85
We continued rolling forward, the two goons in the rear still eyeing me like they wanted to kick my ass. I was getting tired of the glare. I raised my voice loud enough to get over the engine noise and said, “You want a shot at the title?”
The one on the left said, “You talk fine in here. I’ve dealt with terrorists before. Wait until we get to the station, Yank.”
My earpiece crackled, and I heard, “Brace for impact.”
I said, “We aren’t going to the station.”
He looked at me in confusion, and the van was hammered so hard I thought someone had exploded an IED underneath it. We flew through the air, the vehicle turning over onto its side. The two goons slammed into the roof with a crunch. Jennifer, Nung, and I were jerked up short by the shackles on our wrists and ankles bolted to the bench, now becoming makeshift seat belts.
The vehicle skidded for a moment, then sat still. One guard was out cold. The other began moving slowly, shaking his head. The doors opened in the back and I saw Retro, holding a pistol. He said, “Give me the keys. Now.”
The guard handed him his key ring, then raised his hands. Retro tossed them to me, and I unlocked Nung and Jennifer, then locked up the guards, shackling the unconscious one first. Getting to the other, I cuffed his hands, saying, “Sorry about this. I’m really not a bad guy.”
I crawled out the back, seeing Blaine holding a pistol on the driver, Brett in the cab providing first aid to the passenger. He had a nasty cut on his head, but I could see his lips moving, so he was coherent.
They’d used the van for interdiction, and it was spun sideways, the front end crunched, broken glass littering the roadway. We were on a four-lane, one-way road, and the traffic behind us was stopped, everyone gawking at the massive pileup.
I saw Nick Seacrest and the two commo guys in the sedan. Retro said, “Sorry for the impact. Brett got a little overexuberant. He needs some vehicle-interdiction training.”
I said, “Where is she?”
“A place called the World’s End on Camden Road. It’s only about a mile to the north.”
I ran to the sedan, saying to the men inside, “Get the fuck out.”
The doors opened and Blaine shouted, “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? I’m taking your vehicle.”
Nick exited after the commo guys and said, “I’m coming with you.”
I said, “Shut up,” then, “Nung, Jennifer, Retro, and Brett, load up. Brett, bring our weapons and radios from the police wagon.”
Blaine jogged over and said, “I have responsibility for the PC. I can’t let you take the sedan. I have to get him to shelter.”
“Cops will be here in about thirty seconds. You’ll have more protection than you can possibly use.”
My men started loading and I saw Nung swinging to the driver’s side. I said, “Jennifer gets the wheel.”
He paused at the door, and I said, “Sorry, but after your driving in Paris, you can be a passenger.”
He scowled but got in the back. In a louder voice, Nick said, “I’m coming with you.”
Blaine shouted, “No! Now get inside the police wagon. Get off the street.”
Nick looked at me and said, “Give me a weapon. She’s my responsibility.”
“I don’t have time for this. I’m not giving a pistol to a weatherman. You’d probably shoot yourself.”
“I’m CCT. I can outshoot anyone here.”
The comment gave me pause. CCT stood for Combat Control Team and was Air Force special operations. While we always made fun of the Air Force in a good-natured way, calling them out on never getting dirty, CCT was a different animal altogether. They had a training pipeline that was as hard as anyone else’s, and I’d never met a combat controller who couldn’t hang, no matter how rough it got. Nick could be forgiven his boast of outshooting my men, not knowing who we were, but he could probably come close.
I said, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re not going.”
“What if she’s not in the bar? What if she’s hidden somewhere and it’s only Colin? How will you find her?”
“I’ll sort it out.”
“With me. I know what he looks like. I’m the only one who does.”
The words sank in and I said, “Blaine, give him your pistol.”
“No! No way. He’s not going.”
I turned to him in controlled fury, feeling the loss of Kylie in the pit of my gut. Seeing the loss of my daughter all over again. “Give him your God damned pistol, or I’ll knock you out and take it.”
He saw I was deadly serious. He handed Nick the pistol butt first, lamely saying, “Pike, Kurt didn’t authorize this.”
“Yes, he did.” I waited until Nick was inside, then squeezed in the back. Through the window I said, “Call him. Tell him that Nick Seacrest is necessary to save his niece. He’ll authorize anything to do that.”
He said, “Pike . . . don’t take him.”
I heard the weird blaring of British sirens. I tapped Jennifer and said, “Drive.”
We left him on the side of the road, standing between the smoking cargo van and the wrecked police wagon.
Looking at his smartphone, Retro said, “Straight ahead up Eversholt. We’ll run right into it.”
Jennifer began weaving through the traffic, going much faster than the congestion should have allowed. She shot through red lights, leaving slamming brakes and a cacophony of horns in our wake.
Using his own phone, Brett said, “This place looks big, Pike.”
“How many exits?”
“At least three. Probably more.”
I said, “Okay, we get there, the men enter. Jennifer, find a place to stage. Be ready to return within thirty seconds. We get inside and lock down the exits. Nung, Brett, and Retro, that’s you. Pick the most prominent ones.”
I pulled up Kylie’s picture on my phone and passed it around. “You see her, call your position and take down whoever is with her. We’ll close on you. I’ll take Nick and start exploring. We make contact, and I’ll call. Everyone close on me if that happens.”
Retro said, “Two more blocks. At the Y intersection. Veer right.”
I looked out the windshield and saw the road split, the Camden Town Tube station straight ahead. Jennifer took the turn, and the target popped out of nowhere, a red building with large letters spelling THE WORLD’S END.
I shouted, “Here! Here! Stop the car.”
She did so, and we spilled out, running to the door. We entered, and I saw Brett was right. The place was huge, and overflowing with boozing patrons. It would take an hour to clear.
I said, “Get to it,” and the men split off, jogging in different directions. I said, “Okay, Nick. You’re the hound dog on this. Find our man.”