Back Track (45 page)

Bishop leaned forward and felt around on the floor until he found the .38 Special. He sat back and flipped open the chamber. Five rounds. But five was better than nothing.

‘Not that I’m complaining,’ he said, ‘but shouldn’t you be in the tunnel with the others?’

‘And miss all this excitement?’ She gave him a quick glance before facing front again. ‘I’ve come too far to quit now and besides, I thought you still might have use of my driving skills. Looks like I was right. Patricia can handle the women fine by herself.’

‘Did you at least call 911?’

‘Yeah. The dispatcher told me it had already been logged and that emergency vehicles were already on their way. Including the police.’

‘Kate,’ he said. ‘She must have called it in as soon as she heard shooting.’

‘Good of her. So what’s the plan?’

‘For now, just keep pushing this thing. We can’t let that aircraft get off the ground.’

Vallejo shut up and concentrated on her driving. They were already at fifty, the harsh terrain rocking them back and forth in their seats. Giving the car’s suspension a real workover. Bishop prayed they didn’t blow a tyre. Or even worse, an axle. Just thirty yards from the first fuel tanker now. Twenty. And just past that was the plane. It had already begun taxiing, getting ready for take-off.

Bishop gripped the dash with his free hand. ‘They’re moving.’

‘I know.’

‘Faster.’

‘I
know
.’

Then they were whizzing by the fuel tanker and crossing over the first row of ground lights. As soon as they hit the airstrip the terrain wasn’t so rough, but it was still a bumpy ride. Vallejo straightened the car out and increased their speed. The prop plane had to be going at forty miles per hour already, but they were gaining on it. Bishop braced a foot against the door frame and leaned part of the way out. The cold desert air blasted against his face and the noise of the jet engine filled his ears.

They were ten yards behind and closing. Five yards now. Four. Vallejo turned the wheel slightly and they began to approach from the port side. A few seconds more and the car was level with the rear cargo door, just behind the left wing. The engine was at half throttle now and rising in pitch as the plane increased its speed. Vallejo kept pace with it.

‘What now?’ she yelled over the noise

‘Just keep up,’ he shouted back.

But it was a good question. Bishop thought furiously, going through the few options available to him. The plane was going too fast for Vallejo to get in front and force it off course. And there wasn’t time enough to get onto the wing and screw with the port-side flap. And the flaps were already lowered, which meant he wouldn’t be able to stop it from taking off anyway. All that was left was to fire on the cockpit and try to hit the pilot. Not much of a plan, but it was all he had.

Bishop was about to order Vallejo to increase their speed when the cargo door started to slowly open outwards. And then upwards. The ponytailed bodyguard, Gerardo, was on one knee, holding it open with one hand. The other hand held the Micro Uzi Bishop had seen earlier. It was pointing right at them.

‘Pull back,’ Bishop shouted. ‘Now.’

Vallejo swerved and momentarily took her foot off the accelerator. They dropped back a few yards and both ducked down as a stream of bullets riddled the hood of the car. Then the bottom of the windshield developed a neat row of cracks from right to left. More rounds smacked against the door behind Bishop and he heard the rear window smash. Then nothing. He glanced to his right and saw Gerardo take his free hand from the door and pull the now empty magazine from the gun’s housing. Bishop sat up and saw an unharmed Vallejo staring back at him.

‘Bring us level again,’ he yelled. ‘Get close enough that I can jump across.’

‘Christ,’ Vallejo said. But she immediately speeded up until they were once again parallel with the cargo door. Both machines were travelling at about eighty now. She edged the car closer until they were only ten feet away.

Gerardo was already pulling a new clip from his rear pocket and bringing it round. Bishop aimed the .38 at the man’s chest and fired. The bodyguard jerked back and fell on his ass, one hand against his right hip, where there was already a dark stain forming. Bishop counted himself fortunate he’d hit anything. At the speed they were going, and on this terrain, pinpoint accuracy was impossible.

‘Get closer,’ Bishop shouted.

Only six feet separating them now. Five. Four.
Come on, baby, come on
.

Bishop aimed the gun at the man’s midriff and fired again. This time, he was too close to miss. Gerardo fell onto his back with an ugly hole in his chest. The Uzi fell onto the floor and bounced twice before it disappeared out the doorway and was gone. That was one less problem to worry about, at least. Bishop holstered his gun and raised himself to a crouch, facing the plane. Both hands gripping the door frame. Glancing to his left, he saw they were running out of airstrip. And the throttles were at full thrust. They must be doing close to ninety. Vallejo edged the car closer still. Only three feet away from the opening. It was now or never.

Bishop took a deep breath and held it. Then he leapt across.

He landed hard on the floor of the cargo area and kept rolling until Gerardo’s body stopped him. Ignoring the pain in his chest, Bishop raised his head and saw he was in a space about eight feet long and six feet wide, sectioned off from the rest of the cabin by a thick, black net running from floor to roof. Across the way, Vallejo was still keeping pace and darting looks his way.

Bishop clambered over Gerardo and used his feet to push the body out through the opening. He stood up and began waving at Vallejo to drop back entirely when he heard an inhuman roar at his right. Then a sledgehammer smashed into his side, just below his ribs. He fell to the floor in agony and when he looked up, saw the other bodyguard standing over him. His expression was a mixture of torment and pure, naked fury. He must have seen Bishop throw his brother’s body out the plane.

Shaved-head shouted something in Spanish, then pulled his right foot back for another kick. Bishop quickly rolled his body towards the rear of the cargo area, but it was too late. The man’s foot connected with the base of Bishop’s skull and his head bounced off the floor. Fighting the dizziness threatening to overtake him, Bishop kicked out with both feet and felt them connect with something solid. Bishop took a deep breath and shook his head. A mistake, as he almost lost consciousness right there. He turned to see Shaved-head a few feet away. He had a bloody mouth and was already halfway to his feet.

Time to end this
, Bishop thought, reaching for his shoulder holster.
Right now
.

Then the plane lifted into the air and the world shifted on its axis by twenty degrees.

Shaved-head lost his balance and fell back against the starboard side while Bishop slid back until he hit the rear wall. Bishop sat up and reached for his gun again, but before he could get anywhere near, Shaved-head was on him like a dervish. A roundhouse punch to the skull was followed by another kick to his stomach, followed by intense pain. Bishop fell onto his back and then Shaved-head was on top of him, shouting obscenities in Portuguese and pummelling his face with both fists. Left. Then right. Then left. Then right. Each punch like a freight train. Bishop tasted blood in his mouth and felt something snap in his right cheekbone. He knew he couldn’t take too much more of this.

But the cargo door was still open above his head, the noise of the engine still drowning out all other sounds. Remembering how he’d dealt with Hallaran, Bishop decided to try the same move again. But he had to do it now, while he still had some strength left.

Just before the next punch made contact, Bishop moved his head two inches to the right. Shaved-head’s fist glanced off his temple and hit the floor instead. Bishop immediately made a claw of his left hand and thrust it upwards with the palm exposed, the heel bone striking Ponytail right under his chin. He felt the man’s teeth click together and used the momentary respite to grab Shaved-head by his shirt lapels. He pulled him forward and at the same time kicked his legs up, using all his weight and strength to launch Shaved-head’s body up and over his head.

And out through the opening.

The scream lasted for a fraction of a second and then it was just the sound of the jet engine again. Bishop looked out into the darkness and figured they were about a hundred feet from the ground and rising. No way he could have survived that fall.

Bishop slowly got to his feet and touched his right cheekbone. His fingers came away bloody. Something was definitely broken in there. And a couple of his back teeth felt loose. Most of his face felt numb, though, which was probably a good thing. He reached up, grabbed hold of the door’s inner handle and pulled it down, fighting the heavy turbulence outside. It took a few seconds, but he finally got it closed and turned the handle clockwise until it clicked into the
safe
position.

The sudden silence was almost deafening as he pulled the .38 from his holster.

Two down. Just one to go.

Bishop parted the net partition, creating a gap large enough to step through. Beyond, the main cabin was about as plush as you’d expect. Everything in light tan. Four leather upholstered seats, each with its own glass table. A large LCD screen affixed to the wall ahead, with a small bar and a fridge in the corner. And plenty of space in which to move around.

Selina was standing in the aisle a dozen feet away, watching Bishop with round eyes. Poleina was behind her, gripping her shoulder while the other hand held a Beretta to her ear. He was half crouching so only part of his head and right shoulder was visible.

Bishop stepped into the cabin, keeping his own gun trained on Poleina’s right eye.

‘Drop your gun,’ Poleina said in a shaky voice. The hand holding the Beretta didn’t look at all steady, either. With his bodyguards gone, the man was clearly well out of his comfort zone. Which made him all the more dangerous.

‘Sure,’ Bishop said. ‘Right after you drop yours.’

‘I . . . I will kill her.’

‘I don’t think so. Not after you’ve just laid out two million bucks.’

‘I
will
. I know you came for this girl. Hallaran told me. You will not let her die, and you cannot shoot me without hitting her.’

Bishop said nothing, but Poleina was right. Bishop had always been highly proficient with light arms, but right now they were in a jet that was still climbing, with constant turbulence hitting the hull every few seconds. If he shot at Poleina and the plane hit an air pocket at the wrong moment, he’d take Selina’s ear off. Or worse. He couldn’t risk that.

Bishop needed to get closer. He took a tentative step forward. Then another.

‘
Stop
,’ Poleina shouted, jamming the barrel into Selina’s neck. ‘
Stop there
. I will shoot her if you keep walking.’

Bishop halted and said, ‘We really don’t need to do this, Poleina. I don’t care about you. So why not set this thing down somewhere and let us both off? Then you go your way and we’ll go ours.’

‘No. You drop your gun and I let you live. Or I shoot you, using her as a shield. I am the one in control here. Not you.’

Bishop hadn’t really thought he’d go for it, but he had to try. He shifted his glance to Selina. It was up to her now. Except her eyes were glassy, as though she was having trouble focusing on him. God knows what Hallaran had given her to keep her placid. Bishop could only hope she still possessed enough of her wits to do what was needed.

He stared at her, and without moving his head made a show of lowering his eyes to his right hand. It was next to his leg, just out of Poleina’s line of sight. But Selina would be able to see it if she tilted her head a little to the left. Keeping the thumb and pinkie hidden he started tapping the middle three fingers against his leg. Selina frowned, clearly not understanding. He stared hard at her and then slowly lowered his eyes again.

Follow my eyes down,
he willed,
and look at my hand
.

Poleina was watching him too, not taking his eyes off Bishop’s face. Which was all to the good. He pulled back the hammer of the Beretta and said, ‘You will drop your gun.’

Bishop ignored him and kept his attention on Selina. He figured he still had a few seconds left, so he continued tapping his fingers against his leg. Still frowning, she finally tilted her head a little to the left and moved her eyes slowly downwards. They stopped at his hand. Once Bishop knew he had her attention, he stopped tapping and tucked his ring finger into his palm. Followed by the middle finger. Then the index finger.

She raised her eyes to his, her brows still together. Bishop moved his eyes towards the .38 Special in his other hand, then down to his leg again. Went through it all again quickly. Ring finger. Middle finger. Index finger. Gun. Then he looked at her, willing her to fight through the fog and understand. He did it a third time and locked eyes with her. Ten seconds had passed already. Poleina wouldn’t wait much longer.

Selina lost the frown. Instead, she started moving her lips with exaggerated mouth movements. Bishop didn’t need to be a lip-reader to understand the words.

Three. Two. One. Bang.

Good girl. She’d got it. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and she gave a thin smile back. Then she lowered her eyes to the three fingers of his hand. Waiting for the signal.

‘Enough thinking,’ Poleina said. ‘Drop the gun or I shoot.’

Bishop looked at Poleina. Picked his target and held the gun steady. Took a deep breath. Held it.

Three.
He tucked the ring finger away.

Two.
The middle finger followed it.

One.
The index finger disappeared.

Then everything happened at once. Selina suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs and lurched her body forward as though about to vomit, instantly freeing her shoulder from Poleina’s grip. Poleina clutched at the space where her neck once was. The other hand was already lowering the gun in her direction when Bishop fired his. The .38 hit Poleina in the shoulder and he yelled and fell back against one of the glass tables, gun still in hand, then rolled off and hit the carpeted floor.