The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,187

was out of options. The roadblock was coming up fast, past the intersection with E Street. The only way he could go was left, but that would take him away from Sternberg – and with Baxter right on him and the Mustang almost finished, he wouldn’t get far.

Escape, how to escape . . .

No. Attack.

A large panel van was waiting on E Street at the intersection, blocking Adam’s view of the building behind it.

His view – and Baxter’s.

Last chance—

Adam threw the Mustang into what he knew would be its final corner, the wounded vehicle’s pain as clear as his own. He passed the van’s front – then pulled on the handbrake.

The car went into a spin, its tail flying out wide. He controlled it, feathering the throttle as the Mustang whipped round through a full two hundred and seventy degrees. Its momentum sent it skittering backwards behind the van – then he stamped the pedal all the way to the floor. The rear wheels shrieked, belching out vortices of stinking smoke as they scrabbled for grip.

They found it, arresting the car’s rearward motion – and flinging it forwards.

It was the same trick he had used to vanish from Bianca’s sight when she had tailed him from STS what felt like a lifetime ago, making a seemingly impossible turn into the warehouse’s loading dock just before she rounded the corner and reappearing right behind her.

This time, he wasn’t going to give his pursuer a mere nudge.

The Suburban had followed him, Reed and Baxter momentarily confused by his apparent disappearance – before they saw him coming at them from an unexpected direction—

The Mustang rammed the SUV.

Reed’s door caved in, not even the airbags enough to save him from injury. The Suburban slewed around – then its right rear wheel struck the kerb. It flipped over, tumbling along the sidewalk before hitting a tree and spinning back into the road in a spray of glass and leaking fluids, ending up on its crushed side.

Adam’s car fared no better. The collision flung the Mustang on to the sidewalk. It crashed through the hedges outside an art gallery. He braced himself, grabbing the seat belt – but the force of the collision as it slammed sidelong into the building’s wall was enough to dislocate his left shoulder with a hideous crackle of cartilage. He hit the steering wheel again, tearing a deep cut into his cheek.

The engine stalled, the sudden silence almost shocking. He tried to sit upright, only to howl in excruciating pain as nerves scraped in his torn shoulder. He barely heard his own cry through the ringing in his ears. One eye was now blinded by the blood oozing from his forehead. He tried to focus with the other, the cabin swimming into view.

He could still move his right arm, barely. More pain burning through the ripped muscle, he gingerly placed his palm on the centre console and levered himself back into his seat.

A blur resolved into the overturned SUV. Passers-by looked on in astonishment, unsure what to do. A man ran up to the Suburban, peering inside – then jumped back as someone crawled out through the broken windscreen.

Baxter.

One side of his face was covered in rivulets of blood from a ragged cut in his scalp. He lay sprawled on the street for a moment, catching his breath, then stood.

The MP5 was in his hand.

The onlookers hurriedly backed away as Baxter staggered towards the wrecked Mustang. Adam reached into his jacket. His fingers found the disk, still in its case – but he remembered too late that he had given Harper’s gun to Bianca.

Baxter drew closer, cold anger on his face. He was going to finish the job.

Adam fumbled for the door handle. It moved, but only a little. Jammed. He pulled harder, but the damaged mechanism still refused to give. He looked up. Baxter continued to limp towards him.

The laser sight flicked on, the beam rising towards Adam. He heard someone shouting, but couldn’t make out the words. The edges of his vision began to roil, darkness growing. His body was desperate to shut down, to stop the pain.

He couldn’t allow it. Not yet. He tugged the handle again, shifting painfully to push at the door with one knee. It still wouldn’t open.

Trapped.

Baxter was only a few yards away, the laser dazzling. Somebody shouted again, more urgently, but the words were still distorted.

Baxter’s bloodied mouth twisted into a victorious smile—

A dark flower burst open on his chest. The former Marine