Pearce shot over the bridge that spanned the western edge of the Serpentine, jumping the speed bumps and weaving between his lane and the oncoming traffic which gave way to the loud police car. He raced on with the Albert Memorial gleaming gold to his right, jumped the lights, sped across Kensington Gore, and accelerated until the grand museums of Exhibition Road went by in a blur. The X5 bounced with every bump and contour as it gobbled the yards to the Cromwell Road, but it was a heavy car with a commanding presence, and hugged the tarmac as Pearce swerved to avoid a couple of slow pedestrians who hadn’t seen him coming. There were two cars at the traffic lights at the south end of Exhibition Road, and Pearce slowed, wondering whether to turn left towards Knightsbridge, or …
When he looked right, Pearce saw the convoy slowly pulling away from the pedestrian crossing in front of the Natural History Museum. He stepped on the accelerator and turned the wheel hard right as he roared across the Cromwell Road. Horns sounded and tyres screeched as he flew over the junction, and the engine growled as he pushed the car to its limits. The back end swung out as he straightened up, and the X5 lurched forward when the rear tyres found their grip. He was gaining on the trio of vans, which had just gone through the next set of traffic lights at the junction with Queen’s Gate, on the south-west corner of the Natural History Museum. Pearce’s erratic heart skipped a full beat when he saw the trailing van stop suddenly. The back doors flew open to reveal two masked gunmen wielding Heckler & Koch M27 light machine guns.
Pearce didn’t know where Alexis had recruited these men, whether they were the same mix of ex-military and Special Forces that had made up Black Thirteen. Whoever they were, they’d been poorly trained. Stopping during a pursuit and presenting a stationary target was a mistake, no matter how much firepower you had.
And they had a lot.
The two gunmen opened fire, and a hail of bullets chewed the tarmac ahead of Pearce. He swerved onto the other side of the road, and wove between oncoming vehicles that were caught in the crossfire as the police car was hit by the thud and puck of bullets on the passenger side. Pearce glanced in his rear-view mirror to see the traffic behind him had stopped. He grabbed his MP7 from the passenger seat, and using his left hand, shot through the window. He hit one of the gunmen and the other dived for cover inside the van.
Pearce swerved around a double-decker bus, mounted the pavement, and raced on, until he was clear and had eyes on the van again. He was almost level with the vehicle and saw a gunman hanging out of the driver’s window, targeting him.
Pearce opened fire and rained hell along the side of the van. Both tyres burst and the driver bucked like a wild bull as he was hit.
Pearce stepped on the accelerator, and, siren blaring, sped towards the remaining two vans. He had no idea which one contained Leila and Wollerton, or whether they’d been split between the two vehicles.
He straightened up and reloaded with one of the magazines pulled from his pocket, making the switch as quickly as possible to avoid veering off course.
With the gun loaded, Pearce switched to manual, and flipped into fourth gear as the X5 gathered speed. The engine roared and the car raced forward as the lead van dropped back. Traffic swerved everywhere, and pedestrians watched open-mouthed as the nature of the duel became clear. The van’s rear doors opened and a masked man stepped forward holding an M60 machine gun. He opened fire and Pearce swerved as 7.62 mm M80 rounds shredded the street. Pearce hopped the pavement on the left, and used his right hand to shoot the MP7 at the gunman. He didn’t hit his mark, but the big guy withdrew, and Pearce swerved onto the road and threw the X5 into third gear and accelerated towards the rear of the van.
As the big man stepped forward and raised the M60, Pearce shot him through the X5’s windscreen. Everything went white for a moment as bullets shattered the glass. Then the windscreen crumbled away in giant flakes. As it cleared, Pearce felt a jarring thud. He’d collided with the back of the van, but his bullets had hit their mark. The big gunman lay motionless on the van’s flatbed – and no one else looked to be in the load space. Pearce used the butt of the MP7 to smash more of the windscreen and create a bigger hole. Then he turned the gun around and shot out the rear tyres. He stepped on the brake as the van fishtailed and flipped into a tumbling roll. He swerved to avoid getting caught in the storm of metal, and veered across the road around a car that had pulled over. Pearce straightened up as the van collided with a lorry and exploded.
The last van turned left onto Ashburn Gardens, and Pearce followed, tyres screeching, engine growling as he raced into the broad, quiet street that was flanked by a grand terrace on one side and a high-rise hotel on the other. He stepped on the accelerator and rocketed on towards the van, which was heading for a T-junction. A large lorry swung into the road, and Pearce saw the driver register what was heading his way. The startled man tried to find reverse, as the van bore down on him, but he only succeeded in stalling the lorry, so the van mounted the pavement on the right, trying to squeeze between the terrace railings and the parked cars, but it was too wide, and came to a grinding halt between a parked Mercedes M-Class and a white stone wall topped with black railings.
Pearce stopped twenty feet from the van, body charged, heart racing, breathing heavily, senses wired. He jumped out and leaned on the bonnet of the police car, and was ready before the back doors of the van opened and two ski-masked gunmen appeared holding Leila and Wollerton hostage. His friends looked groggy, as though in a stupor.
Pearce didn’t hesitate. He shot Leila’s captor first and caught him clean in the forehead. His comrade was too stunned to react.
There would be no negotiation.
No talk.
Wollerton punched his captor and Pearce opened fire as his friend moved clear. A man in black, wearing a matching ski mask, clambered out of the passenger window, gun in hand, and Pearce shot him in the neck the moment his feet touched the pavement.
Pearce sensed movement on the other side of the van and ran forward to bring himself level with the cab. Two masked figures had climbed out of the driver’s window and were working their way along the white wall. One of them was unmistakeably a woman. Pearce raised his MP7 and shot the man, who fell over the railing into the basement well in front of the terrace. The execution had the desired effect and the woman froze.
‘It’s over, Alexis,’ Pearce said. He kept his gun trained on her as he approached. ‘You’re coming with us.’