The Sacred Vault

He eased off slightly, considering his options before deciding to keep going. The cops might be able to stop the Bowler - but they would still need to be warned about the other bikers. If they turned and came back to rescue their leader, it could be a bloodbath.

Twisting the throttle again, he followed the police car through the intersection—

‘Fuck!’ He hauled the Honda hard over to avoid a second police car that screeched round the corner to his left, almost scooping him up as a hood ornament.

‘You on the bike!’ a voice boomed from the cruiser’s loudspeaker. ‘Pull over, right now!’

‘Not me, you dozy twats!’ Eddie shouted, jabbing a hand at the cars ahead. ‘Go after them! I’m the good guy!’

They couldn’t hear him - and in hindsight, he realised that making a gesture which could easily be mistaken for flipping the bird had probably been a bad move. ‘I said pull over, smartass!’ the cop growled.

‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ he muttered, going faster.

Nina swung the Charger around the stationary cable car, Boyce regarding the hole smashed through the historic vehicle with dismay. A small crowd of gawpers in the road scattered at the police car’s approach, revealing a leather-clad body lying on the tarmac. She swerved away from it - seeing a smaller object through the fog too late to avoid running it over.

‘What was that?’ demanded Boyce.

‘Uh - I think a bad guy left his parts in San Francisco,’ said Nina, cringing. The mayor gave her a dirty look.

‘All units, all units,’ said the radio, ‘high speed pursuit heading up Taylor towards Broadway. Roadblocks now in position, further units moving to intercept.’

Boyce stared ahead. ‘If they keep going on Taylor, there’s no way they can escape.’

‘They must have something planned,’ Nina said as she accelerated. ‘Why would they be using dirt bikes and a big-ass dune buggy unless they were planning to go off road?’

‘There’s nowhere they can do that on Taylor Street,’ said Boyce confidently - then his face fell. ‘Except for Coolbrith Park . . .’

The bikes leading the pack slowed as they approached the summit, the Nemesis quickly catching up. Ahead, Taylor Street dropped away sharply, a steep hill leading down to the intersection with Green Street - where a roadblock was waiting. For a two-block stretch, there were no other exits.

For cars, at least.

But running eastwards was a small park. Named for California’s first poet laureate, the tiered slope was a little oasis of greenery amidst the surrounding condominiums, carefully tended flowers and bushes adding to the idyll . . .

Which was shattered as the bikes roared off the road, some of them taking the clear but bumpy route down the steps flanking the park while others simply ploughed through the vegetation, knobbly tyres ripping up soil and grass.

Behind them, Zec slewed the Nemesis into a skid that left it pointing at the park entrance. He quickly engaged the low-range gearing, then used the 4x4’s high ground clearance and oversized wheels to mount the tall kerb. The Bowler tore through a flowerbed and continued rapidly down the slope, all four wheels clawing for grip.

The first police car reached the hilltop and slithered to a halt, but there was no way it could follow. A cop jumped out and drew his gun, about to fire after the disappearing vehicle—

‘’Scuse me!’ cried Eddie as he whipped past, swatting the gun out of the officer’s hand to avoid getting a bullet in the back.

Dodging trees, he bounded down the park’s tiers in the wake of the Nemesis as it smashed through the foliage - then heard a loud bang, followed by the roar of its engine speeding away. The robbers had reached another road. Not knowing what to expect, Eddie braced himself as he brought the bike through the flattened bushes - and found himself briefly in freefall, riding off the edge of a terrace. A slam of impact, then he was back on tarmac on Vallejo Street.

He could still hear sirens - behind him. For now, the robbers’ plan had succeeded. They had shaken off the police.

But they hadn’t lost all their pursuers. Eddie revved the engine, racing downhill after the Nemesis.

A radio report confirmed Boyce’s fear: the raiders had driven through Coolbrith Park, leaving the police with no choice but to take the long way round to catch up.

Nina had no intention of letting them escape that easily. ‘Which way to intercept them?’

‘They’re going east, so right,’ Boyce told her. An intersection ahead; she turned the wheel sharply to make the turn. ‘No, not this right! It’s a one-way—’

A single headlight in their path—

They both screamed as Nina swerved on to the sidewalk to dodge the cable car clanking up Jackson Street. The Charger’s side scraped a wall, sending up a shower of sparks and smashing the wing mirror as the tram rumbled past.

‘Okay,’ Nina gasped as she straightened out, ‘you tell me things like that before I turn from now on, okay?’ A car was also coming up the hill, but the strobes and siren prompted it to dart out of her way. ‘You know the city - where are they going?’

Boyce had gripped the shotgun rack for support, and forced himself to release his clenched hands. ‘I - I don’t know. If they want to get out of the city, the only routes from here are the Bay Bridge or the Golden Gate - but they’re not heading towards either of them.’

‘So what’s in the direction they’re going?’

‘Just the marina. We’re less than a mile from it.’

‘They must have a boat,’ Nina realised. She indicated the radio. ‘Tell the cops they need to get to the waterfront!’

The robbers followed a zig-zagging course across the city grid before heading east again, now speeding up Union Street. The road ahead rose steeply as it climbed the western flank of Telegraph Hill, a park topped by the white pillar of Coit Tower at its summit.

Fernandez checked the mirror. The Honda’s headlight was still behind them in the fog, an irritating gnat that just wouldn’t go away. The Spaniard had been over every centimetre of the route before; he thought for a moment, then picked up the radio to issue a command.

Even the mighty XR650R was labouring on the incline, but Eddie saw the hilltop ahead. The Nemesis crested it, engine growl fading. He eased off on the throttle, not wanting to make a flying leap into the unknown when he reached the summit.

The fog was lighter on the hill’s eastern side, the lights of the Bay Bridge dimly visible in the distance. The road forked, to the right making a ninety-degree turn, the left route continuing a short way downhill before doing the same.

No sign of the Nemesis. Which way had it gone?

Eddie could still hear the raw snarl of its engine somewhere below. He went left. Lights blinked ahead, warning of construction and remodelling work on a house built on the steep hillside. He turned the corner—

And rode into a storm of gunfire.

Bullets blazed from an MP5K, a biker stationary in front of a smashed fence at the road’s end. Eddie glimpsed the Nemesis disappearing down the steep wooded hill beyond it - but the only thing on his mind was staying alive. No time to turn and retreat.

He twisted the throttle - and crashed the bike through a barrier, flashing lights scattering as he ripped through plastic sheeting into the house.

The raider tracked him, plaster and lath no obstacle for 9mm sub-machine gun rounds. Debris stabbed at his face and hands, tools and paint cans scattering under his wheels.