The Tomb of Hercules_A Novel Page 10

  Last chance—

  He revved the struggling engine and peeled away between the stalled vehicles, Sophia’s arms tight around his waist. The helicopter kept the spotlight pointed at them as they reached the approach to the station. The main entrance was at the base of a convex glass wall halfway along the building—but the chopper was now hovering right in front of it, blocking their way.

  “Whatever you do,” Chase shouted to Sophia, “keep your head down!”

  He changed direction, heading away from the entrance, straight for the wall of the terminal—and pulled out the gun to fire at the windows.

  The glass burst into a billion fragments and cascaded downwards like jagged rain just before the moped hurtled through it.

  Chase found himself in an office, most of the desks empty but some night workers still screaming and flinging themselves clear as he raced past.

  Another window at the far end—

  He pulled the trigger again—and got only a dry click.

  “Hold on to me!” he yelled as the moped rushed at the window. Sophia’s grip tightened. “Jump!”

  They dived off the bike, Chase taking the brunt of the impact as he hit the floor with Sophia on top of him. The riderless moped crashed through the window and skidded across the enclosed concourse beyond before finally toppling over and coming to a halt.

  “You okay?” Chase asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” said Sophia, standing and brushing off a few stray splinters of glass.

  Wincing in pain, Chase staggered upright. He glanced down at Sophia’s bare feet, then before she could protest hoisted her over his shoulder once more and lumbered through the broken window.

  They emerged on the far side of the passenger turnstiles, station staff looking on in astonishment at the wrecked moped and shattered glass. Chase reached into his jacket with his free hand. “Got my tickets here, no need to check them!” he shouted, waving them in the air. He hurried up the nearest escalator to the platform before anyone thought to try to stop them.

  A train was waiting, a long gleaming metal caterpillar. There were no wheels, the whole thing floating just above the track, levitated by a magnetic field. The Shanghai maglev was currently the longest railway of its kind in the world—and it was also the fastest passenger service of any kind in the world. The nineteen-mile journey between the Shanghai terminal and Pudong airport southeast of the city took just seven minutes, at its fastest the monorail hitting 430 kilometers per hour.

  Faster, Chase knew, than any helicopter.

  He hurried to the nearest door, just behind the blunt curve of the train’s rear cab, and put Sophia back down on her feet before ushering her inside. The doors closed behind them. They attracted more than a few curious looks from other passengers as they moved up the car to find seats. Looking down at himself, he realized that his tuxedo was smeared with mud, its sleeves ripped and glinting with fragments of glass.

  “So much for my James Bond look,” he said sadly as the train began to move.

  Sophia squeezed his hand. “You’re far better than James Bond,” she assured him with a smile. He smiled back, then looked out of the window. Even though it had only been in motion for a matter of seconds, the train was already emerging from the steel cocoon of the station, accelerating with an almost unsettling smoothness, literally gliding along the track.

  And rising up alongside the elevated track was Yuen’s helicopter, the spotlight sweeping along the length of the train. Hunting for them.

  Finding them. Locking on…

  For just a moment. Then the train began to draw away, outpacing the chopper despite the pilot’s best efforts to keep up.

  Chase used one hand to block out the spotlight, making out Yuen in the copilot’s seat. He gave him a cheerful wave. Even as the helicopter fell back, Yuen’s expression of fury was clear.

  But there was nothing he could do to stop them now, short of opening fire on the maglev. And however big Yuen’s business, however many friends he had in the Chinese government, riddling the country’s most prestigious technological wonder with bullets was not something he could easily brush off.

  The train kept accelerating, glowing green LED displays in the ceiling of the car giving its speed. Already past 150 kilometers per hour, 200, and still rising fast.

  The glare of the spotlight disappeared; Yuen’s helicopter had been left eating dust.

  Chase turned back to Sophia. She had come through the experience in better condition than he, grass stains on her dress and a few small cuts on her bare arms the only damage. “Are you all right?” he asked anyway.

  “I’m fine.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Eddie. Thanks for helping me. I knew you’d come.”

  “I couldn’t really say no, could I? But try not to make a habit of it.”

  Sophia smiled. “I’ll try.” She sat back, looking out of the window as the outskirts of Shanghai whipped past in the darkness. “So now what?”

  “Now? We get to the airport, I pick up the rest of my stuff from a locker, then we get on a plane and go back to the States.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Working for the U.N. can be pretty boring … but there are some perks. Once we’re in the air I’ll call my boss at the IHA. Then we can find out just how deep in the shit your husband’s got himself.”

  He thought about the flash drive in Sophia’s handbag. What did Yuen want with the IHA’s files, and what was his connection to the sinking of the SBX platform over Atlantis?

  More to the point, what was Yuen’s interest in him—and Nina? He felt a brief flash of guilt for not having thought about her, wondering if she was all right.

  She was probably fine, he decided. Whatever she was doing, it could hardly compare to what he’d just been through…

  New York City

  Nina picked her way as fast as she dared along the dark tunnel, cold water splashing up her legs. From the smell, she assumed that a sewer was leaking into the passage. Every so often she heard flurries of movement—rats scuttling away from her.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been running or how far she’d traveled from City Hall station—only that it wasn’t far enough. While the narrow tunnel twisted, it only went in one direction. Barred gates blocked every side passage, leaving nowhere she could hide from her pursuers.

  And they were getting closer. By closing the hatch in the abandoned station she had given herself a little extra time as they checked the stairs … but realizing there was no way out, they hadn’t taken long to guess where she’d gone.

  Her arms ached as much as her legs. The book was getting heavier, sharp edges digging into her flesh. But she couldn’t get rid of it even if she wanted to, couldn’t simply drop it so her hunters could take what they were after. It was still locked to her wrist.

  Another turn. Nina rounded it, hoping to see an exit, or at least other passages to confuse the men behind her. But there was nothing except more feeble lights on the arched brick ceiling pointing her way further into the darkness.

  And more water. The tunnel dipped before leveling out again, the stagnant pool at her feet becoming deeper. Somewhere ahead she could hear a low hiss of flowing water.

  Running became harder, a layer of sticky ooze beneath the filthy surface engulfing her feet at each step. It felt like a childhood nightmare come to life, the sensation of trying to run through quicksand.

  Her fear rose. The slower she moved, the closer the two men got—and they didn’t need to catch her. Just shoot her.

  Gasping for breath, she ran faster, forcing her knees higher as her feet pounded through the sludge. The noise of running water ahead grew louder—as did the splashes from behind.

  She didn’t dare look back. Another bend in the tunnel, a faint glow of daylight on the walls as well as the greasy yellow of the bulbs—

  One of the sets of chasing footsteps suddenly stopped.

  A clear shot—

  The flat thumps of the si
lenced shots were amplified by the confined space, but they were nothing compared to the splintering crack of bullets hitting the walls as Nina threw herself headlong around the corner. Chunks of broken brickwork rained on her as she landed in the disgusting pool.

  The firing stopped. She pushed herself up, something awful crunching under one hand in the muck. Cockroaches slithered away from her. The tunnel sloped upwards again, the source of the daylight visible at its end. An opening into a larger chamber.

  A way out.

  Nina ran up the slope. Water trickled from above the opening. She reached the end—

  And grabbed desperately at an overhead pipe as she almost fell down an open shaft.

  She hung for a moment, one hand around the pipe and her toes clinging to the edge of the tunnel. Then, very carefully, she shifted her weight and leaned back, wobbling on the brink before regaining her balance.

  The tall chamber she had entered was about ten feet across, some sort of sewer shaft. Pipes entered it at various heights and angles, spewing their contents into the void below. The daylight came through grubby glass bricks in the ceiling some forty feet above. As she watched, somebody walked over them, for a moment blotting out the sky.

  Rusted rungs protruded from the wall, a ladder leading up to a manhole cover at street level…

  A locked manhole cover. Even from this distance, she could see the padlock holding it shut.

  She looked down. The rungs descended into the abyss below, but she couldn’t even guess how deep it went. Not that it mattered. Whether she went up or down, the gunmen would reach the end of the tunnel long before she reached either end of the ladder.

  But there was something on the other side of the shaft, another passage. The entrance was smaller than the one in which she was standing, but she could see the distant glimmer of a light within. Another way out.

  If she could reach it. There was no bridge across the shaft, only the metal pipe above her head—

  Nina cradled the heavy book on her shoulder, squeezing it as firmly as she could between her cheek and her upper arm as she reached up and took hold of the pipe with her left hand. Then she stretched out her right hand, took a deep, fearful breath…

  And swung out over the shaft.

  The book wobbled, threatening to pitch forward. She pushed her face harder against the leather to keep it in place. If the book fell, the jolt when the chain pulled taut would tear her loose.

  Gripping the pipe as tightly as she could, she slid her right hand forward by about a foot. Then she jerked her left hand along behind it, a couple of inches at a time, trying to keep the book in position. Its hard edge dug savagely into her shoulder. Another foot, another series of little jerks to catch up …

  She heard splashing from the passage behind.

  Nina let out a strained gasp as she tried to move faster. The book slipped again. She wrestled it between her head and arm, forcing it back into place. Another foot, then the frantic catch-up, right hand forward once more…

  Halfway across. She had no idea when the gunmen would be able to see her hanging there, an unmissable target.

  But if they shot her, she would fall into the unknown below, taking the book with her. If the shaft opened into a main sewer line, their prize would be swept away. That might deter them from firing.

  Maybe…

  Every move made her gasp now, panic rising. A line of pain seared through her shoulder as the book’s brass frame ground into her muscles. Three feet, two, boots clattering up the sloping passage behind her…

  Rancid water, and worse, spewed onto her from an outlet above, drenching her hair and clothing. The pipe was slick under her hands. Nina could feel the book shifting, sliding backwards this time. She pushed her cheek against it, trying to hold it in place, but it was moving towards the point of no return.

  Less than a foot to go—

  The book tipped. Leather rubbed against her face, then the cold edge of its frame. And gone.

  It fell, the chain snaking past her head just as she grabbed the edge of the passage with her right hand. Her fingers closed around metal. The sudden weight of the book wrenched her left hand from the pipe—

  Her grip on the frame held. Just. Stifling a scream, Nina stretched out one leg and managed to get a toehold on the edge of the low tunnel. The book swung below her like a pendulum. It banged against the side of the shaft, the clasp that held it shut breaking. Every muscle on fire, she hauled herself onto the solid floor of the tunnel entrance, dragging the book with her.

  One of the gunmen appeared at the end of the passage opposite, raised his weapon, and pulled the trigger—

  Click.

  Nothing happened. The Asian man tried again, then pulled out the magazine to examine it and shouted what she was certain was an obscenity. Out of ammo.

  The ponytailed man appeared behind him. He snapped out an order. The first man gave him a dubious look, then reached up to grab the overhead pipe.

  Nina turned to run. The man swung out over the shaft—

  The end of the pipe sheared off from the wall.

  With a piercing scream, he plunged down the shaft and disappeared into the darkness, the pipe breaking loose at its other end and falling after him. The splash from below took longer to arrive than Nina expected.

  She looked back at the ponytailed man, who seemed more annoyed than shocked by the death of his associate. His eyes locked on to hers. Apparently he too was out of ammo. With no way across the shaft, the chase was over.

  “Say hi to the C.H.U.D.s for me!” said Nina, slamming the book closed and hurrying down the passage.

  She got about ten feet before hearing movement behind her.

  She looked around to see the man leap across the shaft, coat billowing like a cape. Arms outstretched, he slammed against the lip of the passage, grunting at the impact before gripping the metal frame and pulling himself up.

  “Oh, shit!” She ran again, more terrified than ever. The dim maintenance lights whipped past just overhead. This passage, while more confined than the last, was at least dry, and she could hear something else ahead, a familiar sound—the rumble and clatter of a passing train. She was rejoining the subway tunnels.

  The lights brightened, the cold blue of fluorescents shining on concrete walls. She emerged in a rectangular chamber, more tunnels leading off in different directions. After the darkness of the passage, the glare was almost blinding. Bare walls, service access for the subway—with an open elevator.

  Nina threw herself into the cramped car and hammered at the topmost button on the control panel, waiting for the doors to close. It took her a moment to realize that she had to close the old-fashioned cage gates herself. She grabbed the handles of the outer doors and dragged them together, the concertina-like metal framework clashing shut.

  Fang burst out of the tunnel and ran straight at her. He had something in his hands, a black cane, one hand whipping back—

  She slammed the inner gate. A motor whined.

  He thrust his hand at Nina, a silver line stabbing between the bars of the gate. She instinctively raised the book like a shield—

  Tchink!

  The sword blade went right through the book, effortlessly piercing leather and metal and glass and parchment.

  And clothing.

  And flesh.

  Nina was slammed against the back wall of the little elevator, the book pressed against her chest. She let out an almost silent gasp, mouth open in a stunned O as she looked down.

  The pointed tip of the sword blade was stuck in her chest, right over her heart…

  But only the tip. The book had taken the brunt of the blow, only a centimeter of sharpened metal making it all the way through to bury itself in her left breast.

  Nina forced the book away from her body. The sword’s tip slid free. A circle of blood swelled around the cut in her blouse, pain now searing through her shock.

  Fang drew his sword hand back sharply, almost tearing the book from Nina’s grip. The te
xt dropped heavily to the floor, more glass cracking. With the clasp broken, the book swung open as the blade withdrew.

  The elevator started to ascend.

  Fang snatched his sword clear and grasped the near edge of the open book with his free hand, standing the whole thing on its end and pulling it towards him. The two halves of the outer gate sprang apart, forced open by the book as it rose between them.

  The chain around Nina’s wrist pulled tight. Fang only needed to bring the book a few inches closer before it dropped over the edge of the elevator’s floor and the chain was severed by the approaching ceiling—

  Despite her pain, Nina grabbed the chain with both hands and hauled with all her strength. “Screw—you!”

  Still on its end, the book slid back just as it reached the ceiling—

  The elevator continued relentlessly upwards, the edge of the ceiling slicing downwards through the metal spine of the book like a guillotine blade. With a crunch, the volume was ripped in two. Nina fell back and banged her head as her half broke free. The chamber below, and her enemy, disappeared from view.

  Dizzy, she shoved herself into a sitting position. The patch of blood on her chest was about the size of her palm, slowly spreading through the sodden material. She pressed a hand against it, wincing. The wound hurt like hell, but didn’t seem to be life-threatening.

  Other things were, however. She might have briefly escaped her pursuer, but she still wasn’t safe. There was a flight of stairs alongside the elevator—he was probably running up them already.

  Nina scooped up the loose pieces of the book, then dragged herself to her feet as the upper floor slid into view. The elevator came to a stop. She threw the doors open and rushed out, hearing the ponytailed man pounding up the stairs.

  She spotted a door along the corridor, a fire exit, and burst through it to find herself at the end of a subway platform. Canal Street, one stop north of Brooklyn Bridge station. She’d run much farther than she realized, several blocks.

  But she didn’t care, because all that mattered was the train at the platform, doors open—