Ghost Ship

They had been in use in the form of a caltrop — the anti-cavalry and anti-personnel versions being used as early as 331 BC by Darius III against Alexander the Great at the Battle of Gaugamela in Persia.

And now, they were about to make his day turn really shitty.

Sam kicked the bike back into gear, planted his right foot hard on the ground, and turned the bike about face, its rear tire screeching.

He accelerated hard the way he had come.

In the back of his mind, he tried to picture Via Fabia Filzi — the old way to La Spezia, replaced by the tunnel.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tom frowned. “Well, that could have gone better.”

Genevieve gave an indifferent half-shrug. “Hey, he’s alive, isn’t he?”

“You’re right, it could have gone worse.”

Tom tried to extract every single horsepower from the Lancia Montecarlo’s 2.0 L Lampredi I4 engine as he navigated the sharp corners and steep gradients of Strada Provinciale delle Cinque Terra. The small engine, despite its age, seemed to revel in the challenge.

Behind them, the Mercedes G63 was picking up speed.

There was no way in the world they could outrun it. Forty years of engineering advancements was hard to compete against, even if the Mercedes was a four-wheel drive, weighing more than two tons. The Montecarlo was never going to beat it.

Tom asked, “You got a plan, Genevieve?”

“Yeah, drive faster.”

Tom grinned. “Hey, I’m trying… but it’s not going to happen.”

“All right, all right… leave it to me.”

“How?”

Genevieve bit her lower lip. “I don’t know yet, I’ll think of something. Just don’t let it drive over us!”

Tom took the next corner in a diagonal line that would make some Formula One drivers panic. He got away with it, but knew he wouldn’t be so lucky much longer. He shot a quick glance at Genevieve. “I’d be most obliged to you, darling, if you were to think a little faster.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Can’t you just shoot the damned driver?”

Genevieve laughed. “Are you kidding me? A car like that… the owner would be getting ripped off if he — or she — didn’t insist on complimentary bullet-resistant glass.”

“You don’t know that for certain, do you?”

“It’s a pretty good guess,” Genevieve replied.

They entered a long straight stretch.

The specialized edition V12 ate it up.

“Genevieve!” Tom yelled.

Genevieve aimed the Israeli Uzi and squeezed the trigger.

A burst of 9mm parabellums struck the windshield directly in front of the driver of the Mercedes. Small fractures in the glass, turned to splintered stars, in a tight grouping that would make the best marksmen proud, but the windshield remained intact.

Tom glanced in his rearview mirror. His lips curled into a suppressed grin. “It looks like they might have bullet resistant glass.”

“Oh yeah, you think?” Genevieve replied.

Tom didn’t bite. “What’s next?”

“I suggest you get off the road as fast as you can.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“Can’t you shoot its tires?”

“Sure, but it won’t do anything to stop the Mercedes,” Genevieve countered. “Those are run flat tires. I could shoot at them all day and the damned thing would keep moving.”

The Mercedes G63 slammed into the back of them.

Tom worked the steering wheel, trying to keep the car from flipping off the side of the road, into the terraced landscape below.

Behind them, the Mercedes slowed.

Tom won the battle for control of the Montecarlo, finally ending the spin, facing the opposite direction from which he’d started.

The Mercedes drove right at them.

Tom planted his foot on the accelerator, locked the wheel full right, and turned into a private driveway.

The Mercedes didn’t stop.

It drove past them, continuing its pursuit of Sam Reilly.

Tom reversed down the driveway, back onto Strada Provinciale delle Cinque Terra and continued his journey south to La Spezia.

Genevieve glanced at him. “Nice driving.”

“Thanks.”

“You know you’re not going to catch up with Sam, right?”

“I know. I’m hoping we don’t. Otherwise it means Sam’s come off his bike. But just in case, I want to follow him all the way to the airstrip.”

“Good idea.”

Tom’s cell phone rang. He picked it up. Listened and thanked the person on the other side.

Genevieve took one look at his expression and asked, “What is it?”

“That was Gabriele Valentino.”

“Who?”

“The Italian Police Chief who you accidentally abducted.”

Her face tightened. “Hey, it was dark. Besides, we put him back, and told him what was happening. Hell, his own boss had signed off on the project. No harm no foul, right?”

“Right.”

“So what did he say?”

“The plan didn’t work. They set up a line of road spikes across the Strada Provinciale delle Cinque Terra tunnel.”

“What did Sam do?”

“He turned around.”

“Ah shit… he’s going to try and get to the airstrip through the second route, isn’t he?”

“Yeah… you wrote it down before, what was its name?”

“Via Fabia Filzi.”

“That’s right.”