The taxi was a dirty and dented Audi coup. Its interior reeked of nicotine and she cracked the window enough to allow in some fresh air.
“Keep an eye out in the bay,” he told her.
The rain continued to slap the car like pellets, splattering the windshield in drenching waves. She stared through the wipers and saw the ferry. The two orange lifeboats were nowhere in sight, but a spit of land jutting out into the bay, near the marina they’d spotted earlier, blocked their view. They’d need to be farther along on the road, past the outcropping, to be able to see anything.
Daniels seemed to realize that, too.
And the engine surged.
* * *
Kim stood beside Hana.
She piloted the boat away from the ferry and toward shore. Rain was now falling in thick sheets, which was good and bad. The storm provided excellent cover, but it had also stirred the bay into a boiling frenzy. Their hostage still lay on one of the benches, not moving. The black satchel rested on his shoulder, the travel bag at his feet. They needed to find a place to disembark, preferably with few to no people around. From there, a taxi or some type of ground transportation could surely be arranged to the airport or train station.
The lifeboat churned along at a steady but slow pace. Wipers barely kept the forward windshield clear of rain. He stepped to the windows on the port side and saw the outline of one of the many islands that protected the bay. Through the starboard windows he caught the Croatian shore, lined with buildings and trees. From the rear window he spotted another lifeboat headed their way.
The American.
Who else?
* * *
Malone kept the wheel steady through the rough sea. The lifeboat was more like a floating cork with a motor, designed to stay upright but not necessarily stable. Its engines were likewise engineered for durability, speed sacrificed for distance. His and Kim’s escape vehicles were identical, so unless the boat ahead slowed there was no way he could close the mile-or-so gap between them. But he could keep pace, and that’s what he intended on doing. He could only hope that Luke would be there when Kim made landfall.
His sea legs returned quickly, motion sickness never a problem. But it was obvious Howell was no sailor. The bobbing up and down and side-to-side had taken a toll.
“Hang your head out the hatch,” he said. “Get some air, and keep a watch on Kim at the same time.”
The wind’s howl grew louder as the side hatch opened. Cold rain sprayed inside. He knew nothing about the local geography, only that they were headed north, in a bay protected on two sides by land. Normally this would be calm, clear water.
But not today.
He heard Howell retching up his guts.
The throttle was full ahead and they were moving as fast as they could, which wasn’t anything to take note about.
But at least they were headed in the right direction.
* * *
Kim stepped back to Hana and made a decision.
“We need to slow down the boat pursuing us,” he said. “It almost certainly contains Mr. Malone, but regardless, whoever it is needs to be occupied. Luckily, we have something that might accomplish that.”
His gaze drifted to the semi-conscious woman.
“It’s time we lose her,” he said.
He opened the side hatch, then lifted the dazed woman from the bench and helped her to the portal. He doubted she’d be able to swim, the effects of the drug on her muscles and nerves too pronounced.
But her drowning would make for an even better distraction.
He shoved the woman out, headfirst.
* * *
Malone saw a body fall from the boat ahead. He yelled at Howell, “You see that?”
“Somebody’s in the water and they’re not moving.”
He was hoping Howell did not connect the dots.
But he did.
“It’s Jelena, Malone. It’s her. She’s disappearing in the swells.”
He realized that Kim had made him choose, which was no choice, actually, and Kim knew that. He angled the bow to port.
“More left,” Howell screamed. “The current’s got her.”
“Come here,” he screamed.
Howell rushed to his side.
“Take the wheel and work the throttle. Keep us close to her.”
He rushed to the hatch.
And leaped into the water.
* * *
Kim kept an eye behind them and saw a man jump into the surf, the other boat veering away and slowing to a stop.
“That should occupy them long enough for us to make shore,” he said.
The land to their right had steadily leveled, with fewer buildings and more pinewoods and deserted beach. Then solid earth ended and he spotted a forested point that formed another peninsula, more water and the Croatian shoreline beyond to their right.
“There. Avoid that barren stretch and head for the mainland.”
* * *
Isabella could see the two boats, out in the bay, one way ahead of the other. Then she saw something emerge from the lead boat and splash into the water. A person. The second craft had now slowed, someone leaping from it into the choppy sea. The first lifeboat kept going, never hesitating. They?
?d rounded all the coastal obstructions and could now see the entire bay. The first lifeboat was chugging away from another peninsula toward the main coastline.
“We can get him,” Daniels said. “He’s coming our way.”
They were still moving fast, the road here devoid of traffic in either direction. Fog kept clouding the windshield and windows, the defroster churning out more noise than heat. Brief glimpses of the chaos came when the gusts relaxed. Then a new sensation caught her eye. Red lights flashing. And a siren that wailed and howled. She whipped her head around and saw a police car behind them.
“We’ve got no time for them,” Daniels said.
“They might not see it your way.”
“They’ve got to catch me first.”
He gave the engine more gas, which surged them forward along a straightaway. Then, up ahead, she saw more lights flashing and cars blocking the road. She counted six. That explained the lack of traffic in the other lane. They were closing fast on a barricade, less than a mile away. Uniformed men stood ready. Several had guns aimed.
“Are you going to ram them?” she asked.
Half a mile.
She waited to see what Daniels would do.
Quarter mile.
Suddenly the windshield burst to life with a spiderweb of a thousand glittering opaque lines. Someone had fired at them and now it was impossible to see ahead. Daniels seemed to sense the futility and lifted his foot from the accelerator, jamming the brakes and turning the wheel sharp right. The car’s rear end swung around, perpendicular to the road, and they slid for a hundred yards on the soaked pavement before grinding to a stop.
Then, quiet.
Only the rain peppering the roof disturbed the silence.
Men encircled the car and screamed words in a language she did not understand.
But she didn’t have to.
“This ain’t good,” Daniels muttered.
And for once she agreed with him.
THIRTY-SEVEN
WASHINGTON, DC