follow.’
After taking a deep breath, Maria burst from their hiding place and leapt into the belly of the golden field where flowers sprouted to seven feet tall. Boyd followed her through the labyrinth of stalks, catching faint glimpses of her as she scurried through the sun-colored field.
The bus driver knew something was wrong the instant he heard the call. In his twenty-plus years with the company, this was the first time that the police had ever radioed him with a new set of directions. At first he figured there was an accident up ahead or maybe a traffic jam, but when he saw the flashing lights on the rural road, he knew it was something worse.
They were looking for one of his passengers.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced in Italian, ‘please don’t be alarmed. This is just a routine stop by the local authorities. I’m sure we’ll be under way shortly.’
‘Are you sure?’ someone shouted. ‘Because two people just jumped out the back.’
‘Jumped out?’ he demanded. ‘What are you talking about?’
Before the passenger could answer, one of the cops at the roadblock hoisted an M72 Light Antitank Weapon onto his shoulder and fired. The rocket launched with a mighty
whoosh
, propelled by gases that burned at over 1400°F, and slammed into the metallic grill of the bus.
Fire roared down the center aisle like a flood, burning everything in its wake: the seats, the luggage, and the people, literally melting the skin off their bodies in a horrific ball of flames. The unlucky few who survived the impact of the rocket scrambled blindly in the black smoke, searching for a way out. They flailed wildly at the broken windows, trying to squeeze through the holes that lined the frame even though the razorlike shards punctured their faces and torsos.
Finally, one of the men came to his senses and opened the emergency exit in the back.
‘If you can hear me,’ he screamed into the smoke, ‘come this way!’
Seconds later, he saw a petite woman fighting her way through the inferno, dragging a badly burnt man whose face looked like it had been removed with a blowtorch. The first man didn’t know where she’d found the strength, yet she’d somehow managed to drag him to the rear exit.
‘You’re almost out,’ he assured her as he helped them to the ground. ‘We’re almost free.’
She tried to thank him but could only manage a hacking cough. At least she was still breathing, he thought. At least she had made it through the flames and had managed to save one of the passengers in the process. Somehow, miraculously, they had survived this tragedy.
At least for the moment.
While staggering from the bus, he spotted the policemen in the distance and screamed to them for aid, not realizing that they had started the fire to begin with. The smallest of the cops rushed forward like he was going to help, like he was going to put out the fire with the long nozzle that he held in his hands. But instead of giving them assistance, he did just the opposite.
Stopping fifteen feet in front of them, the cop lowered the visor on his flame-retardant helmet and hit the switch on his flamethrower, sending a deadly stream of jellied fuel into the air. The chemicals ignited in a wicked flash, covering the victims like napalm and scorching them like marshmallows that had fallen into a campfire, their white skin bubbling and turning black as they slowly became a part of the burnt asphalt.
Smiling, the cop spoke into his headset. ‘The leak has been sealed.’
17
Tuesday, July 11
Dover, England
(eighty miles southeast of London)
Payne and Jones weren’t born yesterday. They had been involved in too many missions to ignore the obvious: there was something fishy about Manzak’s offer.
The CIA was a global organization, one that had agents and hidden connections all over the world. If they
legitimately
wanted to find Dr Charles Boyd, there was no way they would’ve turned to two outsiders for help. Yet for some reason
After taking a deep breath, Maria burst from their hiding place and leapt into the belly of the golden field where flowers sprouted to seven feet tall. Boyd followed her through the labyrinth of stalks, catching faint glimpses of her as she scurried through the sun-colored field.
The bus driver knew something was wrong the instant he heard the call. In his twenty-plus years with the company, this was the first time that the police had ever radioed him with a new set of directions. At first he figured there was an accident up ahead or maybe a traffic jam, but when he saw the flashing lights on the rural road, he knew it was something worse.
They were looking for one of his passengers.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced in Italian, ‘please don’t be alarmed. This is just a routine stop by the local authorities. I’m sure we’ll be under way shortly.’
‘Are you sure?’ someone shouted. ‘Because two people just jumped out the back.’
‘Jumped out?’ he demanded. ‘What are you talking about?’
Before the passenger could answer, one of the cops at the roadblock hoisted an M72 Light Antitank Weapon onto his shoulder and fired. The rocket launched with a mighty
whoosh
, propelled by gases that burned at over 1400°F, and slammed into the metallic grill of the bus.
Fire roared down the center aisle like a flood, burning everything in its wake: the seats, the luggage, and the people, literally melting the skin off their bodies in a horrific ball of flames. The unlucky few who survived the impact of the rocket scrambled blindly in the black smoke, searching for a way out. They flailed wildly at the broken windows, trying to squeeze through the holes that lined the frame even though the razorlike shards punctured their faces and torsos.
Finally, one of the men came to his senses and opened the emergency exit in the back.
‘If you can hear me,’ he screamed into the smoke, ‘come this way!’
Seconds later, he saw a petite woman fighting her way through the inferno, dragging a badly burnt man whose face looked like it had been removed with a blowtorch. The first man didn’t know where she’d found the strength, yet she’d somehow managed to drag him to the rear exit.
‘You’re almost out,’ he assured her as he helped them to the ground. ‘We’re almost free.’
She tried to thank him but could only manage a hacking cough. At least she was still breathing, he thought. At least she had made it through the flames and had managed to save one of the passengers in the process. Somehow, miraculously, they had survived this tragedy.
At least for the moment.
While staggering from the bus, he spotted the policemen in the distance and screamed to them for aid, not realizing that they had started the fire to begin with. The smallest of the cops rushed forward like he was going to help, like he was going to put out the fire with the long nozzle that he held in his hands. But instead of giving them assistance, he did just the opposite.
Stopping fifteen feet in front of them, the cop lowered the visor on his flame-retardant helmet and hit the switch on his flamethrower, sending a deadly stream of jellied fuel into the air. The chemicals ignited in a wicked flash, covering the victims like napalm and scorching them like marshmallows that had fallen into a campfire, their white skin bubbling and turning black as they slowly became a part of the burnt asphalt.
Smiling, the cop spoke into his headset. ‘The leak has been sealed.’
17
Tuesday, July 11
Dover, England
(eighty miles southeast of London)
Payne and Jones weren’t born yesterday. They had been involved in too many missions to ignore the obvious: there was something fishy about Manzak’s offer.
The CIA was a global organization, one that had agents and hidden connections all over the world. If they
legitimately
wanted to find Dr Charles Boyd, there was no way they would’ve turned to two outsiders for help. Yet for some reason
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