D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

and fell back into the car, his hands clutching at his throat where a bullet had pierced the carotid artery.

Erika, covered with the man’s blood and screaming hysterically, threw Michael off of her, and clambered up the seat, wrapping her arms around the driver’s neck.

“Stop the car!” she shouted. Stop it, now!”

The driver struggled, trying to keep control of the car. “Get her off me! Goddamnit!”

The car began to swerve and the men in the Jaguar took this as their cue to start ramming the Daimler from behind. This made Erika even more frantic. “Stop the car, I have to get out! I have to get out!”

“Get this bloody bitch off me, or we’re all going to die!” the driver said, his voice almost choked off.

Bullets slammed into the car again and the driver took the next right turn, throwing Erika over and nearly succeeding in choking him. Michael reached up, wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her back. The driver rubbed his throat and checked the rearview.

Erika, still in a panic, began hitting Michael with her fists. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!”

He had no choice. Rearing back, he slapped her across the face, hating himself when he saw the raw look of betrayal in her eyes.

“What’s the matter with you, are you trying to get us killed?”

More bullets hit the limousine, sounding like hailstones.

“You don’t understand!” Erika shouted. “I can’t be here!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

An odd look flashed across her face and she began to cry. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean for this to happen. I—”

Michael grasped her shoulders. “Of course, you didn’t,” he said.

The two cars were now traveling through the market district, each side of the road lined with empty stalls that, during business hours, offered fresh produce and other sundries.

Michael frowned, remembering something. “We’ve got to take the next left to Tower Bridge,” he shouted, “or we’ll end up in a dead end.”

“I know, mate,” the driver said, eyes flicking to the rearview. “We’ll take the next left.” He paused as he saw a truck backing into their path. He smiled. “We got the bloody bastards now!”

He stepped on the gas and Michael saw what he was trying to do. If he could get past the truck, the Jaguar would be trapped, forced to go a whole block out of its way in order to find them. By then, they would be long gone. But the driver didn’t see what Michael saw: a long piece of metal hanging off the back of the truck.

“STOP!” Michael yelled.

The driver, seeing the problem, stomped on the brakes. But it was too late. The limousine went into a spin, and the driver tried frantically to compensate when it careened into the truck with a frightening sound of tearing metal. Michael was thrown against the seat just as a piece of steel plunged through the windscreen neatly decapitating the driver.

Dazed and bruised, Michael saw his passport jutting out from beneath Welles’s body. He grabbed it, shoved it into his pocket, and got up to look out the window. Outside, the silver-gray Jaguar screeched to a halt fifty feet away, the doors popping open. Two men leaped out and moved forward, Skorpion machine pistols clutched in their hands. Through the shattered window he heard one of them speak German to the other, a joke, something about English scrap metal. The one who’d spoken, the taller of the two, had a head shaped like a bullet and walked with a swagger in his gait.

The surviving MI6 agent struggled to reach his weapon, which had flown out of his hands on impact and now rested on the road three feet from him. The bullet-headed German reacted, instantly riddling the agent with .32 caliber slugs.

Erika whimpered, her eyes shut against the horror, and Michael placed himself in front of her. It was a noble if futile gesture, he knew it, but if he was going to die, he wanted to face it head on. He realized his knees were shaking. The bullet-headed man stopped ten feet from him, and Michael could see the blackheads in the man’s nose.

The man raised the Skorpion machine pistol and grinned, revealing short stubby teeth.

The driver of the Jaguar leaned out of car and called out in German, “Karl, we must leave, there is no time.”

“I’m going to end this crap, now,” he replied, his voice sounding harsh and guttural.

Michael felt Erika grab onto him as she rose to her feet and stood beside him. Suddenly, the one called Karl straightened up, his eyes widening.

“Karl! Let’s move!” the driver of the Jaguar shouted.

Karl took one last look at them, eyes round with fear, and then he ran to the Jaguar. Tires spun when the driver stomped on the accelerator, and a moment later it was gone. Erika stared after the departing Jaguar, her expression oddly calm.

“Are you all right?” Michael asked.

She gave him a wan smile. “Yes.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

“Come on, there’s a tube station nearby.”

Grabbing her hand, they started for the station, which lay a block away. A large club crowd had gathered, heading home on the last train, making it easy to lose themselves within it. Michael bought tickets with his remaining pocket change, and when they reached the stairs leading to the Underground, he saw Police and Emergency vehicles streak by, their sirens dopplering as they passed.

The Whitechapel Underground station was several degrees hotter than aboveground and packed with travelers staring into space or into the eyes of soon-to-be loved ones. A train had just arrived and was disgorging passengers. Michael checked the sign displaying its destination and saw it was headed for New Cross, completely the wrong direction.