Seventeen leaned out her open window and aimed her pistol at the Porsche. She was forced to quickly pull back inside as the Fiat slammed into the side of a stationary vehicle. “Don't lose him!” Seventeen warned the junior officer.
The young officer gripped the wheel and accelerated after the now battered Porsche as it turned into a busy arterial road. He was conscious of the dirty looks his zealous passenger sent his way every time the Fiat lost ground on the Porsche. She seemed obsessed. He wrongly assumed her obsession was sparked by the need to save the Alleget woman from her abductor. Keen to do his bit, he applied full throttle .
In truth, the ultra-competitive Seventeen couldn’t give a damn about Isabelle. She saw this as her chance to bury Nine for good. Memories of her fellow orphan constantly beating her into second place throughout their formative years at the Pedemont Orphanage still ate away at her.
High above the arterial road, a police helicopter tracked the Porsche’s progress. Its searchlight illuminated the action unfolding a hundred meters below as the speeding Porsche and Fiat were captured in the searchlight's beam.
From the chopper, the Porsche’s progress was easy to follow. It was marked by a series of crashes at intersections along the way as Nine ran red lights and ignored give-way signs in his efforts to shake his pursuers. Collisions involving several police cars resulted in spectacular fireballs that lit up the night sky, briefly turning night to day.
17
O n a rural road outside of Paris, smoke belched from its exhaust as the stolen Porsche sped south. An hour had elapsed since the vehicle’s madcap journey began and still it was being pursued by the Fiat and a dozen other Police cars. And the chopper still tracked it overhead. Inside the Porsche, Nine ignored his hostage’s pleas to slow down.
Ashen-faced, Isabelle gripped the dashboard with both hands as the Porsche rounded a tight bend on two wheels. “Please!” she cried. Her cries fell on deaf ears.
Nine had a plan and it didn’t involve slowing down. Still in his Russian guise minus his beard, he knew he must shake his pursuers if he was to have any chance of securing the freedom he so desperately yearned.
The fugitive agent tensed when he saw flashing lights ahead and road signs instructing motorists to slow. A road tar sealing gang worked through the night. Steam rose from the hot tar being laid behind a truck.
A pointsman waved out to slow down. Instead, Nine accelerated, spraying hot tar everywhere and forcing the pointsman to dive into a ditch. The Porsche ploughed on through the newly-laid tar seal, spraying it over the workers and the pursuing cars. Irate workers shook their fists and swore at the Porsche which was now also covered in tar.
Behind the Porsche, tar covered the Fiat’s windscreen, limiting visibility. The junior officer wisely slowed the car. In the seat next to him, Seventeen urged him to speed up.
The young man reluctantly accelerated. Sweating profusely, he peered through the dirty windscreen as the Fiat's windscreen wipers operated in slow motion. At the same time, Seventeen leaned out the passenger window and fired shots at the Porsche. She had the satisfaction of seeing the Porsche’s rear window shatter as one of the bullets hit home.
“ Don’t shoot!” the junior officer warned her. “You’ll hit the hostage.”
Seventeen ignored him and loosed off another shot. She had to stop Nine. If that meant risking the life of his hostage, so be it.
In the Porsche, Isabelle screamed and ducked down as a bullet whistled past her ear. Nine ducked too. Seeing the Fiat closing in on them, he stepped on the accelerator and drove even faster along the newly-sealed road.
Knowing that Seventeen’s next shot could be lethal, Nine’s mind went into hyper-drive as he searched for a way to shake his fellow orphan. He hit the electric cigarette lighter on the dashboard as an idea came to him.
The young officer gripped the wheel and accelerated after the now battered Porsche as it turned into a busy arterial road. He was conscious of the dirty looks his zealous passenger sent his way every time the Fiat lost ground on the Porsche. She seemed obsessed. He wrongly assumed her obsession was sparked by the need to save the Alleget woman from her abductor. Keen to do his bit, he applied full throttle .
In truth, the ultra-competitive Seventeen couldn’t give a damn about Isabelle. She saw this as her chance to bury Nine for good. Memories of her fellow orphan constantly beating her into second place throughout their formative years at the Pedemont Orphanage still ate away at her.
High above the arterial road, a police helicopter tracked the Porsche’s progress. Its searchlight illuminated the action unfolding a hundred meters below as the speeding Porsche and Fiat were captured in the searchlight's beam.
From the chopper, the Porsche’s progress was easy to follow. It was marked by a series of crashes at intersections along the way as Nine ran red lights and ignored give-way signs in his efforts to shake his pursuers. Collisions involving several police cars resulted in spectacular fireballs that lit up the night sky, briefly turning night to day.
17
O n a rural road outside of Paris, smoke belched from its exhaust as the stolen Porsche sped south. An hour had elapsed since the vehicle’s madcap journey began and still it was being pursued by the Fiat and a dozen other Police cars. And the chopper still tracked it overhead. Inside the Porsche, Nine ignored his hostage’s pleas to slow down.
Ashen-faced, Isabelle gripped the dashboard with both hands as the Porsche rounded a tight bend on two wheels. “Please!” she cried. Her cries fell on deaf ears.
Nine had a plan and it didn’t involve slowing down. Still in his Russian guise minus his beard, he knew he must shake his pursuers if he was to have any chance of securing the freedom he so desperately yearned.
The fugitive agent tensed when he saw flashing lights ahead and road signs instructing motorists to slow. A road tar sealing gang worked through the night. Steam rose from the hot tar being laid behind a truck.
A pointsman waved out to slow down. Instead, Nine accelerated, spraying hot tar everywhere and forcing the pointsman to dive into a ditch. The Porsche ploughed on through the newly-laid tar seal, spraying it over the workers and the pursuing cars. Irate workers shook their fists and swore at the Porsche which was now also covered in tar.
Behind the Porsche, tar covered the Fiat’s windscreen, limiting visibility. The junior officer wisely slowed the car. In the seat next to him, Seventeen urged him to speed up.
The young man reluctantly accelerated. Sweating profusely, he peered through the dirty windscreen as the Fiat's windscreen wipers operated in slow motion. At the same time, Seventeen leaned out the passenger window and fired shots at the Porsche. She had the satisfaction of seeing the Porsche’s rear window shatter as one of the bullets hit home.
“ Don’t shoot!” the junior officer warned her. “You’ll hit the hostage.”
Seventeen ignored him and loosed off another shot. She had to stop Nine. If that meant risking the life of his hostage, so be it.
In the Porsche, Isabelle screamed and ducked down as a bullet whistled past her ear. Nine ducked too. Seeing the Fiat closing in on them, he stepped on the accelerator and drove even faster along the newly-sealed road.
Knowing that Seventeen’s next shot could be lethal, Nine’s mind went into hyper-drive as he searched for a way to shake his fellow orphan. He hit the electric cigarette lighter on the dashboard as an idea came to him.
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