The Lucifer Code (5 page)

It terrified him even more than the gun.

The strap’s release caught Lourds off-guard. He fell onto the hulking man’s bleeding body. Before he could recoil, Kristine fell on top of him, then swung round, kicking him in the head in her haste, and stood. She pocketed the knife, shoved the pistol into the back of her waistband, and turned her attention to the broken door, currently above her head.

A familiar sickly sweet odour tickled his nostrils.

‘Do you smell gasoline?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Wetness slid under the hulking man’s corpse. Lourds hesitantly touched it and sniffed his finger. It was definitely gasoline. The smell overpowered even the stench of blood and death.

‘There’s gasoline under us,’ he said.

‘The impact must have ruptured the gas tank. Give me a hand with this door.’

‘No! All we need is a spark, possibly from messing with that jammed door, and we could be burned alive.’

‘Do you really think just sitting here is our best option, Professor? Haven’t you realized there’s worse out there than fire?’

Lourds didn’t say so to his weapon-toting keeper, but he thought waiting for help was an incredibly intelligent idea.

‘Get up and help me,’ Kristine said, ‘Even if the police arrive to rescue us, I’m not sure I want to answer any of their questions. Turkish jails aren’t comfortable. And that’s only if the police get here before more of those men from the airport arrive.’

‘You don’t know that there are any more.’ But she had a point. Even as he said it, Lourds liked his plan less and less.

‘They tried to shoot us in public. They mowed down civilians everywhere. Do you really think they would have only sent one team?’

‘I defer to your experience.’ Lourds scrambled out from under her and crouched on top of the corpse. His footing atop the dead man was treacherous.

Several people approached the SUV. Lourds saw them through the smashed front windshield. A few onlookers asked them if help was needed, but others pointed out the dead man and all the blood in the vehicle’s interior. It was a nightmare image. They kept their distance.

Kristine pulled her pistol and brandished it through the broken window. A few of the onlookers gave ground, but that did not apparently satisfy his kidnapper. She fired two quick rounds into the air. One of the brass casings flipped down the back of Lourds’ shirt and burned him until he was able to shake it free. He prayed the gasoline vapour wouldn’t explode and kill him.

It didn’t.

A mass exodus of spectators began at that point.

‘Why did you do that?’ Lourds said. ‘They were only trying to help.’

‘Because one of those good Samaritans might be standing out there with a pistol or a knife,’ Kristine answered. ‘You’re a hot item, Professor Lourds. I don’t know why those men at the airport wanted you, but I do know some other people paid me a lot of money to bring you to them.’

‘You were bait?’

‘I was told you have a weakness for young women. Judging from the way you threw yourself at me, it appears to be true.’

Lourds couldn’t believe it. ‘The way
I
threw myself at
you
? I did
not
throw myself at you, young lady.’

‘Now you’re noticing the differences in our ages? You didn’t seem too worried about it earlier, did you?’

Lourds tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t even believe they’d got into the argument in the first place. They had more pressing concerns.

‘You’re standing in gasoline, Professor,’ the young woman taunted him.

‘That’s right! You could have killed us both by shooting that gun!’ Lourds said.

‘Both of you, shut up,’ snarled the man in the passenger seat; he was conscious again. He pointed a big pistol at them. ‘Or I will kill you both.’

Kristine turned her cold gaze on the man. For one tense second, Lourds felt certain she was going to kill the driver for threatening her.

‘You’re lucky your boss still owes me money,’ she said.

The man hesitated, then lowered his pistol and wiped at a cut on his face. ‘We need to get out of here.’

‘Agreed.’

Kristine turned her attention back to the jammed door. The gasoline stink was stronger now. Not relishing the idea of burning to death, Lourds helped her. This time the door gave way with a heart-stopping shriek of metal against metal. Fortunately they didn’t go up in flames.

The young woman grabbed the edges of the door and hauled herself out. Lourds jumped after her. They stood on the SUV looking down at the crowd, now hovering a safe distance away. His shirt hung in shreds and his whole body ached. He figured he looked like an extra in a zombie film. His hat was still on his head. He wondered what it looked like after all this.

Several onlookers had cameras, camcorders and camera phones pointed in their direction.

‘Come on.’ The man who had been sitting in the passenger seat stood in front of the SUV. He’d crawled through the broken windshield. Blood soaked his clothing and streaked his hands and face. He held a phone to his ear.

‘Where?’ Kristine asked.

‘There.’ The man pointed to a nearby alley. ‘There’s a car in the next street.’

At that moment, Lourds realized he should have been trying to escape his captors instead of looking round in a daze. He shifted his weight and leaped from the SUV, hoping to vanish into the crowd before Kristine or the man could catch him. Sadly, that wouldn’t keep them from shooting him in the back. But maybe they still wanted him alive.

But even as he moved, Kristine shot a hand out and caught his ankle. Rather than landing gracefully, prepared to flee for his life, he crashed inelegantly to the ground onto his already bruised face. His breath left him in a rush, but he struggled to get to his feet again. The crowd was only a few yards away. He could …

Kristine landed in front of him with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. She reached down and caught his hand in that excruciating grip again.

‘No,’ she said, addressing him like a dog about to chew on the furniture.

Reluctantly, Lourds got up and followed her like a well-trained canine.

The young woman and the man waved their weapons again and the crowd parted before them. Lourds struggled to keep pace with his captors. Running was awkward with his bruised body and his hand held in a death grip. Kristine seemed to be untouched by their adventures; she still moved like a dancer. Not Lourds. Every bone in his body ached and his face throbbed fiercely. They ran down the dirty alley. Shop doors thudded closed when the people inside saw them covered in blood and waving firearms.

By the time they’d reached the midpoint of the alley helicopter rotors were screaming overhead. Kristine threw her body into Lourds’. He smashed against the wall just as the helicopter floated into view.

‘Get out of sight!’ Kristine yelled at the other man. She pressed her body against Lourds’ and held him against the wall. The experience wasn’t altogether unpleasant. His body reacted instantly to hers. He prayed she wouldn’t notice.

She cursed. ‘What do you do? Mainline Viagra?’

‘Not hardly. I just like women,’ Lourds said. ‘However, I do wish that particular response of mine was a little more selective. I’d prefer someone less lethal and more sane.’

‘If I hadn’t kidnapped you, you would be dead by now.’

‘As opposed to dead later?’

Her face hardened. ‘Not my problem. You’re just a job to me, Professor. I’m getting paid to deliver you, that’s all.’

At that moment, a gunner aboard the helicopter opened fire. Large-calibre bullets ripped the other kidnapper to bloody rags and his body dropped to the ground.

Kristine cursed, released Lourds and shoved him towards the other end of the alley. ‘Run!’

Lourds did, holding his arms up over his head as though they might somehow protect him from bullets. He knew it was a wasted effort but he couldn’t seem to pull them down. The large-calibre rounds ripped holes in the walls and flagstones. Before he’d gone half a dozen strides, a sedan pulled into the mouth of the alley and sped toward him.

Rescuers?
he wondered.
Or more killers?

He really didn’t know.

Central Intelligence Agency

Langley, Virginia

United States of America

15 March 2010

Anxiety shivered through Dawson as he watched the video from the web camera on the helicopter’s nose. Since the camera only showed what was in front of the aircraft, he didn’t know what targets the men aboard the helicopter were shooting at. Gunfire rattled in professional bursts.

‘Isn’t there another camera in the helicopter?’ Dawson asked irritably.

‘I’m trying to bring it online now, sir,’ one of the technicians said.

The video coming from the helicopter’s nose swung wildly and almost made Dawson sick to his stomach. He crossed his arms, stood still, and forced himself to breathe to keep the vertigo at bay.

The wallscreen split into two different views. The left side continued to show the whirling landscape of rooftops presented by the helicopter cam. The right side of the screen showed local police units driving through streets crowded with onlookers reluctant to give way.

‘Where’s this feed coming from?’ Dawson asked.

‘WNN News, sir,’ technician answered. ‘The World News Network had a live broadcast in the area. They were covering Brad and Angelina’s—’

‘Who’s the reporter on the ground there?’

‘Her name is Davina Wilson.’

A small inset appeared on the wallscreen and showed a publicity headshot of a pretty African-American woman in her early twenties.

‘Find out everything you can about Davina Wilson,’ Dawson ordered.

In the street, police officers ran to the wrecked SUV with weapons drawn. Dawson thought they looked well trained and professional. Several onlookers started shouting and pointing into the alley as if the police officers couldn’t see the helicopter hanging overhead for themselves. A group of officers split off and sprinted for the alley.

Dawson cursed. If the gun-happy shooters aboard the helicopter didn’t kill Lourds, the local police might. At the very least, they would arrest him.

That wouldn’t make the vice-president happy.

‘Get me that pilot,’ Dawson said.

‘Yes, sir.’

Out of habit, Dawson shot his cuffs and adjusted his jacket. Sartorial elegance was his preference, the armour he wore among politicians. It also impressed the little people. The fact that the pilot would never see him didn’t matter. If Dawson was going to talk to the man, he was going to know that he looked his best.

Another inset image, this one of the pilot, a man in his late thirties, showed up on the wallscreen. Close-cropped blonde hair stood out against his dark skin. His eyes were too close together and a long knife scar marred his left cheek.

‘What’s this man’s name?’ Dawson asked.

‘Metternich, sir. Johan Metternich. He’s a South African mercenary currently in Istanbul while assigned to a pharmaceutical corporation smuggling blood diamonds out of his native country.’

‘We’ve used him before?’

‘Yes, sir. Three times on other operations. The Brits and Chinese have used him as well. He’s been a solid asset. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t cause problems and hasn’t failed yet.’

He’s also still alive
. Dawson knew that was more telling than anything else in the mercenary’s resumé.

‘Okay, patch me through to him.’

Almost immediately, the up close and personal hammering of the helicopter’s main rotor filled Dawson’s hearing. The bull-roar of the fully automatic weapon punctuated Dawson’s presence aboard the helicopter.

‘You’re risking our package.’ Dawson kept his voice calm.

‘Who is this?’ the South African asked.

‘I’m the man who cuts your cheques. If our package gets damaged in any way,’ Dawson threatened, ‘not only will you not get paid, but I’ll also put a bounty on your head. Do we understand each other?’

Metternich growled curses. ‘We’re not going to hurt your package. He’s still alive and breathing.’

The helicopter swung round so the nose cam pointed down into the alley. Lourds and the woman ran to the other end where a sedan glided to a quick stop.

Dawson covered the microphone with a hand and looked at the technicians. ‘Who’s in that car?’

‘Checking, sir.’

Another window opened up on the wallscreen, then zoomed in on the vehicle registration plate at the back of the sedan.

‘It’s registered in Istanbul.’

‘Then find out who it’s registered to.’ Dawson cursed vehemently and turned his attention back to the action.

‘Who’s in the car?’ Metternich demanded.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Dawson said. ‘They’re in our way. I want our package.’

‘If they’re not part of the package, that makes it easier.’ Metternich raised his voice. ‘Take out the car.’

On screen, Lourds halted as men boiled from the back of the sedan.

Machine-gun fire opened up again as the helicopter canted to the right. The heavy-calibre rounds strafed the wall beside the sedan. Two of the men from the ground vehicle raised machine pistols and opened fire.

‘I’ve got access to the second camera now, sir.’

‘On screen.’ Dawson shifted his attention to the new image.

The second camera, placed in the helicopter’s cargo area, offered a view forward. Metternich occupied the pilot’s seat. Two gunmen crowded the cargo door with heavy-calibre machineguns; they were firing.

Dawson took a deep breath and let it out. He told himself that the op was going to play out just fine. But they hadn’t run one this hot in years. Whoever Lourds was, whatever he represented to the vice-president, he’d better be worth the risk they were all taking.

Bullets from the men beside the sedan crashed through the helicopter’s Plexiglas shield. Metternich cursed ferociously and struggled to bring it under control. The aircraft swung out over the rooftops and the alley was obscured.

‘Get on the skids,’ Metternich ordered. ‘We’ll strafe them on a straight run.’

The two gunmen moved out to either side of the cargo area and clambered out onto the skids. They hunkered down into position as Metternich piloted the helicopter round to approach the sedan once more.