Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

corner after tight corner, pushing the car to its limits on the serpentine alleys. They exited the center and turned onto Viale Aldini, a much wider artery. Moments later, the headlights of a black SUV appeared behind them.

Cal grimaced. “That’s the car.”

“And they’re getting closer,” Andie added.

Henrik had his handgun poised by the open window. Two vehicles separated them. If either side got a clear shot, Andie wondered how well their abhorrence of public exposure would hold up.

“For God’s sake,” Henrik cried, “where are we going? How far is it?”

Zawadi overtook a white van as she tried to outpace their pursuer, but the speedy SUV kept gaining ground. “Basilica San Luca.”

“You’re aiming for the hill? Higher ground?”

Zawadi gave a wordless nod.

“That’s ten minutes, at least. We’ll never make it.”

Zawadi swerved onto Via Saragozza at the last second, then veered so hard onto a deserted side street Andie thought for sure they would end up flying off the road and crashing into one of the angular brick townhomes.

It was dicey for a moment, but the Fiat held, tires screeching as it evened out. Zawadi made two more turns before entering a tree-lined residential neighborhood. Andie felt queasy from the ride—she had always succumbed easily to nausea.

Henrik had a palm thrust against the dash. “Where are you going now?”

“I told you,” Zawadi said.

“But this isn’t the way.”

“We’ll use the portico. It’s far more direct.”

“If you’re on foot, yes. Surely you don’t mean to run four kilometers uphill, with armed gunmen at our back?”

“You wish to help me? Let me know—all of you—when you see a pair of motorbikes.”

“That just might work,” Henrik said slowly, “if we can find the bikes.”

Andie was helping Cal watch the road during the exchange. “They’re behind us again!” she said.

“Too soon,” Zawadi muttered. “Too soon.”

“There!” Cal pointed out the window. “The street we just passed, halfway down. Three motorcycles.”

She cut hard to the left at the next intersection. “We’ll have to make a stand, before more join them.”

Andie felt panic clawing at her throat. “Make a stand?”

“Stay behind with Henrik while he covers us. I’ll start the bikes. Cal, you ride with me to distribute weight.”

“This could be suicide,” Henrik said.

Zawadi turned left two more times, circling back to the deserted commercial street Cal had pointed out. A trio of weathered cruisers, two black and one red and royal blue, were parked on the street. Each was chained to a metal U-bar on the sidewalk.

Zawadi raced forward, whipping the Fiat sideways at the last second to block the road twenty feet away from the motorbikes. Someone shouted in Italian from a balcony and slammed a door shut.

Zawadi killed the engine, reached underneath the dash with a pocketknife, and sliced off a wire. “Stay in the car until I call you,” she said to Andie and Cal. “Henrik, watch the road.”

As Zawadi leaped out of the car and sprinted toward the bikes, she stuffed her handgun in the back of her leather pants and pulled out a six-inch metal rod from beneath her shirt. After a few manipulations, the rod became a pair of bolt cutters in her hands, allowing her to snip the chains on the bikes with ease.

“That’s handy,” Cal said.

From the back seat beside him, Andie was the first to spot the headlights of the black SUV. “They’re here!” she shouted through the lowered window.

Instead of continuing down the street, the SUV disgorged a tall red-haired woman and then roared away.

“They’re circling around for a crossfire,” Henrik said. “Hurry, Zawadi!”

A gunshot shattered the driver’s-side mirror. As Henrik opened the door and took up a defensive position, Andie and Cal huddled low in the back seat. Andie risked a glance out the rear windshield and saw the red-haired woman taking cover behind a forest-green Volkswagen Golf. In the opposite direction, Zawadi had returned the metal rod to her belt and was bent over the nearest motorcycle, fiddling with the ignition.

“We have to do something,” Andie said to Cal.

“We’ll just get ourselves killed.”

“If we don’t get off this street in time, we’re dead anyway.”

After Henrik rose to return fire, keeping their attacker at bay, Andie opened the door and slid out of the car, then ran in a crouch to Zawadi. Both men yelled at her to stay put, but she ignored them.

“How can I help?” Andie said. “I know bikes.”

Without looking up, Zawadi said, “Find the ignition wires. Follow them to the connector.”

Moving in a crouch to the next bike over, Andie found the three ignition wires and traced them to the little plastic box on the underside of the engine. “Got it.”

“Pull it off.”

Andie tugged as more shots rang out. Down the street, the black SUV swung into view again, hemming them in. Shadowy figures were visible through the dash.

“It won’t come off!” Andie said.

“Twist it in half and then pull.”

Andie tried that, and it worked. An arm holding a gun leaned out of the SUV. Just as Zawadi got the red-and-blue bike to start, a bullet hit the ground inches from her exposed leg. Andie cringed as Zawadi fired back, shattering their pursuers’ windshield, then ducked behind the bike and tossed Andie a piece of loose wire with stripped ends. “Connect two ports with the wire.”

“Which ones?”

“Any two!”

Sirens whined in the distance. Andie’s adrenaline spiked so hard she dropped the wire and had to waste a precious second leaning over to pick it up. As feared, their attackers had them in a crossfire, and Andie could almost feel a bullet ripping into her. But Henrik and Zawadi were firing back, covering her, so Andie did her best to calm her shaking hands as she twisted the ends of the loose wire onto the ignition wires.

The windshield of Andie’s bike shattered. “Hurry!” Zawadi urged.

Someone screamed behind them. Andie thought it was a woman but wasn’t sure. Please let it not be Cal or Henrik.

Finally the ends of the wires connected. Not daring to take the time to look up, Andie begged the bike to start