The Hunt for Atlantis (37 page)

“You’d still kill me even though I’m one of the best of the best?” sneered Nina.

“I can’t disobey my father. I won’t.” Kari tried to reach for Nina’s hands, but she pulled them away. “Just one word, that’s all I ask. Lie! Please, I don’t care!”

“Not a chance,” Nina told her.

The low noise of the engines rose in pitch. The lights flickered, then the A380 shook itself from its torpor, starting to move.

“The first batch of the virus will be released about fifteen minutes after takeoff,” said Kari, going back to the sofa. “That’s how long you have to change your mind. Nina, please. Don’t make me kill you.”

Nina turned away to stare through the starboard portholes at the landscape across the fjord, feeling lost.

Chase could hear intermittent gunfire from outside as he, Starkman and his companions ran for the exit. His gun was in his hands, but he wouldn’t have time to aim it at anybody when he emerged. All that mattered now was getting as far from the biolab as possible.

They sprinted into the open. Chase saw the last of the civilians running away across open ground, a pair of white Jeep Grand Cherokees parked to block the road two hundred feet away. Taking cover behind them were a number of uniformed guards, a couple of bodies lying on the ground nearby. They were shooting at the two other surviving members of Starkman’s team.

And across the fjord, he saw an aircraft slowly moving towards the runway, a gleaming A380 freighter.

The virus was on board—maybe there was still a chance to stop Frost’s plan.

Nina was on board as well.

He didn’t have time to think about it. The guards behind the Jeeps had seen them, and were shooting at the men running from the biolab. Chase fired back one-handed, knowing that the chances of hitting them while running were almost zero—but he only needed to keep them off-balance long enough to get clear of the building.

Lime crashed to the ground as a bullet ripped into his hip. Every ounce of Chase’s training told him to go back and drag him to safety, but in this case there was no safety.

The CL-20 would detonate any second now—

One moment, Nina was looking numbly at the distant biolab buildings. The next, she jumped in her seat as the complex disintegrated, multiple explosions pulverizing it and sending tons of debris spinning hundreds of feet into the air. A torus of dust swept outwards like the shockwave of a nuclear bomb. “Jesus!”

Kari leapt up and ran to the portholes. “Oh my God!”

“That’s one hell of a last stand,” Nina said triumphantly. Qobras’s men had succeeded!

Then it hit her. It didn’t make any difference.

The virus was already out of the lab, on the plane. In fifteen minutes, it would be released. The Brotherhood had destroyed the wrong target!

Ears ringing, Chase staggered upright. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the hailstone-sized pieces of debris still dropping from the sky and looked around.

Nobody was shooting at him anymore. Both Jeeps had been caught sidelong by the blast and flipped over, crushing the men behind them.

The biolab had been almost completely obliterated. What few sections remained were smashed beyond recognition, walls jagged and tilting like broken teeth. Bent and twisted steel girders protruded from the rubble.

Chase squinted through the drifting cloud of shattered concrete, trying to see how much damage had been caused to the underground containment area. Its entrance was blocked by debris.

But that wouldn’t take long to clear—and to his dismay, he saw that the exposed part of Frost’s office farther up the hill was more or less intact. While the facade was cratered and cracked, it was still all in one piece—and even the windows had survived the blast, apparently made from the same transparent armor as the airlock doors.

That meant Frost and the virus had also survived.

The virus …

“Shit!” He looked across the fjord. The A380 was still trundling towards the eastern end of the runway. Once there, it would turn and accelerate down the long concrete strip, taking off and heading along the coast to release its deadly cargo.

Starkman groaned nearby. Aristides was several yards behind him, eyes wide in death. Chase rushed over and grabbed the American, hauling him up. “Come on! The virus is on the plane—we can still stop it!”

Starkman wiped dirt off his face. “It’s heading for takeoff, Eddie.” He indicated the bridge spanning the fjord. “We’ll never get there in time.”

Chase jerked a thumb in the direction of the house. “I know where to find a very fast car …”

The monitor on the desk came to life, casting a glow onto Kari’s worried face. “Ms. Frost,” said a woman’s voice, “I have your father on videolink.”

“Oh, thank God!” Kari exclaimed. “I thought you were dead!”

Frost’s voice emerged from the cabin speakers. “I’m fine. The containment area survived almost totally intact.”

“Was it Qobras’s people? I saw men parachuting into the grounds.”

“It was Starkman—and Edward Chase.”

Kari looked stunned. “What? But you said Qobras had—”

“Eddie!” Nina jumped up and ran to the desk. “You mean he’s alive? What happened, is he okay?”

“You might want to remind Dr. Wilde that she isn’t helping her case by sounding so pleased about that,” Frost said, voice acidic. “Chase was working with Starkman against us.”

Kari frowned at the screen. “You lied to me! If you knew he wasn’t dead—”

“None of this matters,” Frost cut in. “All that does matter is that they’ve failed. We still have the virus cultures in the containment area, and Schenk is moving our security teams to make sure they can’t get across the bridge to attack your plane. I thought Chase and Starkman were already dead—they soon will be for sure.”

“Nice wheels,” said Starkman, impressed. He and Chase stood in the garage beneath the house, before Kari’s collection of cars and motorcycles. “What’s the fastest one? Lamborghini? McLaren?”

Chase shot open the cabinet containing the keys to the vehicles. “No, we need a convertible—the Ferrari.” He pointed at the bright scarlet F430 Spider, noticing that Kari’s racing bike was no longer in its neighboring parking spot, then hunted for the right key. It was easy to find—the black and yellow prancing horse logo was instantly recognizable from his schoolboy fantasies.

“A convertible? Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to shoot from it. There’ll be more guards on the way—they’re not just going to let us drive straight across the bridge!” He tossed the keys to Starkman. “Come on! You’re driving!”

“What the hell are you planning?” Starkman demanded as Chase jumped into the Ferrari’s passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go!”

“Always the wise-ass, weren’t you?” Starkman climbed into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. The Ferrari’s engine crackled to life with an almost animalistic growl. “You think you can bring down the plane with just a UMP?”

“I don’t want to bring it down—Nina’s still aboard! Okay, go!”

The Ferrari peeled out of its bay with a shriek of tires as Starkman overrevved the engine. “Whoa! Little touchy!” He eased off and turned for the main door, which started opening automatically as they approached. “You’re going to try to save her? What’re you gonna do, jump onto the plane while it’s taking off?”

“If I have to!” Chase looked at the gear on Starkman’s back. “Give me your grappling gun.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Starkman objected. But he handed the device to Chase anyway.

The door rose high enough for the low-slung Ferrari to fit beneath. Starkman stomped on the accelerator, the engine howling. The car blasted forward like a bullet. “Holy shit!”

“I always wanted one of these!” Chase checked the load on his machine gun, then looked ahead. The driveway from the house zigzagged down the hill to join up with the road leading to the bridge—where another pair of Grand Cherokees had been positioned into a roadblock. Beyond them, halfway across the bridge itself, was a silver BMW X5.

Starkman pointed; more of Frost’s security forces crouched behind the Jeeps. “Hate to tell you this, but Ferraris aren’t bulletproof!”

“Nor are Jeeps! You ready?” The F430 swooped into the last curve.

“As I’ll ever be!” Starkman hefted his UMP in his left hand, holding the steering wheel with his right. The Ferrari straightened, the makeshift roadblock directly ahead—

“Fire!”

Chase opened fire as the Ferrari accelerated, sweeping his shots across the right-hand Jeep at window height. Starkman extended his arm from the side of the car and blasted away at the other SUV, spent bullet casings clinking off the windscreen.

The Jeeps shuddered under the onslaught, glass exploding and metal panels cratering as shots ripped through them. Chase saw a man fall. He didn’t expect to take out all the guards—he just needed to keep them down until the Ferrari could blast past.

“Get on the pavement!” he yelled.

“What?”

“The sidewalk, sidewalk!” The SUVs had blocked the two-lane roadway, but there was a pavement for pedestrians on the right.

“We won’t fit!”

“Yes we will!” Not that they had a choice—in a collision between a lightweight Italian sports car and a two-ton American SUV, there was no doubt which would come out worse.

Starkman swerved the Ferrari to the right, both men still firing at the Jeeps. Chase’s gun clicked empty. Bullets clonked into the side of the F430 as the security men shot back.

“Shit!” cried Starkman. “We’re not gonna fit!”

“Just go!” screamed Chase, bracing himself as the F430 hit the curb. The front spoiler splintered on impact—then the low-profile wheels slammed against the unforgiving concrete with a bang that pounded up his spine like a hammer blow.

Chase’s side of the car screeched against the bridge’s railing while the front wing on Starkman’s side clipped the rear of the Jeep and crumpled back like tinfoil. Both wing mirrors were sheared off, spraying the two men with glass.

“Duck!” Chase shouted as Starkman swung the Ferrari back onto the road. More bullets struck the car as they hunched down in their seats, one clanking against the hooped rollbar just inches behind Chase’s head.

Starkman accelerated again. Chase was shoved back in his seat as the Ferrari blasted away from the Jeeps. He let out an involuntary whoop of excitement at the sensation. “Bloody hell!”

“Good choice of car!” Starkman called over the rush of the wind. “Okay, so—”

The windscreen shattered.

Starkman spasmed as blood sprayed from a wound in his chest, a ragged hole blown right through his body armor. The engine note dropped abruptly as his foot slipped from the accelerator. The Ferrari coasted, slowing fast.

“Jesus!” Chase cried. He grabbed the steering wheel, trying to keep the F430 from hitting the parked BMW ahead.

Standing beside it, a gleaming gun in his hands, was someone Chase recognized instantly.

Schenk.

He recognized the gun, too. Frost’s chief of security had just shot Starkman with a Wildey.

His Wildey.

Chase brought up his UMP, remembering too late that he needed to change clips. Schenk aimed the long silver barrel at him—

He released the wheel and flung himself bodily over the top of his door. The distinctive boom of the Wildey reached him as a Magnum round blew a fist-sized hole in the back of his seat. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

Another boom. A chunk of asphalt flew into the air inches from his legs. He rolled again, the awkward shape of the cable gun digging into his back. There was a crunch of metal as the slowing Ferrari banged into the side of the SUV and came to a halt. The engine stalled. Schenk jumped back, taking cover behind his vehicle.

Chase sprang up and ran for the BMW. Schenk saw him and fired again, but Chase dived behind the X5, fumbling for a new magazine.

Shit!

Touch alone told him something was wrong. The open end of the clip was crooked, bent out of shape. He’d crushed it under his own weight when he rolled over the road. It wouldn’t fit into the UMP’s receiver.

Chase dropped the useless magazine, instead flipping the UMP in his hands and sweeping it at ankle height as Schenk rushed around the side of the X5, the Wildey ready in his hand—

The German’s shot went wide as Chase hooked one foot out from under him with the UMP’s stock. Schenk grunted as he was knocked off balance, and staggered, arms windmilling.

Chase rugby-tackled him, driving him back until he crashed against the guardrail, trying to force him over.

But Schenk was a solid slab of muscle, too big even for Chase to overpower by brute force. He realized the danger he was in and bent at the knees, dropping his center of gravity below the top of the railing. His arm swung, and the butt of the Wildey smashed down on Chase’s neck, felling him with a bolt of pain. Schenk’s boot cracked against the side of his skull. Chase dropped onto his side. Head swimming, he looked up.

The Wildey was pointed straight at his face. Beyond it, Schenk came into focus. The German grinned—

Blam!

Chase flinched.

But it wasn’t the Wildey that had fired.

It was Starkman’s UMP, the last bullet in its magazine gouging a bloody hole in Schenk’s right shoulder. The Wildey dropped from the German’s hand as he lurched back against the railing.

Chase caught his gun and flipped it around. “I think this is mine.”

He fired. The bullet hit Schenk in his left eye, the eyeball bursting in a revolting spray as the shot continued through his brain and exploded out of the top of his skull. His head snapped back with the impact and he toppled over the railing, falling hundreds of feet to the icy waters below.

Clutching his aching head, Chase staggered to the Ferrari. Starkman was slumped over the door, bubbles of blood dripping from his mouth. For a second Chase thought he was dead, but then his one eye twitched, looking up at him.

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t kill me now, huh?” Starkman said weakly. He pulled himself upright and flopped back into the seat. “Come on, you got a plane to catch…”

Chase opened the door to lift him into the passenger seat, but Starkman shook his head. “Leave me … I’m fucked, and company’s coming.” He looked in the direction they had come. One of the Jeeps from the roadblock was already chasing them, and more vehicles were speeding up the road from the corporate buildings. “I’ll stop ’em …”