The Hunt For Atlantis

But that wouldn’t take long to clear-and to his dismay, he saw that the exposed part of Frost’s office farther up the hill was more or less intact. While the facade was cratered and cracked, it was still all in one piece-and even the windows had survived the blast, apparently made from the same transparent armor as the airlock doors.

That meant Frost and the virus had also survived.

The virus…

“Shit!” He looked across the fjord. The A380 was still trundling towards the eastern end of the runway. Once there, it would turn and accelerate down the long concrete strip, taking off and heading along the coast to release its deadly cargo.

Starkman groaned nearby. Aristides was several yards behind him, eyes wide in death. Chase rushed over and grabbed the American, hauling him up. “Come on! The virus is on the plane-we can still stop it!”

Starkman wiped dirt off his face. “It’s heading for takeoff, Eddie.” He indicated the bridge spanning the fjord. “We’ll never get there in time.”

Chase jerked a thumb in the direction of the house. “I know where to find a very fast car…”

The monitor on the desk came to life, casting a glow onto Kari’s worried face. “Ms. Frost,” said a woman’s voice, “I have your father on videolink.”

“Oh, thank God!” Kari exclaimed. “I thought you were dead!”

Frost’s voice emerged from the cabin speakers. “I’m fine. The containment area survived almost totally intact.”

“Was it Qobras’s people? I saw men parachuting into the grounds.”

“It was Starkman-and Edward Chase.”

Kari looked stunned. “What? But you said Qobras had-”

“Eddie!” Nina jumped up and ran to the desk. “You mean he’s alive? What happened, is he okay?”

“You might want to remind Dr. Wilde that she isn’t helping her case by sounding so pleased about that,” Frost said, voice acidic. “Chase was working with Starkman against us.”

Kari frowned at the screen. “You lied to me! If you knew he wasn’t dead-”

“None of this matters,” Frost cut in. “All that does matter is that they’ve failed. We still have the virus cultures in the containment area, and Schenk is moving our security teams to make sure they can’t get across the bridge to attack your plane. I thought Chase and Starkman were already dead-they soon will be for sure.”

“Nice wheels,” said Starkman, impressed. He and Chase stood in the garage beneath the house, before Kari’s collection of cars and motorcycles. “What’s the fastest one? Lamborghini? McLaren?”

Chase shot open the cabinet containing the keys to the vehicles. “No, we need a convertible-the Ferrari.” He pointed at the bright scarlet F430 Spider, noticing that Kari’s racing bike was no longer in its neighboring parking spot, then hunted for the right key. It was easy to find-the black and yellow prancing horse logo was instantly recognizable from his schoolboy fantasies.

“A convertible? Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to shoot from it. There’ll be more guards on the way-they’re not just going to let us drive straight across the bridge!” He tossed the keys to Starkman. “Come on! You’re driving!”

“What the hell are you planning?” Starkman demanded as Chase jumped into the Ferrari’s passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go!”

“Always the wise-ass, weren’t you?” Starkman climbed into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. The Ferrari’s engine crackled to life with an almost animalistic growl. “You think you can bring down the plane with just a UMP?”

“I don’t want to bring it down-Nina’s still aboard! Okay, go!”

The Ferrari peeled out of its bay with a shriek of tires as Starkman overrevved the engine. “Whoa! Little touchy!” He eased off and turned for the main door, which started opening automatically as they approached. “You’re going to try to save her? What’re you gonna do, jump onto the plane while it’s taking off?”

“If I have to!” Chase looked at the gear on Starkman’s back. “Give me your grappling gun.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Starkman objected. But he handed the device to Chase anyway.

The door rose high enough for the low-slung Ferrari to fit beneath. Starkman stomped on the accelerator, the engine howling. The car blasted forward like a bullet. “Holy shit!”

“I always wanted one of these!” Chase checked the load on his machine gun, then looked ahead. The driveway from the house zigzagged down the hill to join up with the road leading to the bridge-where another pair of Grand Cherokees had been positioned into a roadblock. Beyond them, halfway across the bridge itself, was a silver BMW X5.

Starkman pointed; more of Frost’s security forces crouched behind the Jeeps. “Hate to tell you this, but Ferraris aren’t bulletproof!”

“Nor are Jeeps! You ready?” The F430 swooped into the last curve.

“As I’ll ever be!” Starkman hefted his UMP in his left hand, holding the steering wheel with his right. The Ferrari straightened, the makeshift roadblock directly ahead-

“Fire!”

Chase opened fire as the Ferrari accelerated, sweeping his shots across the right-hand Jeep at window height. Starkman extended his arm from the side of the car and blasted away at the other SUV, spent bullet casings clinking off the windscreen.

The Jeeps shuddered under the onslaught, glass exploding and metal panels cratering as shots ripped through them. Chase saw a man fall. He didn’t expect to take out all the guards-he just needed to keep them down until the Ferrari could blast past.

“Get on the pavement!” he yelled.

“What?”

“The sidewalk, sidewalk!” The SUVs had blocked the two-lane roadway, but there was a pavement for pedestrians on the right.

“We won’t fit!”

“Yes we will!” Not that they had a choice-in a collision between a lightweight Italian sports car and a two-ton American SUV, there was no doubt which would come out worse.

Starkman swerved the Ferrari to the right, both men still firing at the Jeeps. Chase’s gun clicked empty. Bullets clonked into the side of the F430 as the security men shot back.

“Shit!” cried Starkman. “We’re not gonna fit!”

“Just go!” screamed Chase, bracing himself as the F430 hit the curb. The front spoiler splintered on impact-then the low-profile wheels slammed against the unforgiving concrete with a bang that pounded up his spine like a hammer blow.

Chase’s side of the car screeched against the bridge’s railing while the front wing on Starkman’s side clipped the rear of the Jeep and crumpled back like tinfoil. Both wing mirrors were sheared off, spraying the two men with glass.

“Duck!” Chase shouted as Starkman swung the Ferrari back onto the road. More bullets struck the car as they hunched down in their seats, one clanking against the hooped rollbar just inches behind Chase’s head.

Starkman accelerated again. Chase was shoved back in his seat as the Ferrari blasted away from the Jeeps. He let out an involuntary whoop of excitement at the sensation. “Bloody hell!”

“Good choice of car!” Starkman called over the rush of the wind. “Okay, so-”

The windscreen shattered.

Starkman spasmed as blood sprayed from a wound in his chest, a ragged hole blown right through his body armor. The engine note dropped abruptly as his foot slipped from the accelerator. The Ferrari coasted, slowing fast.

“Jesus!” Chase cried. He grabbed the steering wheel, trying to keep the F430 from hitting the parked BMW ahead.