open on the Nemesis’s rear bullbar, metal sparking against metal.
The bike exploded, the blast kicking the Nemesis’s back end up into the air - just as the off-roader’s own far larger fuel tank detonated. A fireball surged across the boardwalk, the blazing Nemesis flipping end over end over the waterfront railings to smash down on top of one of the speedboats, crushing the men inside it down into the marina’s dark waters.
The explosion knocked Zec off his feet and sent Fernandez reeling. The case fell. It landed on the jetty’s edge, wobbling precariously on the brink. Fernandez lunged for it—
It dropped off the edge, hitting the water with a flat splash. For a moment it seemed it would float . . . then the sea swallowed it.
Fernandez looked down at the ripples in horror. So close to success, literally seconds from escape - and now the treasure was lost! Jaw set in anger, he spun to find the man who had ruined everything.
Roaring like a charging bull, Eddie tackled him to the dock.
Aching from his hard landing, suit and skin torn, singed by the fireball, the Englishman was driven by fury. His opponent was still wearing his crash helmet, but there were plenty of other places he could land a painful blow - as Fernandez discovered an instant later when he was punched hard in the groin.
‘You fucker!’ Eddie snarled, slamming him down hard on the planks. ‘Teach you to fucking shoot at me, you gimp-suited bast—’
Zec’s boot smashed into his side, knocking him off the fallen raider. Eddie landed on his back, winded. Zec kicked him again, then pulled Fernandez to his feet—
A shotgun blast boomed from the street.
Searing lead shot ripped through Fernandez’s leathers and burned into his upper back. The Spaniard howled, falling again, convulsing in agony. He had shielded Zec from most of the blast, but the Bosnian still took several pellets to one arm. Zec staggered backwards, clutching the wounds.
Nina’s police car crashed on to the boardwalk, Boyce leaning from the window with the shotgun in his hands. ‘Eat that, you cocksuckers!’ he howled, racking the slide.
‘Aim higher!’ Nina told him. ‘Don’t hit my husband!’ The mayor fired again. ‘Higher! Aim
Zec hesitated, looking at Fernandez, then dived into the remaining speedboat as another burst of red-hot buckshot seared through the mist. ‘Go!’ he bellowed at the man at the controls.
‘But Urbano—’
‘There’s nothing we can do! Get out of here!’
The boat surged away, huge plumes of froth spraying up from its twin outboards. ‘Yee-hah!’ whooped Boyce, firing again. ‘Yeah! Run, you bastards! Get the fuck out of my city!’
‘Is this what you’re like at city council meetings?’ Nina braked hard, stopping the police car at the end of the jetty. She jumped out and ran to Eddie. Boyce leapt from the car and kept firing after the departing boat until the shotgun was empty. ‘Eddie! Are you okay? Eddie!’
He painfully raised his head, trying to smile but managing only a grimace. ‘Yeah, I’m okay . . . but I’ve got a fucking huge case of road rash.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ She knelt to support him. ‘What happened to the Codex? Did they get away with it?’
‘No.’
She surveyed the jetty, seeing no sign of the case. ‘Then where is it?’
He held out a shaking hand and pointed down into the water. ‘Hope it’s rustproof.’
Boyce came over, looking at once flustered and exhilarated. ‘Damn. That was . . . wow. I’ve never fired a gun before.’
‘Fun, was it?’ Eddie asked.
‘Ye—I mean, no, of course not! Guns are a menace to a safe and civil society. Obviously.’ His expression became sheepish as he forced himself back on-message.
More sirens approached, other police cars finally catching up. Officers hurried across the boardwalk, guns drawn. ‘Mr Mayor!’ one of them shouted. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, pointing at the wounded Fernandez. ‘Arrest this man - he’s one of the gang who just robbed the Atlantis exhibition and killed several people, including two police officers. And his associates just left this dock in a speedboat - get units after them immediately.’ He indicated Eddie. ‘This man also needs medical attention. No, don’t arrest him!’ he added as the cop took out a set of handcuffs.
‘Do I look like a bad guy or something?’ Eddie complained.
‘You’ve looked better,’ Nina told him, before addressing Boyce. ‘Mr Mayor, we need divers here as soon as possible. The artefact they stole is in the water.’
‘You heard her,’ said Boyce, nodding.
‘Yes, sir.’ The cop raised his radio, then gave him a questioning look. ‘Uh, Mr Mayor?’
‘What?’
‘The shotgun, sir?’
‘Oh. Right.’ Boyce hurriedly handed him the empty weapon. The cop took it and barked instructions into his radio. Nearby, Fernandez let out a choked moan as two other officers roughly pulled him to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back; a suspected cop-killer would not get kid glove treatment in even the most liberal city.
Another siren sounded in the distance, a different wail - an ambulance. ‘Okay, let’s get you to a hospital,’ Nina said to Eddie, standing. ‘And then I can see how Rowan’s doing.’
‘Typical,’ Eddie snorted, forcing himself to his feet. ‘You’re more worried about your ex-boyfriend.’
‘Hey, I did mention you first . . .’
He managed a half-smile, then became more serious. ‘How is he? I didn’t see what happened after he got shot.’
‘One of the guests was a doctor. He thought Rowan might have a punctured lung, but seemed to think he’d be okay.’
‘Good.’ The ambulance came into sight, strobe lights pulsing. Eddie watched it approach, gingerly feeling the torn backside of his trousers. ‘Hope they’ve got a pair of tweezers, ’cause I’ve got an arse full of splinters!’
Nina grinned and patted him lightly on the butt, getting an annoyed grunt in response, then helped him to the ambulance.
Eddie’s injuries fortunately turned out to be comparatively minor, a collection of cuts, grazes and bruises that looked far worse than they actually were. Once assured that he would be all right, Nina left him to be patched up in the emergency room while she went in search of Rowan Sharpe.
He had been taken to an operating theatre so his gunshot wound could be treated. She couldn’t help but be worried, but the nurse’s assurance that he had been stable and conscious when he was moved out of the ER assuaged her concerns a little.
The route from the ER to the surgical waiting area took her past the hospital’s main entrance - and its gift shop. Remembering her promise to Rowan, she smiled and popped in to make a purchase before continuing on her way.
A familiar face was already in the waiting area: the doctor who had provided first aid at the exhibition centre. ‘What’s happening with Rowan?’ asked Nina after they had exchanged brief greetings. ‘How long has he been in there?’
‘About thirty minutes,’ said the doctor. ‘The bullet wound was a through-and-through, fortunately - clean entry and exit. He was very lucky, actually. It only scraped his lung. Another inch to the side . . .’
Nina shuddered, not wanting to think about it. ‘But he’ll be okay?’
‘His chances are good, I’d say. There was a fair amount of muscle damage, though, so he’ll be in pain for some time.’
‘I know how that feels,’ said Nina, absently touching her right thigh, where she had once received a bullet wound of her own. The doctor continued describing Rowan’s good fortune at having avoided significant damage to any major organs, but she was now only half listening. The main thing was that he would be all right.
After twenty minutes, the doors to the operating theatre opened and Rowan, lying on a gurney, was wheeled out. At first Nina thought he was unconscious, but as he passed his eyes flickered open and met hers. One eye closed again . . . in a wink. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
