The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,184

dampness. There was a red smear on the flaccid airbag. A paralysing nausea rolled over him as he tried to raise a hand to restart the car.

A middle-aged black man scrambled out of the pickup and stared in dismay at his vehicle’s crumpled side before turning to Adam in anger. ‘Hey! What the hell? Look what you’ve done, you asshole!’

Adam took several deep breaths, forcing back the sickening dizziness. His fingers found the override in the ignition. He turned it. Something in the engine bay clattered alarmingly, but then the V8 burbled back to life. He put the gearstick into reverse.

‘Oh, hell no you don’t!’ cried the pickup driver, reaching for his door handle. ‘You ain’t going anywhere!’

Adam reached into his jacket as if about to draw a gun. The other man retreated, worried. ‘Sorry, I don’t have time to exchange insurance details,’ Adam said as he applied power. The Mustang briefly resisted before jerking away from the pickup, leaving a chunk of its radiator grille embedded in the truck’s mangled bodywork. One of the headlights was broken.

He reversed until he reached a gap between the parked cars, then swung up on to the sidewalk to get around the obstacle. The man yelled impotent abuse after him.

A siren behind grew louder. Adam checked the mirror. One of the Suburbans made a slithering turn off Capitol, the blue lights in its grille blazing.

He shoved his foot down, snatching rapidly up through the gears as he powered along the sidewalk and swung back on to the road. The SUV followed, gaining rapidly. The Mustang had suffered mechanical damage – it was only subtle, but Adam could feel that it was less responsive than before.

Another intersection ahead. He threw the car to the right, heading north – realising too late that he was going the wrong way up a one-way street.

Headlights came at him.

He swung the Mustang to the left – then veered sharply back to the right as the other driver panicked and swerved across his path. The two cars missed by inches. He looked back, hoping that the Suburban’s route was blocked, but there was just enough room for the SUV to slip by.

Someone leaned from the side window. Fallon. Laser light stabbed from his MP5 as he aimed at the fleeing Mustang.

Adam jerked the wheel left as Fallon fired. Bullets seared past. Another burst as the soldier adjusted his aim, and the Mustang echoed with the hammering hailstone plunk-plunk-plunk of rounds tearing through sheet metal. Adam flinched, but the shots didn’t hit him.

He was not unhurt, though. His left eye suddenly stung. Blood from the cut on his forehead was running down his face. He wiped it away, but realised from the size of the stain on his hand that the flow was not going to stop.

Traffic ahead. He was approaching the intersection with M Street, cars crossing his path in both directions.

A dazzling red dot fluttered across the dashboard. Adam ducked as Fallon leaned further out and fired again. More sharp thumps of impact – and the right side of the windshield crazed as a hole was punched through it.

The Mustang reached the junction. Left or right?

Neither.

Adam braced himself and ploughed straight across, aiming for what he hoped would remain a gap.

Horns blared, brakes squealed – then the Mustang lurched as a car clipped its back end. A sharp yank at the wheel and he regained control, checking the mirror—

The car that had nicked him spun like a top as Fallon’s Suburban slammed into it. The SUV skidded round – then flipped on its side, crushing Fallon beneath it and smearing him over the road before rolling on to its roof. It smashed into a street lamp, practically folding in half around it.

Two down.

But there remained one to go. Baxter was still behind him, the last Suburban refusing to give up its prey.

The Mustang tore past a fire station, men already running out to help the crash victims. He looked ahead. The street ended at a T-junction. He slowed to turn west, feeling a shiver through the steering. The latest collision had added to his ride’s woes. Damage to the suspension, or one of the wheels; either way, he couldn’t keep going much longer.

But he didn’t have to. Only a couple more miles.

If he could survive them.

49

End of the Road

Adam glimpsed a sign: I Street. His mental map of the city warned him that he was in a minor maze of residential roads, with few direct connections to the