Crown's Vengeance, The (33 page)

They should have stayed straight. Their exotic vehicles, designed for maximum speed and luxury, were no match for the solid, unforgiving tree trunks that lined the roadway. Each car’s front tire rode up Parker’s hood, lifting the cars until they were perpendicular to the ground. Each vehicle sliced through the air like a knife until they slammed into the thick cords of living oak. Ten feet in diameter, the trees barely flinched on impact.

To his right, one vehicle crumpled like a tin can when it hit, the rear bumper joining the doorframe in a race to meet the front tires. Anyone inside was instantly crushed, and for good measure, their corpses roasted to a crisp when the racing fuel inside the car’s gas tank ignited.

A tremendous fireball turned night into day.

To his left, the other driver fared slightly better. His car, flipped nearly on the passenger side, slid through the first row of trees, sparks flying as the roof was torn off. It was when he reached the next layer of rock-hard sycamores that things went south.

A nearly identical fireball filled the air, scorched metal jammed against the thick trunk.

“If we live through tonight, I’m going to kill you.” All of this, and of course she still had something to say.

Parker’s heart hammered wildly against his chest. His skin tingled, a euphoric sensation overtaking his body. He was weightless and rocket-fueled at the same time, a feeling unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

They were alive.

Only after a few moments of heavy breathing did he notice the light. Outside, above the roof of their car, which now had two dark tire treads on the hood, an orange glow pervaded the darkness.

“Parker. You set the forest on fire.”

Apparently high octane racing fuel burned quickly. What moments earlier had been an inky black sea of leaves was now a raging inferno.

“Can you climb?” Parker asked.

Calm as could be, she turned to face him, the roaring fire sparkling in her eyes.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“The gate. If we can’t find a doorway, can you climb over? I’m not going back to Drake’s house, and if we move now, I bet that blaze will distract him long enough for us to get out of here.”

“If it means we escape, then yes, I can climb.”

Beleaguered tires left just a little more rubber on the road as he bolted away from the growing fire.

“The whole Boston fire department’s going to be here soon. There have to be a hundred acres of woodlands in this place.”

“I hope Drake burns with it.”

Now that the fire was behind them, the star-studded sky overhead was visible through the windshield, spider web cracks radiating from where the tires had crushed it.

The gate looked taller then he remembered.

“There should be a door around here somewhere.” He spotted one ahead, and Parker jumped from the ruined Ferrari, a tinge of guilt in his heart. Drake was an asshole, but his car didn’t deserve this.

“It’s locked.” Erika tugged on a doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s made of steel. We’re not getting through it.”

Peering upward, he guessed the gate was ten feet high. Tall, but he could jump and grab the top.

“Here, climb on.” Parker laced his fingers together to form a step for Erika’s foot. “I’ll boost you up. Once you’re over, I can jump up and haul myself across.”

To her credit, Erika didn’t complain. She planted her foot in his hands and stretched, Parker pushing her toward the sky.

“I got it.” Her weight lifted, and one arm hooked the fence, her body flush against the wall. As she grasped for a hold with her other arm, a strange thing happened.

The wall exploded.

Razor-edged shards of broken concrete stabbed them both. A deep thumping reverberated in Parker’s chest, his lungs suddenly unable to draw breath. Erika lost her grip and tumbled into his arms, her body lit like an angel falling from the heavens when he caught her.

Except it wasn’t heavenly light shining down. She was in the center of the brightest searchlight beam he’d ever seen. It was painful, so intense that his eyes forced shut without instructions from his brain.

Only when a familiar voice came down from the sky did he realize the searchlight was mounted on a helicopter that churned overhead. “Stay where you are. If you move, the next shot is at your head.”

Spencer Drake’s magnified voice came through a bullhorn. Parker turned his back to the beam, still unable to see anything. Chilled night air blasted them both, Erika’s hair flying like Medusa’s snakes as the helicopter hovered overhead.

“Turn around, and keep your hands in the air.” Drake was on the ground, shouting at them. Shielding his eyes, Parker could see a ladder dangling from the bird, the rope contraption swaying wildly in the swirling winds. The rotor wash was intense, so loud that he could barely hear Drake from thirty feet away.

“Mr. Chase, you’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble tonight. Still, I must thank you for bringing the items I requested to my house. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“Why are you doing this?” Parker shouted, hands in the air. “We didn’t want to get involved with any of this.”

Now on the ground, Drake held the same silver handgun he’d carried earlier, and it was leveled at Parker’s chest.

“Unfortunately we cannot always choose the path we take. You two have proven to be quite the resourceful pair. I’ve actually enjoyed this little game of ours, but sadly, it must end.”

“You think this is a game?” Erika was incensed, moving toward Drake as she screamed. “You’re going to destroy hundreds of millions of lives. People who’ve never done anything to you, people who trusted greedy scumbags like you with their money. You have no right to do this.”

“I have no right?” Drake was ten feet away, his gun waving in the air. “Don’t dare talk to me while you stand here on land that was stolen from England, ripped from the rightful owners after all we had done for you. You
peasants
need to be put in your place, reminded that if it weren’t for the British Empire you would all be wearing loincloths and riding horses. Britain made this country, and your colonist ancestors stole it. You and every one of your pathetic countrymen will be reminded who is the true superpower.”

Parker could see Drake was losing it. He was close enough now that the roaring winds wouldn’t be enough to send his bullets astray.

“America is a cesspool of greed and entitlement,” Drake continued. “Money is king in this country, glorified above all else. I’ve seen what wealth can do to a man, have spent enough time amongst the so-called
elite
of your nation to realize that this country is rotting from within, corruption and entitlement eating away at the heart of your republic.” Drake leveled the gun at Erika, an evil grin on his face. “America will soon feel the very shame that Britain experienced, know what it is like to fall from the top. Vengeance is now ours, and you will be in your rightful place, under the heel of the greatest nation on earth.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “Good-bye, Dr. Carr.”

Parker dove into Erika, tackling her to the ground as Drake’s pistol spit fire. The bullet ripped into his right shoulder with the force of a cannonball, throwing him against the wall. It was oddly warm, as though hot water had spilled on his shoulder.

When he hit the ground, pain burst through his body like fireworks. Teeth clenched, his breath coming in quick gasps, Parker grabbed the wounded shoulder. His hand came away soaked in warm blood.

“How pathetically valiant of you, Mr. Chase.”

Erika’s scream filled the air as Drake leveled his gun at Parker’s chest. Outlined by the powerful spotlight, the maniac appeared to be a specter, black as night, a demonic outline in human form.

Parker could see Drake’s finger curl around the trigger. An inch more that would end his life. With his good arm, Parker pushed Erika, away from the madman with the gun, away from danger.

He heard a soft whistle, a bullet coming to kill him.

The helicopter exploded.

In a fiery ball, larger and louder than any explosion he’d ever seen, the helicopter directly behind Drake’s head erupted into a ball of white-hot flame. Twisted metal hung in the air, suspended by the burning rotors.

A moment later, gravity asserted itself, and the flaming inferno fell to the ground, slamming down not twenty feet from them. No one moved, their eyes transfixed on the destruction.

“Put the gun down. I repeat, put the gun down, or we will open fire.” Parker realized the deep thumping in his chest hadn’t stopped. Lying at the base of the perimeter wall, they looked up into the dark underbelly of a second helicopter, which blasted Spencer Drake with a blinding light of its own.

One hand shielding his eyes, Spencer Drake didn’t drop the gun. His mouth moved, but Parker could tell no sound came out. The man was in shock, completely caught off guard.

“This is your last warning. Drop the weapon or we will open fire.” Parker didn’t need that warning. While Drake was still mesmerized by the thundering helicopter, he bolted from his spot at the base of the wall and flew toward the armed man.

Injured shoulder planted into Drake’s chest, Parker laid him out, as hard a hit as he’d ever made, on or off the football field. He
felt
the ribs break, sensed Drake’s sternum crack in half as he landed on him, bringing the full weight of his body to bear. The silver gun went flying out of reach. Drake was out cold. Breathing, but not going anywhere.

“Nice hit.” Nick Dean’s amplified voice came down from the open helicopter door. As the chopper drifted downward, Erika was suddenly in his arms, her face buried in his chest.

“It’s over,” he said, holding her tightly. “You’re safe now.”

Epilogue:

Two weeks later

Key West, FL

A warm breeze blew through his hair, the salty air filling Parker’s lungs as he looked out over the sparkling blue waters. All around him, people sat in bamboo chairs with their bare feet in the sand. Waiters flitted about in tropical shirts holding trays of seafood fresh from the open-air kitchen.

It was without a doubt one of the most unique establishments he’d ever visited. Situated on a stretch of sparkling white sand that lined the Gulf of Mexico, cloudless blood-red skies overhead, the dining room was unlike any other on earth.

Parker sipped a cold bottle of beer, beads of condensation running down the brown glass. His white linen shirt was partially unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His shoulder still ached, a white bandage where the bullet had gone through. Fortunately it didn’t hit anything major, and he was expected to make a full recovery. Erika sat across from him, stunning as always in an aqua blue summer dress that matched her piercing eyes.

“Key West isn’t so bad, don’t you think?”

She drained the last of her beer before answering. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe we’re still in America. The beaches are so
white
.” She kicked some sand his way, the white grains splashing against his tanned leg. He hadn’t worn long pants all week, and loved every minute of it. Eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, Parker took in the scene, a sense of utter calm descending over his body. Soft chatter floated past on salt-soaked air, the beach a picture of serenity.

Of course, it didn’t last, and the cell phone on their table began to vibrate fiercely.

“Must you answer that infernal thing? We’re on vacation.” She peered over the top of her oversized sunglasses in mock anger. He thought they made her look like a bug.

“It’s Nick.” He’d been expecting this call all day.

“Hey there, old man. What’s up?”

“What’s up is I’m wasting my time dealing with your ridiculous requests instead of doing my job.” Nick may have sounded angry, but Parker knew it was just an act. After all, the man had just been promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the CIA’s Philadelphia office, largely based on his role in uncovering the plot to destroy the US economy. Considering that Parker had handed him the man responsible for the attacks, Nick couldn’t be mad at him.

“How did it go?”

“The transaction has been authorized. I can officially inform you that the Internal Revenue Service has no interest in any financial transactions you make in the next ten days. This would include any wire transfers made to or from any German banks. Any money you acquire in this time frame will also be exempt from taxation.”

Parker’s cheeks threatened to displace his ears. As soon as she saw him grinning like an idiot, Erika knew it had gone through and raised her glass in a salute.

“Consider it a token of appreciation from the federal government. It was signed off on by none other than the new Treasury secretary.”

“Thanks, Nick. I owe you one.”

“We’ll call it even. Are you ever going to tell me where that money came from?”

A sly grin spread across Parker’s lips.

“Let’s just say you don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough. While I have you on the line, there’s someone who wants to speak with you. Hold on a second.”

The line went silent.

Erika gave him a quizzical look, mouthing, “
What’s going on?”

“I’m on hold. Nick said someone wants to talk to me. Oh, and now I’m rich. Order another round of beers.”

Two weeks ago, Spencer Drake had been taken into custody for a litany of federal crimes, the centerpiece of which was being charged with conspiracy to overthrow the government. That constituted treason, and he was facing the death penalty.

However, his arrest hadn’t been mentioned in a single newscast. The CIA and FBI had worked together to keep the entire ordeal under wraps. After what they’d found on Drake’s computer, he would never take a free breath again. Nick told Parker it had been a wake-up call, a stark message that the United States was wholly unprepared for a new kind of threat; one from within its own financial system.

E-mails and phone records had revealed the extent of Drake’s treachery. Within days of his capture, Secretary of the Treasury Gerard Webster had resigned, citing personal reasons. Across the Atlantic, recently installed Chancellor of the Exchequer Colin Moore had also resigned unexpectedly, the official explanation that he’d suffered a mental breakdown and simply was not up to the arduous requirements of his position.