The Sacred Vault (11 page)

The woman had been there, all right - but not to free Fernandez. He was still cuffed to the chair, but now his head lolled horribly, mouth no longer curled in a smirk but gaping in breathless terror. His neck had been sliced open almost from ear to ear, dark blood still flowing from the deep wound.

‘Shit!’ Eddie gasped, pushing past the startled Kit and running back to the gate. ‘That woman - black hair, scar down one eye - where is she?’

‘She left just before you came back,’ said the guard, confused. ‘What’s going on?’

‘What’s going on is that she just strangled one of your fucking prisoners!’

Kit ran up. ‘I want a full security alert - lock down the building! Nobody gets out until we find this woman. Now let us through!’

‘Yes, sir!’ The guard hurriedly opened the gate, then picked up a phone to raise the alarm.

‘How many ways are there out of here?’ Eddie demanded as they pounded back along the corridor.

‘The main entrances are on the east and west sides, and then there are the fire exits, the underground car park . . .’

‘She won’t be trying to get away on foot.’ Interpol’s headquarters were close to the southern bank of the river Rhône, a nearby lake limiting possible escape routes. They reached the elevators; one had stopped at a basement level. Eddie hammered at the call buttons again before going for the stairwell.

A siren blared as they reached the third floor. ‘Lockdown, lockdown,’ said a man over the PA system. ‘Security personnel, seal off designated exits. All other personnel, remain where you are.’ The message was repeated in other languages as they continued their descent.

Basement level. Eddie kicked open the door - to find a uniformed man sprawled in front of the elevators in a pool of blood. The holster on his belt was empty.

‘She shot him with his own gun,’ he told Kit, dropping into concealment behind the parked cars and signalling for him to do the same. ‘Which way’s the exit?’ Kit pointed. ‘Okay, you get more people down here - I’ll try and find her.’

‘Be careful, Eddie,’ warned Kit as he went to the emergency telephone by the elevators.

‘What do you bloody think I’m going to be?’ Hunched low, he checked for any signs of movement before scurrying towards the exit. A door slammed, but the echoes of the car park made it impossible to tell where. He weaved through the ranks of vehicles to a concrete ramp leading up to ground level. Yellow and black striped barriers blocked both exit lanes.

Still no movement. Maybe she
was
trying to get away on foot, doing the unexpected . . .

‘Eddie!’ Kit called. ‘The guards are on their way!’

The shout spurred their quarry into action. A big Citroën C6 peeled out of a bay and sped towards the exit - then swerved at Eddie.

He dived on to the bonnet of a Renault Clio as the Citroën ripped off the smaller car’s bumper, then crashed into one of the security barriers. The windscreen cracked as the obstacle rode up the car’s bonnet, but the C6 had built up enough momentum in its charge to smash through, the broken barrier clanging to the concrete.

Eddie ran back to Kit. An elevator disgorged a trio of armed guards. ‘We need a car!’ he told them. ‘Someone give me your keys, quick!’ One of the men fumbled in a pocket. Eddie snatched the keys from him and pushed the button on the remote. Lights flashed a few rows away. He ran for the vehicle, an ageing, dented little Volkswagen Polo - not his ideal choice to pursue a large and powerful executive cruiser, but all that was available.

He started the car and pulled out. By now, Kit had issued orders to the guards and run to the main lane, waving him down. Eddie skidded the hatchback to a stop. ‘Come on, get in!’

‘I don’t have a gun!’ Kit protested as the Englishman set off again.

‘You’ve got a
phone
, haven’t you? Call the Lyon cops and get them to set up roadblocks!’

The car reached the ramp and raced up to ground level. The road curved away from the Interpol building to join a street to its south. Eddie braked hard at the junction, not sure which way to go until he saw flashing hazard lights to the right - the fleeing Citroën had hit another car. He swung past the stricken vehicle and headed southwest, parallel to the river. They passed a bridge over the Rhône, but more signs of collision and chaos told him the C6 had turned south.

Kit shouted instructions in French into the phone. ‘There’s a unit in front of us,’ he reported. ‘It’s going to cut her off.’

Eddie spotted the C6’s distinctive vertical tail lights carving through the traffic about a hundred yards ahead. The Citroën sideswiped another car, which spun out - he veered on to the wrong side of the road to avoid the scrum of vehicles skidding to a stop behind it.

Flashing lights, a police car shooting out of a side road on to the boulevard. Madirakshi braked hard, the C6 fishtailing to duck down another street to the right. The cops followed, Eddie turning in after them. He crashed down through the gears, trying to recover speed as quickly as possible. Ahead, the police car closed on the Citroën.

Vertical brake lights flared—

The cops crashed into the C6’s back. Glass shattered, the big car’s mangled hatchback flying open - but the pursuers came off worst. The police car veered off course and hit a lamppost head on, folding around it with a shattering crunch that echoed through the street. Kit gasped what Eddie assumed was a Hindi obscenity.

One of the C6’s rear lights was still working, a single red slash speeding away. Eddie followed, sounding the horn. A near miss at a crossroads as the Polo swerved wildly to avoid a van cutting across their path, then back in pursuit. The closely packed apartment blocks, candles flickering in their windows, gave way to open space. They were back at the river, multicoloured searchlights waving skywards on the far side where the waterfront buildings were illuminated in every colour of the rainbow.

Eddie had no time to appreciate the sight. Madirakshi was heading for a bridge. He realised her plan: to disappear amongst the tourists flocking to see the spectacle of the Festival of Lights.

Another police car tried to block her path across the bridge. She didn’t slow, deliberately aiming for its back end and smashing it out of the way. The crumpled police car whirled like a top, spinning on to the pavement and scything down a pedestrian.

Kit gasped again. ‘People are getting
killed
- we’ve got to break off !’

‘No, wait!’ They were gaining quickly on the Citroën; the second crash had caused serious damage. ‘She’s slowing down. We’ve got her!’

The struggling C6 cut straight across the avenue at the far side of the bridge, more people scattering as the woman drove on to a broad footpath. Horn a constant wail, the Polo followed in the wake it had cleared through the crowd.

A large plaza opened up ahead, more tourists heading to the city’s heart. Two people were knocked down by the Citroën as Madirakshi swerved on to a swathe of lawn, but her car was in its death throes, steam billowing from the bonnet. She braked and skidded in a shower of earth and torn grass, ploughing the car into the crowd. Screams filled the plaza.

Eddie stopped the Polo, jumped out and saw her sprint into the shocked onlookers. He raced after her, Kit following. ‘Place Louis Pradel,
vite
!’ the Indian said into the phone, before yelling ‘Police!’ and gesturing furiously for people to clear the way.

More shouts of protest and alarm as Madirakshi clawed through the crowd told Eddie the direction she was heading. The narrow street he entered was illuminated by a canopy of lights overhead, thousands of tiny bulbs sparkling like stars. He couldn’t see his target in the crush of gawkers. If she doubled back, he could pass three feet from her and never realise—

A high-pitched shriek just ahead. She had knocked down a child. An enraged man yelled after her, her police uniform deterring him from violent retaliation. Eddie and Kit pushed past him - but the father grabbed the Interpol officer and yanked him backwards. No uniform, no deterrent. The man hurled him to the ground, about to kick him in the face—

Eddie smashed a punch into the furious father’s jaw, knocking him down. The fallen child screamed again. No time for apologies. He pulled Kit upright.

Where was the killer? He pushed forward, the street opening out into another large plaza - the Place des Terreaux. Any more yells from irate tourists would be drowned out by the carnival clamour of one of the Festival of Light’s main attractions; the square was crammed with people.

Eddie blinked in momentary confusion at the sight, its sheer visual impact like a slap to his eyes. The surrounding buildings were acting as massive projection screens, turning the city into a kaleidoscopic, almost psychedelic explosion of colours. The images were constantly changing, one moment perfectly matching the ornate façades and picking out each window frame in dazzling hyperreal shades, the next swirling into motion as giant animated characters danced above the crowd.

There were other displays within the square itself. A towering sculpture spiralled towards the cold night sky, neon lights blinking in sequence to create the illusion that it was rotating. Next to it a surreal figure, a ten-foot-tall hollow man composed of pea-sized balls of light, performed acrobatic motions above a tall pedestal. A hologram; the constant crackle where intersecting laser beams from below literally set the air alight was audible even over the booming music and crowd noise.

A loud
whoosh
and a cheer came from nearby. Eddie saw flame dispersing from a fire-eating act. No sign of Madirakshi, and the constantly shifting light from the enormous projections made it near impossible to pick out any particular person.

‘Do you see her?’ Kit asked, catching up.

‘No.’ He spotted a drainpipe on a nearby building and pushed his way to it. Climbing a few feet gave him enough height to see over the surrounding crowd. He scoured the milling heads, searching for anyone in a hurry—

There! Closer than he expected - she had apparently also been taken aback by the spectacle, hesitating at the plaza’s entrance before moving diagonally across the square near the fire-eater. Eddie pointed, then jumped down and joined Kit, shoving through the throng after her.

A startled woman yelled in French not far ahead. For a moment the crowd in Eddie’s path parted, giving him a glimpse of the police uniform. He was twenty feet behind her, less. Another
whump
of fire, people instinctively flinching away from the billowing flame as they applauded. Madirakshi changed direction, the retreating wall of people blocking her path.

She was an arm’s length away—

Eddie grabbed at her, fingers tugging her sleeve before she twisted away. He elbowed through the crowd after her to find himself in an oval space amongst the bustle. The fire-eater, a big man in Arabic-style clothing, looked round in surprise, a burning torch halfway to his mouth. The woman glared back at Eddie with her good eye, the prosthetic staring blankly ahead.

A stand near the fire-eater held other lit torches for his act - and a container of paraffin. She hurled the plastic bottle at her pursuers. Eddie darted aside, but it bounced off the younger man, splashing his arm.

She threw the torches.

The spilled fuel ignited. The crowd screamed and pushed back, people stumbling and causing a chain reaction as others tripped over them. A trail of flame rushed across the open space. Kit jumped away, but his sleeve was already alight. He swatted at the fire, trying to shrug off the garment. The fire-eater’s assistant scrambled for an extinguisher.

Madirakshi took advantage of the panic to dive back into the crowd. Eddie ran after her.

Neon flashed ahead, the shrill mosquito buzz of the holographic display getting louder. Behind, he heard the gushing hiss of the fire extinguisher. Madirakshi’s black bun had become partially unfastened in her flight, long black hair flapping behind her like a horse’s tail.

Eddie reached out, grabbed it, pulled. She shrieked, then spun.

The stolen pistol was in her hand—

He ducked as she fired, the bullet hitting a man behind him and showering his companions with blood.

Eddie sprang up before she could fire again, slamming his shoulder into her adbomen. She reeled. Metal clattered against paving as the gun was knocked from her hand.

He grabbed for the fallen weapon, missed, tripped as someone ran into him, and found himself amongst a forest of trampling legs. A man stumbled over him, stamping on his hand. Eddie yelled and struggled to stand, realising through the sharp pain that he had lost sight of Madirakshi. He looked from side to side. No sign of the police uniform—

Something lashed round his neck from behind.

Eddie’s hand flashed up reflexively just as the garrotte pulled tight, crushing his fingers against his Adam’s apple. Choking, he tried to push the wire away, but it cut painfully into his flesh, blood oozing out. A knee crunched into his back. He struggled for breath as the wire drew tighter, sawing at his throat—

Kit hurtled from the panicked crowd and tackled her. She lost her grip on one end of the garrotte as all three fell. He tried to pin her, but she elbowed him viciously in the face and jumped back up, about to run again—

Sirens howled all round the square, a voice booming orders through a megaphone. The Lyon police were sealing off the Place des Terreaux.

Eddie got up. ‘There’s no way out!’ he gasped. ‘If you give up now, I
might
not match your other eye up.’

To her other side, Kit was also recovering. Madirakshi glanced between the two men, eyeing up possible escape routes - and finding none, blocked by the towering neon display and the pedestal beneath the holographic dancer. ‘We can make a deal,’ said Kit. ‘Testify against your employer, and we—’

She was uninterested in deals. Instead, she ran to the neon sculpture - and started to climb it.