Avenger by Chris Allen

the medics would only be minutes or even seconds away. Reigns and Morgan had to disappear.
    “We’ve got to go,” she said urgently in his ear. “We can’t be here.”
    Morgan looked up. He was by Sutherland’s side, issuing final instructions to Lam and clearly conflicted by the prospect of leaving his badly wounded friend behind. Reluctantly, he acquiesced. He wished Lam well and, turning back to Sutherland, said, “See you soon, mate.”
    Reigns was already at the wheel with the engine revving. Morgan jumped in beside her and the Range Rover vanished from view.
    “OK,” he said. “Back to the hotel, grab our things and straight to the airport.”
    “Airport? Why the airport? We have work to do here.”
    “There’s work to be done but not by you and not by me,” he replied. He was reloading magazines and making sure the Sigs, his and Sutherland’s, were functional and fully loaded. “You’re compromised and I have to get you out and back to London as soon as I can. So, yeah, we’re heading to the airport. Hotel first.”
    Without another word, Reigns tore through the gears, racing the vehicle around the twists, turns and ramps of the hospital grounds, speeding beneath the Gascoigne Road overpass and on to the narrow double lanes of Jordan Road.
    “Here, keep that handy,” Morgan said, stowing Sutherland’s Sig, muzzle down, in the cup holder beside the gearshift along with a spare magazine. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
    “Really? You think they’ll come after us?”
    “I wouldn’t rule it out,” he said. “They’ll be pretty pissed that you’ve escaped and I’d say they’ll be keen to get you back by any means possible. For as long as we’re on their turf they’ll have a shot. So, the sooner we get you the fuck out of Hong Kong, the better.”
    The mounting wail of police sirens in stereo threatened to drown out their conversation. Morgan turned and Reigns checked the mirrors. They saw two HKPD BMW motorcycles with lights flashing approaching fast along Chatham Road from the south-west as they neared the interchange leading to Princess Margaret Road. The lead cop was waving them down.
    “Fuck it!” Morgan exclaimed, thumping the dashboard. “We don’t need this.”
    “What do we do now?” Reigns asked. “We should stop, right?”
    “Yeah, we should,” he agreed, checking the navigation screen on the dash. “Head to that side road up ahead, it leads into Hong Kong Polytechnic. That way we can’t get blocked in.”
    Reigns eased off the speed and drew the Range Rover expertly across the lanes of traffic and into the side road. Morgan took the Sig from the cup holder and handed it to her. She took it in her left hand, resting it in her lap well out of sight. Morgan positioned his loosely beneath the folds of his jacket. Behind them the cop eased off too and as the Range Rover pulled to a stop he coasted up alongside Reigns’ window and raised his helmet visor. His colleague pulled in behind them. Reigns kept the vehicle in gear with the clutch depressed, handbrake engaged and the engine idling steadily.
    “Is everything all right, officer?” she asked.
    “Yes, ma’am,” the officer replied. “We have orders from Assistant Commissioner Kwong to escort you wherever you need to go.”
    “That really won’t be necessary, officer,” said Morgan firmly. “But thank you and please thank the assistant commissioner.”
    “I’m sorry, sir, but I have my orders. Now, if you’ll—”
    The first rounds caught them all off guard.
    As the heavy burst peppered the side of the Range Rover and the police officer speaking to her, Reigns had no choice. She released the clutch, pushed the accelerator flat to the floor and disengaged the handbrake in one fluid motion, pushing the revs instantly to red. The vehicle roared away from a standing start just as the second officer began to engage the as-yet-unseen source of the incoming gunfire. Morgan instinctively clambered between the