Silent Assassin(101)

“Cobra,” said Spartan, “it’s all on you now. Go get ’im!”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Morgan floored the gas pedal and the Shelby took off. He heard police sirens behind him—no doubt the FBI, now having realized what had happened. Morgan pushed harder, closing in on Charles. The Shelby was bigger and heavier than the Audi, but Morgan had the more powerful engine.

That didn’t matter quite as much in the city, however. The Audi had him beat in maneuverability. Charles crisscrossed his way through the downtown streets, and Morgan followed behind him. It was clear that he was headed back to the highway, and there, Morgan would have the advantage.

“Cobra, what’s going on?” asked Bloch.

“I have him in my sights,” said Morgan. “Track me if you want to know where.”

“Good luck,” she said. “We’re counting on you.”

With Morgan hard on his tail, Charles wove through traffic and ran red lights. Morgan drifted along the curves, accelerating as much as he could in the short stretches of clear road in order to keep Charles within view. Finally, they reached the access to the highway. Charles squealed up the on-ramp, with Morgan hot on his tail.

They sped together along I-93, but there was no way that Morgan could even get close enough to use any of his car’s capabilities. At first, he planned on hooking onto the back of Charles’ car, but Charles was too evasive, and he couldn’t line up behind him properly. At the speed they were going, it was likely that one or both of them would soon get killed. Morgan didn’t give a rat’s ass about Charles’s life, except that he was their only connection to Novokoff.

So Morgan accelerated. Charles tried to force him off the road when they were alongside. In the stretch they were on, that would mean an eighty-yard drop to the streets below. But the weight of Morgan’s car had the advantage here. You’re not getting away this time, asshole, Morgan thought. This time, you’re mine.

They tore down the highway for mile after mile, neither car getting the advantage. Then, all of a sudden, Charles dodged him and braked the Audi, almost instantly falling behind Morgan. Morgan responded by turning the wheel and pulling the handbrake. The car screeched as he drifted a full one-eighty and kicked it into reverse, so that he faced the Audi head-on. Morgan had pulled the handbrake before Charles could react. Charles’s car slammed right into his. Morgan winced as the front of the hood crumpled. Then, with the push of a button on his dashboard, Morgan deployed the front hooks, and then the two cars were locked together. With a push of a second button he completely fried all the Audi’s electronics. Finally, he pushed the button on his dashboard, and an acid-green fluid squirted onto the road from behind the car. Going backwards, the Shelby hit the slick first. The back tires burst, then the front, and then Charles’s followed suit. Stuck together, the two cars skidded around, the now bare wheels raised sparks and a terrible grinding noise, until both came to a halt on the shoulder of the road.

His car stuck to the other bumper to bumper. Morgan glanced at Charles, who looked dizzy and confused, and smiled. “Looks like we’ve got a caged rabbit on our hands,” he said.





CHAPTER 58


Boston, March 10





“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t I have certain rights in this kind of situation?” said Edmund Charles. Morgan hit him hard across the face.

They were at a designated safe house, a small isolated rural home just off the highway, with the broken hulls of cars in the yard. Edmund Charles was in a chair with his hands bound with duct tape. Morgan had commandeered a Ford Escort from a bystander, old enough not to have any kind of GPS tracking, and had gotten his prisoner out of there. Orders had come down from Bloch to take him to the safe house and keep him there until someone came. He was supposed to hold on to the man and do nothing, but Morgan was ignoring that part.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the government.” Morgan hit him across the face once more.

“I am well aware of who you work for, Mr. Morgan.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Not many people who know that name have lived long enough for it to cross their lips too many times.”

“Oh, yes? And how much longer would you wager I have to live?” For a neutral face, Charles looked quite self-satisfied. “Eh, Mr. Morgan?” Each time he said the name, it was a taunt. It said that he knew, and that his family wasn’t safe.

“Not too long,” said Morgan, with satisfaction. “What’s your plan?”

“You mean what was the plan? You should know. You managed to stop the shipment before it was distributed.”