Solomons scrolls, p.13
Solomon's Scrolls, page 13
part #1 of A North and Swiftwater Thriller Series
Tension filled the room as three men faced off against eight.
One of the Asian men stepped forward. In English, he said, “I think it is I who should be asking the questions, Frenchman? N’est pas?”
“Where are North and Swiftwater?” demanded DuFour’s bodyguard.
The Asian man scrunched his brow. “Who?”
Kim flinched at hearing their names.
There was an awkward pause as both sides eyed each other. Then, the big Frenchman with dragon tattoos on his bulging neck looked at his compatriots and back at the opposition. “What about Hamilton? Surely, you’re working for him?”
The lead thief shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. “Look you, big ape. I haven’t a clue who you’re talking about. Drop your weapons and then kick them over to my feet!”
“That’s not going to happen,” said DuFour’s man. “Step away from the crate, and no one has to die.”
A chuckle escaped from the mercenaries’ throats.
“I don’t think so,” said the Asian leader. “I’ll give you five seconds to drop your weapons or face the consequences.”
Kim felt her muscles tighten. All it would take was the slightest spark to ignite the powder keg, and all hell would break out.
Connor warily crept forward with his Taser tight in his hand. He slipped behind the van and took in a deep breath. He could hear the man guarding the back door pacing back and forth while he smoked a noxious-smelling cigarette and waited for his comrades.
Connor took a breath as he stepped out from behind the van and walked purposefully toward his target. At the last second, the man spotted Connor approaching. Without hesitating, Connor fired his Taser.
Before his target could react, a pair of barbed darts struck the man in the chest. In the blink of an eye, fifty thousand volts surged through wires attached to the barbs and into his body, causing him to spasm in agony.
Connor dropped his Taser and ran to grab the guard’s weapon. Only he was a fraction of a second too late. The guard’s trigger finger slid over the trigger and involuntarily tightened, firing a burst of 9mm rounds into the pavement. Connor came to a sliding halt and looked up at the back door.
To Kim, what happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. One of the French robbers heard the shots outside and went to fire his weapon.
Two Asian mercenaries saw him raise his weapon and opened fire, hitting the man in the chest and head.
The two surviving Frenchmen took to their heels and sprinted for the door. The leader was faster and quickly disappeared from view while his partner fell to the floor with his back riddled with bullets.
The lead Asian mercenary yelled at his men and ran for the exit, closely followed by three of his assassins.
Kim watched the remaining four men grab the heavy crate and haul it off the floor. She spotted the number twelve painted on the side of the box and silently swore at their bad luck.
The back door burst open, and DuFour’s man ran out, nearly knocking over his tased comrade. He sprinted past the van, ignoring Connor altogether, jumped into his car’s driver’s seat, and started the ignition.
Connor instantly stepped back from the doorway. He had barely moved when the door burst wide open, and four armed men spilled out. The lead gunman never hesitated and fired two shots at the stunned guard, killing him. Every nerve and fiber in Connor’s body told him to run. He spun on his heel and dove behind the van just as a hail of 9mm bullets flew through the air.
Kim heard the gunfire and instantly feared the worst.
She tapped her earpiece. “Connor, can you hear me?”
“Don’t come out the back,” he replied quickly.
Kim heard more shots and gnashed her teeth. “Screw this.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the front entrance and took off running. “Meet me out front.”
“Roger,” replied Connor, watching DuFour’s man drive straight backward under fire. Dozens of bullets struck the hood and blasted holes in the front windshield, but that didn’t stop the killer, who kept going and rapidly vanished down the alleyway.
Connor knew his window of opportunity to escape was fading fast. He pumped his legs and sprinted out from behind the van, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He heard the crack of bullets as they flew past his head. Adrenaline filled his veins, allowing him to dig deeper for every ounce of strength he had in his body to escape. At the last second, he dove over a pair of garbage cans, landed on his shoulder, and rolled onto his feet. Amazed that he hadn’t been hit, Connor ran for his car like a madman. He yanked open the door, jumped in, and started the vehicle. Connor ducked below the dash, threw the car in reverse, and jammed his foot on the accelerator. Unable to see where he was going, Connor heard a loud crunch of crumpling metal as he bounced off the stone wall, running down the alley, ripping his driver’s side mirror off the side of the car, and cutting deep streaks into his door.
“Where are you?” asked Kim.
“I’m almost at the end of the alley, I think,” he replied, popping his head up just as a man fired at his escaping vehicle, riddling the front grill with bullets.
“I’ve unlocked the front doors. The second I see you, I’m coming out.”
Connor looked over his shoulder at the end of the alley. He sat up, pulled up the emergency brake, and swung the steering wheel around in his hand. The car spun around, leaving smoke and black tire marks behind it. Connor released the brake and pressed hard on the gas pedal. In seconds, he was out front of the auction house. He brought his rental car to a screeching halt and reached over to open Kim’s door. Then, like an athlete hearing the starter’s pistol fire, she sprinted for the open door and dove inside.
“Drive!” she said, slamming her door behind her.
Connor placed the Kia in gear and drove off. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but they’ve got the map.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The number twelve was stenciled on the crate they were carrying out.”
“Damn,” replied Connor, turning the steering wheel sharply to head back toward the alleyway. He barely had time to slam his foot on the brakes as the van sped past him, going in the opposite direction.
Kim snapped her seatbelt in place and pointed at the escaping vehicle. “Follow that van.”
Connor spun the wheel over and pressed down on the gas pedal, praying their car could catch up with the fleeing van.Luckily for them, there was almost no traffic on the narrow, winding streets at three in the morning. However, the rows of cars parked beside the tall, dense buildings that snaked alongside the winding road considerably narrowed the lane.
“Can we catch them?” Kim asked as Connor sped around a yellow delivery truck barely going the speed limit.
“Maybe,” he replied. “The problem is, what do we do then? In case you’ve forgotten, we’re slightly outnumbered.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s all right. We’ll figure something out.”
Connor clenched the wheel until his knuckles blanched. He was doing his best on the curved road but took one corner too fast and slid into the front end of a parked car, crushing one of its headlights and triggering its alarm. Connor ignored the damage and kept going. He glanced back to see their car’s bumper rolling end over end down the road.
“Thank God we got insurance,” Connor said dryly.
“Seriously, you’re worried about that at a time like this?” retorted Kim.
Up ahead, the road turned straight and ran alongside the dark waters of the Aare River. The van with its larger motor started to pull away.
Kim saw they were falling back and dug out her phone. “The cops, should I call them?”
Connor couldn’t see any other way to stop the thieves and nodded. “Don’t tell them who you are; just tell them you saw them rob a store, the make of the vehicle, and where the crooks are heading.”
“Right.” Kim dialed 1-1-2, and waited for someone to answer.
All Kim heard was guten nacht before she cut off the operator. “Hello, I’ve just witnessed a bank robbery. The thieves are in a white Ford van and are heading north on—just a second.” Kim looked for a street sign and read it aloud, “Engehaldenstrasse, I think that’s how you say it. But, whatever you do, be careful because I think they’re armed.”
“Did you say Engehaldenstrasse?” asked the police operator.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Can I have your name, please?”
Kim instantly hung up.
Connor sped up to pass an eighteen-wheeler hauling lumber. He was almost beside the vehicle’s cab when Kim suddenly shot back in her seat and pointed at the windshield, screaming, “Car!”
An unexpected vehicle had just turned a bend and came speeding out of the dark toward them, flashing its high beans and blaring its horn. Connor swore. His stomach leaped into his throat. He had a split-second to decide what to do. Connor knew he had only one chance and turned his wheel hard to the left, steering his car onto the narrow shoulder on the other side of the road, barely missing the other vehicle by a hair’s breadth. The other car, a BMW, raced past with a window down, and the driver giving Connor a rude hand gesture.
“Damn, that was a bit too close,” Kim said, holding onto the dash for dear life.
Connor steered back onto the road and got in front of the semi. “Yeah, let’s not do that again.”
The familiar and welcoming sound of police sirens coming from behind instantly changed the mood. Their luck might have turned.
A minute later, a pair of blue-and-yellow police Volvo V90s, with their sirens blaring and blue-and-white lights flashing, flew past Connor’s Kia and took up the chase.
“I never thought I’d like to hear that sound,” said Kim. “Let’s pray the police get them.”
“Amen to that.”
Connor joined the police cruisers in pursuit of the van. Like a snake slithering through the underbrush, the three cars wound their way through the traffic, flashing their lights and honking their horns to warn people to get out of their way.
“It looks like the police are catching up,” observed Kim when the gap between the van and the police cars dropped to less than fifty meters.
Connor nodded. “I hope they know the opposition is armed and isn’t afraid to use force.”
Prophetically, the van’s rear doors swung open at that moment, and a pair of men opened fire, spraying the lead police cruiser’s windshield with a deadly hail of gunfire. The driver and his partner never stood a chance as the thieves’ armor-piercing rounds easily shattered the front windshield. Broken glass and 9mm bullets flew inside, striking the doomed men trapped inside the car.
Anger surged through Connor when the lead cruiser slid off the road and flew into the air, landing with a massive splash in the cold waters of the Aare River. Neither man could have survived.
“No,” whispered Kim as the mercenaries turned their attention to the second car and let loose a deadly volley. Bullets tore into the vehicle’s hood and then its windshield. With smoke billowing from its engine, the second car’s driver, unable to see the oncoming traffic, smashed headlong into a heavy-duty truck and compacted beneath its weight.
Connor saw what had happened but couldn’t believe that four men were dead. He dodged around a piece of burning debris and again took up the chase. He said darkly, “Kim, get a hold of the police and let them know what’s happened.”
“Right,” Kim replied numbly, going for her phone. She was about to redial the emergency number but stopped. Three police motorbikes flew past like the wind at that moment in pursuit of the mercenaries. In the sky above them, a police helicopter joined the hunt, shining its light on the white van.
“All right, that’s more like it,” said Connor, backing off slightly to let the police do their jobs. “If they’re smart, the Swiss will put up a roadblock a few kilometers down the road to stop them.”
Kim crossed her fingers. “Here’s hoping.”
The flashing lights from the police pursuit shone off the river, glinting like some sort of giant strobe light. Connor was happy to see that the Swiss seemed to know what they were doing. The motorbikes were keeping safely back and herding the van down the road. However, everything changed instantly when a 4x4 pickup truck roared from a side street onto the road just behind the white van.
“What the heck?” said Kim at the sight of two men in the back of the pickup truck aiming a ground-to-air missile at the helicopter. A bright flash preceded the launch of the heat-seeking warhead. The police helicopter pilot saw the launch and banked over to avoid the incoming missile. But it was pointless. In seconds the warhead hit home and exploded, creating a brilliant red fireball that brightened the heavens as the crippled helicopter fell from the sky and landed in the river.
Connor swore and smashed his right hand hard on the steering wheel. His blood was up. All he wanted to do was get revenge.
The missile team in the pickup discarded their launcher and picked up AK-74s to fire on the Swiss police. The motorbike riders saw what was about to happen and swerved from side to side on the road, trying to throw off their assailants’ aim. Unfortunately, it only worked for a very short while before the mercenaries cut the riders down one by one, leaving their bodies and bikes to slide down the darkened highway.
It was over. Connor lifted his foot off the gas and watched the two vehicles speed off into the night.
“What are you doing?” demanded Kim. “They’re getting away.”
“I know,” he replied resignedly.
“Damn it, Connor, why are you letting them get away?”
Connor stopped next to a bike and its rider lying on the road. “Because our car is on its last legs, and we can’t do anything for the wounded police officers if we’re dead.”
“But they’ll get away.”
Connor looked Kim in the eyes. “Let them get away. This isn’t over. But for now, it’s people first, treasure second, yes?”
Kim exhaled and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sure the authorities already know, but I’ll call for additional ambulances and tell them we need help immediately.”
Connor got out of the car and watched one of the police officers try to roll over. He dashed over and got on one knee. Connor gently slipped his hand under the officer’s neck and looked into a woman’s bright blue eyes. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but you’ve got to hang on. Help is on the way.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chateau Sainte Croix, France
The sound of his phone buzzing woke Rene DuFour, and he sat up in bed.
“Who’s calling?” a red-haired, young woman wrapped in the black silk sheets asked groggily. She had the slightest hint of an Irish accent.
DuFour saw Vallin’s number on the screen and leaped out of bed. “It’s no one, Demi. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay,” she replied, rolling over and hugging a pillow tight to her naked chest.
DuFour answered the call succinctly, “One second.” Then, DuFour wrapped a robe around his naked body and walked out onto a balcony overlooking his estate. It was chilly in the gray light of dawn, but DuFour liked the freshness of an early morning. He inhaled deeply through his nose; it smelled of opportunities. He desperately wanted to hear good news, but the early hour of the call could only mean that something had gone wrong.
DuFour brought up his phone to his ear. “Okay, Jean, I’m listening.”
“Sir, I’ll be brief. This morning’s activities were an unmitigated disaster from the word go.”
DuFour’s gut churned. “I take it that means you don’t have the map?”
“Correct. Someone beat us to it.”
DuFour closed his eyes. His order would not be very pleased with him once they discovered what had happened. “Let me guess, North and Swiftwater?”
“No, sir, it was someone else.”
“I don’t understand. Who else is involved?”
“Koreans. North Koreans, to be specific.”
DuFour’s head was spinning. Why would anyone from North Korea want a map from the fourteenth century? “Are you sure they were North Koreans?”
“Sir, I’ve worked with Koreans before, so I know their language when I hear it.”
“What made you think they were from the North and not the South?”
“These men were professional mercenaries. I’ve seen their type before. Trust me, sir; they were North Korean agents.”
DuFour took a seat and shook his head to clear it. “Okay, Jean, you win. If you say they were North Koreans, then they were North Koreans. So where is the map now?”
“I’m not sure. But I have a good idea where it may be headed.”
Vallin’s words felt like a knife to the guts. Ideas didn’t always become action, and that’s precisely what he needed right now. DuFour’s hand started to shake; his life was hanging by a thread. Finally, he paused to compose himself. “Jean, what do you need to get your hands on my map?”
“First off, from here on out, you’ve got to trust me to do things my way. You kept me out of the picture in Ireland when you used hired thugs instead of professionals to do the job, and that didn’t turn out so well. Neither did things in Switzerland. The men you sent to work with me were worse than useless. They panicked at the first sight of trouble and are all dead.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. From here on out, I want to use my people.”
DuFour knew he’d messed up and relented. “If that’s what it will take.”
“I’m not finished. I also want ten million dollars deposited in a Swiss bank account by noon today so I can start hiring men I trust to get the job done.”
Dufour felt as if he had slipped into a dream. Nothing seemed real anymore. “Ten million, yes, of course. I’ll take care of it right away.”
“Good. I’ll call you once I know where the map is.” With that, Vallin hung up.
DuFour dropped his phone and struggled to stand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. His throat was parched, and his stomach ached. Everything was spinning out of control. In an instant, his stomach turned, and DuFour emptied his stomach over the side of his balcony until only bile slipped from his quivering lips. He looked up at the sky.
