Quick (34 page)

Claude nods. ‘I’m going to take a gentleman’s interlude.’

‘Try not to drool on anything while I’m gone.’

Claude grins through the pain. ‘I’ll do my best.’

Billy squeezes out of the car and looks at it. It has been destroyed. He turns and locks eyes on the limping figure in the middle of the road fifteen metres away.

It’s Schumacher.

Light glows from a phone in his hand as he works the screen. He must be trying to contact someone. Billy strides towards him, his dress shoes crunching on the gravel. He approaches the inverted BMW, draws his weapon and peers into the cabin. There’s no one inside.

The Australian continues towards Schumacher, stops two metres away and points the weapon at his back. ‘Right there, mate. Interpol. Phone on the ground, hands above your head, turn around slowly.’

Schumacher complies, places the phone on the ground and slowly turns to Billy with hands raised. The Australian nods at the helmet. ‘Take it off.’

This time Schumacher does not comply.

Billy steps forward and aims the pistol at the helmet visor. ‘Now.’

Schumacher takes a moment, then undoes the chinstrap, grabs the helmet by the sides and lifts it off.

~ * ~

24

The world spins.

Billy feels lightheaded. For a split second he thinks he may have suffered a concussion during the rollover and is now experiencing a delayed reaction. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, steadies himself, then opens his eyes and looks back at the now helmet-less Schumacher.

It is Franka.

Franka is Schumacher?

But how is that possible?

‘No. I saw you before the robbery in Malaysia. You were on pit road, nowhere near the Petronas Towers. And before the heist in Abu Dhabi you were sitting
right in front of me.
You can’t be part of it —’

‘Billy, stop.’ It’s clear she’s equally shocked to see him.

He realises something. ‘There are more than three of you, aren’t there?’

She doesn’t answer because the beam from a set of headlights splashes across the roadway. She glances behind her. The white van is two hundred metres away and approaching quickly. She turns back to Billy. ‘You need to go.’

‘What? I’m not going anywhere. You’re
under arrest
.’ He can’t believe he’s saying the words.

‘No. You can’t be here when that van arrives.’ She steps towards him, her expression grim, her voice shaking. ‘You will die on this road. I won’t be able to stop it.’

He recoils. ‘Who the fuck are you people?’

‘It’s a long story. I just—I don’t want anything to happen to you.’

‘Why is there a bomb in that van?’

She’s surprised and relieved he knows. ‘They’re planning something at the race tomorrow.’

‘Planning what?’

‘I don’t know details. They’ve cut me out of the loop because I don’t agree with what they’re doing. You need to stop the race, or warn people to stay away because I think it will be terrible —’

‘Get away from her!’

Billy pivots, sees Senna stagger unsteadily towards him from the shoulder of the road, pistol raised.

Zeeert.
Senna convulses and slumps to the ground—to reveal Claude. He holds up his Taser X26c and grins. ‘Cool beans.’

The Australian is stunned. ‘Thank you.’

The Frenchman grins. ‘What are partners for?’ A moment passes. ‘Did I use “cool beans” correctly?’

Billy shakes his head. ‘Not even close.’

The road illuminates. The Australian pivots, sees the white van speed towards them, headlights blazing. It’s just fifty metres away.

Frantic, Franka turns to Billy. ‘You need to go now —’

Bam bam bam.
Muzzle flashes from the van’s driver-side window light up the night.

Thud, thud thud.
Bullets ricochet off the gravel beside the Australian’s feet as he scrambles towards the upturned BMW.

Bam bam bam.
Billy returns fire.

Thud thud thud.
Bullets thump into the van as it skids to a stop on the gravel beside the BMW.

The Australian finds Claude behind it. ‘How’s the knee?’

‘Throbbing.’

‘Well you better grit your teeth because we need to run.’ Billy points towards the tree line five metres away. ‘Ready?’

‘Not really but let’s do it anyway.’

‘Stay low and be silent.’ They turn and plunge into the brush, run hard.

Bam bam bam zip zip zip.
Bullets shred foliage. Billy pushes Claude down then dives to the ground beside him, takes cover behind a fallen tree trunk that isn’t as large as he’d like it to be.

Silence.

They lie still, the only sound their breathing and the gentle rustle of wind in the leaves above. Billy raises his head, peers through the foliage. On the roadway Franka helps a groggy Senna to his feet as the guy wearing the Hunt helmet scans the forest with his visor raised. He has an Uzi in his hand.

That is a serious piece of kit, an Israeli made sub-machine gun that can fire ten nine-millimetre rounds a
second.
Billy could take a shot at him,
should
take a shot at him, but doesn’t. Not only would the muzzle flash give away their position but Franka is just behind the guy. If the bullet missed or ricocheted she could be hit.

And, in spite of everything, I don’t want that.

Christ, Franka. Will she double-cross him and tell her partners who he is? And who the hell are her partners anyway? And are Juan and Kurt involved?

Franka finishes loading Senna into the vehicle, then calls to Hunt: ‘Come on, he needs a doctor.’

Billy takes that as a good sign. If she was going to double-cross him she wouldn’t be saying they need to leave, would she?

Who the hell knows?

From the euphoria of their first date at the La Dolce Vita Ball to this epic
clusterfuck
all in the space of an hour. It’s extremely disappointing.

What’s even more disappointing is that Hunt doesn’t want to leave. He just stares into the forest, Uzi in hand. Billy waits for him to spray the trees with another burst of gunfire—which is exactly what he does.

Bam bam bam zip zip zip.
Bullets shred the foliage.

~ * ~

The Uzi’s magazine runs dry.

Hunt turns back to the van, pulls open the driver-side door, swings inside, and glances at Franka in the back. She stares out the windscreen at the dark forest, a stricken expression on her face. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘Oh.’ Franka wipes at her eyes, only now aware of the tears, and lies: ‘I’m just worried about. . .’ She nods at Senna who lays on the floor behind her.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get him to a doc asap.’ Hunt cranks the van’s engine to life, pulls it into a tight turn and drives off. ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right.’

She nods again, lost in thought. ‘Yes, I hope so.’

~ * ~

Billy watches the van drive away, keeps his eyes on the road until the glow from the tail-lights is no longer visible. He then turns to Claude. ‘You okay?

Frenchman stares at him blankly ‘Define your terms.’

Billy grins.

‘Now, do you mind telling me what’s going on?’

~ * ~

Franka is frantic but can’t let it show.

Did Hunt shoot Billy? She tried to get him back into the van but instead he just opened fire.

What if Billy’s injured? What if he needs help?

She must text him, find out if he’s okay. She draws out her iPhone, swipes it open and taps out a four-letter text.

R U OK?

She sends it.

‘Is he okay?’

Startled, Franka looks up at Hunt. ‘What?’

Hunt pulls off his helmet. It’s Kurt. He nods at Senna. ‘Is he okay?’

‘Hold on.’ Franka eases off Senna’s helmet. It’s Juan. She quickly checks him. ‘He’s out cold, but he’s breathing fine and his pulse is strong. Must have hit his head when he fell.’

‘But he was wearing a helmet.’

‘So was Michael Schumacher the last time he went skiing.’

Kurt nods in understanding. ‘What happened back there?’

‘They were following your van. Juan shot out one of their tyres. The car flipped, clipped ours and we went over too.’

‘So who was that guy? I didn’t get a good look at him.’

She plays dumb and shakes her head. ‘Didn’t see him clearly.’ She has to hope that if and when Juan comes around he didn’t recognise Billy either.

‘Why did Juan fall?’

Again, she plays dumb. ‘Didn’t see.’

‘You didn’t see much, did you?’

‘It was dark. It happened quickly. He was twenty metres away.’ She realises she needs to change the subject. ‘Thanks for coming back.’

‘Of course.’

She now wishes she hadn’t texted Kurt and asked him to come back for her. Then the dumb bastard wouldn’t have sprayed the forest with bullets and she wouldn’t be so worried about Billy.

She can’t believe the night turned out like this. She
cannot
catch a break. She was hoping that after tomorrow she’d finally be able to escape the others and the life they had coerced her into. For one shining moment at the ball tonight she could see the life she’d wanted and thought it just might be possible with Billy.

Well, it’s not possible, Frankie, it’s not possible at all.

Not with the cop who’s been following them since, when? Melbourne? Surely it was Billy who chased them along Collins Street? And across the golf course in Kuala Lumpur? And down the slopes of Ski Dubai?

Christ, you sure know how to pick ‘em, sweetheart.

At least there’s one positive to come out of this. Franka made Billy aware of what’s happening tomorrow and, hopefully, that means he might be able to get the race cancelled, or at least minimise the number of innocent people in harm’s way. She had planned to make an anonymous call but to have an Interpol cop on the case will be a lot more effective.

If he’s still alive.

She checks her phone to see if he has replied to her text.

He has not.

~ * ~

Billy and Claude lie in the forest for half an hour before they stand, concerned Hunt and his Uzi could be parked just up the road waiting for them. Then, when they do find their feet, they don’t move back to the main road but walk through the forest, just to be sure nobody can see them. It takes twice as long but it’s a whole lot safer.

When they reach the edge of the forest they turn right and set off towards Monaco. Again they stay within the trees that line the roadside and keep out of sight. Along the way Billy tells Claude what Franka said on the road. He also fills him in about his theory that there are more than three members of the Three Champions.

The Frenchman takes it in with a nod. ‘It make sense. Explains you seeing Kurt at the mall after the Tiffany’s heist, and Franka before the Petronas Towers job. So who are the others?’

Billy shakes his head. ‘Didn’t get an answer but I’m thinking Kurt and Juan. If I had her phone number I’d call her. She has mine but I don’t have hers.’

‘Have you checked to see if she’s contacted you?’

‘No, but it hasn’t buzzed.’ Billy pulls his iPhone out of his back pocket. ‘Oh come the fuck on! I just got this thing.’ She hasn’t contacted him because his phone didn’t survive the rollover. It looks even worse than the one he shattered at Ski Dubai. ‘Christ. How’s yours?’

Claude draws out his phone. It’s pristine.

‘I wanna swap SIM cards, see if she called.’

Claude passes it over and Billy instantly realises it won’t work. ‘Yours is a 4S, mine’s a 5S. They have different-sized SIM cards. Fuck-a-doodle-do.’

‘Sorry, I don’t upgrade that often.’ Claude takes his phone back. ‘So what did she say about the bomb,
exactly
?’

‘She didn’t know details except to say it would happen during the race tomorrow and it would be terrible.’

‘It will be.’ Just thinking about the weapon gives the Frenchman pause. ‘So, what? We try to cancel the race?’

‘Easier said than done without hard evidence. It’s the biggest Grand Prix of the year, with the biggest television audience.’

‘So what do we do?’

Billy turns to the Frenchman. ‘We come up with a bloody plan.’

~ * ~

25

The dark hotel room is lit by a single desk lamp.

Franka looks across at Juan who lies on the bed, eyes shut, a cold compress across his forehead. The hotel’s doctor has just given him some painkillers and told him to take it easy for a few days, though she knows there’s no way that will happen.

Franka turns and checks her iPhone’s screen for what feels like the thousandth time. She has received no reply from Billy and wants to scream. She wants to go and look for him but if she was to head out to the forest now it would raise considerable suspicion with the three men in front of her, suspicion that could very well lead to her lying dead in that forest. No, she must pray he’s okay, wait for an opportunity to slip away, then get back out there and find him.