The Revelation Code (Wilde/Chase 11) (18 page)

The raiders weren’t in it. They had instead gone to the bridge’s side, climbing on to its wall . . . and jumping off.

Eddie barrelled into the open just as the last man dropped out of sight. The roar of engines came from the waterway below. Rather than risk being hemmed in on Berlin’s roads, the raiders were making their getaway by boat along the Spree, the river bisecting the city. He ran to the wall, seeing the lead craft with Trant and two others aboard already powering away under a railway bridge to the north-west. Another picked up speed behind it, a man in the back seat sealing the angel inside a case— The Englishman flicked the MP7 to full auto and unleashed a long burst after the trailing speedboat. The man flailed and fell over the side, but then the compact weapon’s magazine ran dry. ‘Fuck!’ Eddie roared, watching helplessly as the two craft surged away into the darkness with their prize.

‘Eddie!’ He looked back to see Rothschild hurrying towards him.

‘I told you to stay put!’

‘I know where they’re going! That man told the others to get to the sluice channel – he means the
Schleusenkanal
, along the river. We passed it on the way from the airport.’

‘They must have a car waiting,’ Eddie realised. Using the river would make it easy for the robbers to evade pursuit, and once they reached their rendezvous, they could quickly reach Tegel and leave the country. ‘You know how to get there?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Okay, come on. We might be able to catch ’em.’ He ran to the street. Rothschild hesitated, then followed.

He guessed that the van belonged to the raiders, but doubted that the driver had left the keys in the ignition. Besides, the boats were doing at least forty miles per hour; he needed something much faster . . .

‘And there it is,’ he said as he saw the very thing approaching.

A sleek silver Porsche 911 was cruising through the rain. Eddie ran out into its path, waving his arms. The driver swerved to round him – then jammed on the brakes as Eddie pointed the gun at his car. ‘
Achtung!
’ shouted the Englishman. ‘Outta ze
Auto
!’

The middle-aged man might have been confused by the words, but he couldn’t mistake the message. He scrambled out, hands up as he stared in fear at the man marching towards him.

‘Here, present for you,’ said Eddie, handing the weapon to the startled driver. ‘Prof, get in!’

Rothschild ran to the Porsche. Its owner looked in confusion between his car and the gun, then took a couple of panicked steps backwards and pointed the MP7 at the Yorkshireman. ‘You – you are not taking my car!’

‘It’s empty, you dozy twat,’ Eddie replied. The driver gawped at him. ‘I’ll try not to smash your Porsche to fuck, but if anything happens, send the bill to Oswald Seretse at the United Nations in New York. Okay?’

‘Oswald Seretse,’ the German replied slowly. ‘Okay. Yes.’

‘Great. Thanks!’ Eddie dropped into the bucket seat and slammed the door. Rothschild swung herself awkwardly into the passenger seat beside him. ‘All right, never driven one of these before. Hope
Top Gear
was exaggerating about how hard they are to control!’

He depressed the clutch, slotted the gearstick into first, then rocketed into the night at the head of a huge trail of spray.

15

E
ven from a wet standing start, the speedometer needle surged past ninety in mere seconds. ‘Whoa, bloody hell!’ Eddie cried, struggling to hold the Porsche in a straight line as the wheel squirmed in his hands. ‘Guess this one’s a turbo.’

Rothschild clutched the door handle with one hand and the centre console with the other, fingernails digging into both like claws. ‘Oh my God!’ she screamed. ‘Slow down, slow down!’

‘I’m chasing them – going fast is the whole fucking point!’ The one-way street became two-way at a junction. He swung to avoid the flaring headlights of an oncoming car, then slammed the power back on to whip around another vehicle ahead. The road ran along the riverbank, the long facade of another museum rising across the water to the right. ‘Can you see them?’

‘Not yet – and what exactly are you planning to do? They’re in boats, we’re in a car! And you don’t have a gun any more; how are you going to stop them?’

‘Not a clue. But if they get away with the angel, I’ve got no chance of finding Nina. So that’s not going to happen, whatever I have to fucking do.’ The clenched fury behind his words deterred her from asking further questions.

The channel curved, the road following it. ‘There!’ Eddie said, spotting churning wakes on the dark water. As the Spree widened, the boats had moved out into its centre. The Porsche was gaining rapidly, but as Rothschild had pointed out, there was no way of reaching them. ‘This sluice canal – how far away is it?’

‘Four or five— Ah!’ She gasped in fright as the Porsche swerved to overtake another car. ‘Four or five miles,’ she concluded, her voice noticeably higher in pitch.

‘We should be able to beat ’em there, but . . .’

‘But what?’

‘Exactly. They’ve got guns, and we don’t. And the rate they’re going, they’ll still arrive before the cops sort themselves out, especially as we haven’t even
called
the cops yet!’

‘I’m sure the poor man whose car you stole will have done that by now.’

‘Yeah, which means they’ll be chasing
us
, not the bad guys! Shit, and Derrick needs an ambulance an’ all,’ he remembered. ‘Why didn’t you stay and help him? He’s your friend!’

Rothschild bristled. ‘You told me he’d be all right! And if I hadn’t come with you, you wouldn’t have known where they were going. They’ve stolen a priceless artefact – we can’t let them get away with it.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Eddie muttered. ‘You’re as bad as Nina!’

Ahead, the boats went under a bridge. ‘Which way?’ he demanded. ‘Stay on this side or go across?’

‘I don’t know!’ she protested. An intersection was coming up fast, a long tram trundling towards the bridge blocking their view of what lay beyond. ‘I . . . This side, stay on this side!’

Eddie jammed the wheel to the left, stabbing at the brakes to send the Porsche around the tram’s rear. He felt the car’s heavy back end threaten to snap out on the wet road; even with decades of development and technological aids, the 911’s rear-mounted engine was still a trap for the unprepared driver. A punch of adrenalin as he caught the slide, then straightened – only for the headlights to reveal that the road along the river was blocked by building work, signs warning that it was for pedestrians only. ‘Shit!’

He braked hard, debating what to do. The sight of the boats pulling away made his mind up in an instant. He accelerated again, sounding the horn as he ploughed through the signs and traffic cones.

‘No, no, oh my
God
!’ Rothschild wailed. Shocked Berliners dived out of the way, one man vaulting the railing and hanging above the edge of the Spree as the 911 thundered past. ‘You’re going to
kill
someone!’

‘You bloody told me to go this way!’

‘I haven’t lived in Berlin for forty years! It’s changed a lot!’

Eddie shot her an angry glare, then returned his full attention to negotiating the waterfront. The Porsche’s left flank clipped a couple of construction barriers as he jinked to avoid a dumbfounded young couple, then its right side took a greater pounding as the Englishman was forced to grind against the metal railings along the river to dodge an oblivious headphone-wearing man. Rothschild shrieked as sparks flew past her window.

The construction zone ended just before the street passed under a large bridge, a train rumbling over the Spree above the boats. Eddie crashed through more barriers back on to the road and shot across an intersection – only to realise he was now going the wrong way down a one-way street. ‘Jesus!’ he gasped, flinging the car on to the kerb as a truck rushed at him. His passenger closed her eyes in terror.

He dropped back on to the street with a bang. Even with all the obstacles, they were still gaining on the boats. Eddie had no idea what he was going to do when he caught up with them, but as long as he could keep them in sight, he had a chance of recovering the angel, and bargaining for Nina’s release—

He dodged an oncoming car – and saw a new problem ahead.

A road bridge crossed the Spree on the right. Ahead, the street continued along the river – but it was barricaded, steel pillars allowing pedestrians and cyclists through while blocking cars. ‘Which way?’ he shouted. Rothschild’s eyes remained firmly squeezed shut. ‘Oi! Prof! Which fucking way do we go? Do I cross the bridge?’

She risked a look. ‘No, it’ll take you away from the river.’ With no other options, Eddie flung the Porsche into a slithering left turn. ‘And don’t you dare swear at me again!’

‘Then bloody help me!’ he snarled back. The new street was also leading him away from the Spree. ‘How do we catch up with the boats?’

‘If you can get on to 17th June Street, you’ll be able to get back to the river.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘The long road through the park that we came down when we arrived.’ She looked at the modern apartment buildings around them. ‘I don’t recognise where we are. If you can find the Reichstag, I can direct you from there. Go right!’

The next road in that direction was another one-way street, two cars at traffic lights blocking it, with more bollards preventing Eddie from taking to the pavement. ‘Have to try this next one,’ he said, peering ahead. The Porsche rapidly closed the distance to an intersection with a broad boulevard. More traffic waited at the lights; he pulled into the wrong lane to overtake. ‘Okay, hold on!’

Rothschild flinched as her memory finally caught up with the speeding car. ‘No, wait!’ she cried, but Eddie had already hurled the 911 into another wildly fishtailing turn – on to the broad pedestrian plaza leading to the Brandenburg Gate.

Even on a rainy night, there were still plenty of tourists milling around the Pariser Platz, forcing him to resume his symphony on the horn as he swerved to avoid knots of people and dawdling bicycle rickshaws. Making matters worse were the numerous uniformed men and women around the square’s periphery; it was home to both the French and American embassies, ensuring the constant presence of the Berlin police. ‘Like we weren’t in enough bloody trouble already!’ he complained as the cops ran to try to block him.

‘They have guns!’ Rothschild said in alarm. ‘Perhaps we should—’

‘We’re not stopping,’ Eddie growled. He fixed his gaze on the illuminated arch of the Brandenburg Gate at the plaza’s far end and dropped down the gears, foot to the floor.

The Porsche’s acceleration punched them back into the seats. Eddie’s continuous shrilling of the horn finally had an effect, the tourists clearing the 911’s path as it raced towards the central archway. He saw a cop beside the monument draw his gun, but was now committed. ‘Duck!’ he warned Rothschild.

The car blasted through the gate at over seventy miles per hour, emerging on a wide semicircular plaza. A single gunshot cracked after it, but the bullet glanced off the Porsche’s sloping rear. Rothschild squealed at the impact. ‘They’re
shooting
at us!’

‘Welcome to my bloody life!’ Eddie responded as he rounded another stand of bicycle rickshaws and brought the 911 thumping back down on to asphalt. He now knew where he was, seeing the long tree-lined avenue receding ahead. ‘How do we get back to the river?’

She reluctantly peered over the dashboard as the Porsche began its sprint down 17th June Street. ‘Go to the Victory Column,’ she said, pointing at the distant floodlit statue. ‘Then back over the bridge we took this afternoon. Will we be ahead of them?’

The speedometer needle surged upwards, Eddie weaving across all three westbound lanes through the traffic. ‘Damn well better be.’

Rothschild pushed herself back upright. ‘Why are you so angry with me? If I wasn’t helping you, you wouldn’t be able to follow those boats at all. You wouldn’t even have known to come to Berlin!’

‘I’m mad because you dropped the bloody statue,’ he said. ‘I had to save you rather than get the angel – and if I don’t have the angel, I’ve got no way of finding Nina!’

‘You don’t even like me! And I know Nina certainly doesn’t. I’m surprised you didn’t go after the angel instead.’

‘Don’t think I wasn’t bloody tempted.’

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘Because . . . because I couldn’t let another innocent person die for getting mixed up in our lives,’ he admitted. ‘Speaking of which, shut up and let me try to drive without killing anyone!’ Rothschild fell silent, but her surprise at his revelation was clear.

The speeding Porsche ate up the distance to the Victory Column in well under a minute. Eddie made a last jink around a bus before flinging the car into a power slide through the roundabout. Other vehicles skidded in panic around him, but he was already clear and racing up the next avenue.

A few more lunges around slower-moving cars and he saw the bridge ahead. He braked hard, bringing the Porsche down to an almost legal speed as he reached the crossing. Railings ran along its sides, giving him a view of the river below—

Movement on the water to his right. Both boats came into sight, still holding course along the centre of the channel. He had beaten them here, but now what? ‘How far to this sluice canal?’ he asked.

‘Still two or three miles,’ Rothschild replied.

Eddie swore under his breath. He remembered the roads ahead from his journey into the city, and knew he wouldn’t be able to go nearly as quickly as through the park. He needed a new plan, fast.

The boats would pass under the bridge in about twenty seconds. He stopped the car, staring at them, judging their courses . . . ‘Get out! Now!’

The elderly woman opened her mouth to protest, but Eddie’s expression warned her that it was in her best interests to obey. She clambered out. He waited until she was clear, then slotted the 911 into reverse and pulled hard on the wheel as he depressed the accelerator.

The Porsche swung backwards through ninety degrees to block the oncoming lane, a couple of cars skidding to a standstill. Eddie ignored the blare of horns, his eyes fixed on the approaching boats. The second, carrying two men and the angel, was still lagging behind the leader, off to one side to stay clear of its wake.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, bracing himself – then put the car into gear and stamped on the accelerator.

The 911 leapt forward, all four wheels clawing for grip on the wet road. Rothschild clapped her hands to her face in shock as it sprang over the kerb, hit the railing—

And smashed through, arcing down towards the water as the first boat raced by.

Eddie was hurled forward in his seat as the car’s nose hit the water – only to be brought to an equally abrupt halt as the airbag fired. The 911 floated almost vertically for the briefest moment, then the weight of the engine slammed its tail down into the river.

The airbag had already deflated. Eddie dizzily opened his eyes as water gushed into the cabin – to see the second boat racing straight at him, its shocked driver unable to change course in time—

The speedboat’s keel hit the Porsche’s bonnet, flinging it upwards over the windscreen and roof as if jumping a ramp. It left the water, lancing at the bridge . . .

And slammed into the arched girders beneath the crossing.

The men aboard were thrown headlong against the unyielding steel, blood raining down over the churning waters below. The boat’s mangled remains dropped back into the Spree, its prow crushed like an eggshell.

The Porsche had fared little better. Its windscreen had shattered as the craft ran over it, an explosive wave rushing in. Eddie choked and gasped, pinned in his seat by the weight of water.

The torrent finally eased as the cabin was completely filled, but now the Yorkshireman faced a new threat as cold hit him like a train. The temperature of the Spree on this miserable night was barely above freezing. He fought through the initial shock and clawed for the broken windscreen’s frame. The Porsche was dropping backwards into the dark depths; he kicked free of the jellyfish mass of the expended airbag and squirmed upwards through the opening. A dull boom from below told him that the car had hit bottom, bubbles surging past him. He followed them to the surface.

He breached the waves, gasping as cold air hit his wet skin, and looked around. The wrecked boat was floating beneath the bridge. Pieces of bodies bobbed around it. Someone on the bridge shouted in German. He tipped his head back painfully to see people staring down over the railings.

Eddie started swimming – not for the shore, but the boat. An echoing engine note warned that the first speedboat was slowing and coming around. A crushed and bloodied face sprang at him from the lapping waves; he shoved the corpse aside, searching in the low light for the destroyed vessel’s cargo.

A case floated nearby – the one containing the angel. He grabbed it, then swam for the river’s north bank, seeing a flight of concrete steps leading up from the water.

The engine noise grew louder, angrier. The first boat was racing back towards him. Onlookers above urged him on, but he ignored them, expecting gunfire at any moment.

He reached the steps and scrambled up them, cold water streaming from his clothes. Running footsteps; he turned to see a Berliner hurrying along the footpath – and on the river, the boat arriving, Trant standing up—