men had turned the tables. Priorities shifted. Sharkface could not take on the English boy. Not that he couldn’t beat him, he thought, but it was he and Peaches who were now outnumbered. It was the pendant Tishenko prized more than anything. Deliver that and Sharkface could have whatever he wanted.

He knew the Hungarian girl was a cold-hearted killer, and he also knew that if their roles were reversed she would grab the opportunity that now presented itself.

The engine was idling. She was running straight up the hill towards his vantage point. He was far enough back in the trees not to be seen. She ran hard, but Max was less than thirty meters behind. He was going to catch her. Sharkface blinked the headlights. This way! She sprinted, made up some lost ground and crested the hill.

Sharkface floored the accelerator and two tons of 4×4 traction leapt forward from the trees. Potÿncza Józsa, the smiling Peaches, the chic expert skier, adored by young men and a ruthless killer, took the impact full on. The last thing she saw before life went out of her eyes was a smiling ragged-toothed mouth.

Sharkface slammed on the brakes and skidded five
meters—straight at Max, who threw himself to one side. He tumbled and rolled down the incline. By the time he was on his feet, Sharkface had retrieved the pendant, leapt back into the car and roared away, the wheels tearing grass.

Max raced through the trees and caught a final glimpse of the 4×4 as it slowed, dipped out of view and then moments later joined the main road, heading east. It was the wrong way! If there was going to be a problem at CERN, the nuclear research center lay to the west! Then the 4×4 disappeared from view.

Moments later Max’s trembling hand touched Peaches’s neck. She looked as though she were sleeping, curled on her side. But there was no pulse. Conflicting feelings confused him. Was he afraid of touching the girl he had once thought of as a friend, who was now dead—or fearful of resting his hand on a killer?

Corentin checked Sophie’s injuries. She was slipping in and out of consciousness. Thierry tied up the bikers, leaving them facedown, wrists bound to ankles.

“Police will be here any second,” Corentin said. “We’re taking her to the hospital.”

Max nodded. “How badly hurt is she?”

“I don’t know. A crack on her head and something wrong with her leg. There’s blood, look, in her ear. I think it’s a fractured skull. We have to be careful with her.” Corentin turned away, whistled to Thierry to join him.

Max pushed the hair back from her face. “Sophie, what’s going on? I don’t get it.”

Her eyes opened, blinked a few times, and stayed open, as if she were just waking from sleep. “Max?” She smiled. “Thought I was dreaming. Knew it was you. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you steal the pendant? You should have told me everything.”

She was weak but she could hear him. Her voice faltered. “You were sick. You did not trust me.”

Her words hurt, but it was the truth.

The Audi rolled across the grass towards them. Sophie tried to reach something in her jacket pocket. “Max, he’s in the mountains. My phone, get my phone. She told me, Peaches told me. That’s where they have him … in the Citadel.”

Max pulled out her phone. She was losing consciousness again.

“Sophie, hang on. Your dad sent these men to help us. We’re OK now.”

She shook her head. “Sayid …,” she whispered. A brief smile and she reached up her hand to touch his face. “I tried…. Sorry, Max.” And then her eyes closed.

Max held her, not wanting her to die.

Corentin eased her away from Max, checked her pulse. “She’s alive. We’ll get her to Emergency.”

Corentin and Thierry lifted her gently onto the backseat of the Audi.

“Get in,” Thierry told him.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I have to go on and try to stop this thing. Whatever it is. Look after her, Corentin. If you hadn’t been here they’d have killed her. Thanks.”

Max pulled his backpack from the car.

Corentin was behind the wheel and Thierry cradled the unconscious Sophie on the backseat. They had done their job. Max Gordon was not their problem, but Corentin admired the boy.

“And you? What thing? Where are you going?”

It was suddenly all too big a problem. As if someone had told him to climb a sheer wall of ice dragging a Land Rover behind him. “Somewhere called the Citadel. I’ll find it.”

“Other end of the lake,” Thierry told him. “Mountain ranges. You can’t go there—you don’t have the gear. Come with us.”

Max looked at Corentin. They both knew he wouldn’t.

The stubble-faced man pushed a folded map through the window. “Take this. You’ll need it.”

Max nodded his thanks. “Corentin, if you know anyone in the French security services, cops, anyone, talk to them. Any contacts you might have.”

“And tell them what?”

“Check back with Laurent Fauvre. He’ll explain.” He snatched the folded drawings and notes from his backpack and shoved them at Corentin. “There’s a triangle. It pointed to CERN, the nuclear research center. Here! Geneva! I was wrong. I got it wrong. The line crossed those mountains, same direction, different location. You tell them there’s going to be something huge, in these mountains. It’s critical. Tell them!” Max pulled the pack onto his shoulders and was already running as Corentin eased the Audi away.

Sirens announced that the police were on the way. Max looked at Sophie’s cell phone. Why was she trying to reach it?

She wanted him to have it. Why? He pressed the buttons, found the text messages and his heart almost thudded to a halt.

Man who takes the animals has Adrien. Bring monk’s pendant and Max to Parc La Grange, Geneva 7. Sayid is with me. I can help.
Your friend, Peaches

Sophie had realized her friend was a liar and had betrayed them all. There was no Adrien. He did not exist. Peaches could not have known that.

But they had captured Sayid.

Today was the seventh. Zabala predicted catastrophe for the morning of the eighth. Max had been wrong about Sophie. She had tried to save Sayid. Abdullah’s words now made sense. She had fought for Max. Now it was up to him to fight for Sayid. He had to get to the mountains to save his friend.

And stop the madness.

Panic spiked him. Clawing anxiety was taking hold. He had to get on the lakeside road or back to the train station. Either way it would eat precious time. Slow down and think about it. Taking the road south of Geneva would cross the border into France before he could curve north towards the end of the lake and the mountain kingdom that held Sayid. That route posed the risk that he’d be spotted by the police. And he couldn’t chance being held in custody. Go on the north road around the lake, staying in Switzerland, and he’d sit in traffic. The couple of hours’ journey might take twice as long as that. The lake was seventy-odd kilometers long, and then there was the trek into the mountains—how much time did he have?

Max looked at the rows of fancy yachts and motor cruisers moored at their pontoons in the marina opposite the park. His eyes sought out a boat, any boat, he could take.
Steal
was the word, he reminded himself. He was going to have to break in
and get it started. Then he heard the soft spluttering of powerful engines. A boat snuggled stern-in to the pontoon, where a woman was about to tie the boat’s lines. White leather seats contrasted with the midnight blue hull, which shone like glass. A man had walked to the bow of the speedboat to check that fenders protected the shiny hull. The woman was a few meters away on the quay, trying to slip the rope around a cleat, when Max stepped aboard unseen. The engine idled in neutral. Gripping the walnut steering wheel, he braced his legs and shoved the throttle’s four levers forward. Angry-sounding triple diesel engines, frustrated at having their power curtailed, churned water, the stern drives eager to thrust the scalpel-sharp hull through the calm surface. The man tumbled overboard; the woman screamed, but her voice was already muted by the roaring engines. Like Aladfar! The wind pushed across the raked windshield. The boat surged to thirty knots and the speedometer showed it could reach fifty.