The Rome police ordered Driver not to move. The arresting officer forced her free arm behind her back. Yet hearing rolling rubber over stone, she turned to see a flash of turtle blue as Pope sped into view.
‘Look out, mate!’ he yelled as he careered into the gathered police.
Driver rolled out of the way at the last moment. Pope flew over the handle bars. One officer went down, another squashed under the weight of the big Australian. While the bike lay on its side, wheels spinning, Driver scrambled for her lost pistol. A male officer told her to freeze and his female colleague moved in to continue the arrest.
‘Sorry about that,’ Pope said, getting up, ‘hard to see in the sunnies.’ He pulled one of the floored officers to his feet and delivered an ‘accidental’ headbutt to the bridge of the man’s nose. ‘Aw no, sorry again, mate.’
As another officer pulled his weapon, Pope elbow-smashed him on the turn. ‘Shit, my coordination’s gone. Must be the shock.’
Driver took her chance and knocked the weapon from the squat female officer’s hand. She pulled a can of mace from her belt, but Driver punched her in the kidney under her stab vest. The woman lost her grip on the mace and sank to her knees. Driver chopped her on the back of her neck, enough to knock the woman senseless. When she looked up, Pope had a foot on the chest of the remaining officer, relieving him of his weapon. ‘Go get the bastard,’ he said.
Driver turned and sprinted, scooping up her pistol as she ran. Her hard-soled work shoes echoed off the walls as she bore down on a woozy Tom. He stumbled towards the street, busy with traffic. She had to intercept him before he got there.
But there, in front of her, was a small girl no more than four. She pulled away from her mother’s hand on the main street and ran with giddy glee like a springtime lamb. With jet-black hair in pigtails, a powder-blue school dress and white socks up to the knees, she cried ‘Ma-ma, ma-ma! Look at all the police!’
No, Driver thought. No, no, no.
Tom snatched the girl off her feet and held her close to his chest. Swaying on the spot, he held Driver’s Glock to her temple.
Driver came to a dead stop in front of him.
While the girl’s mother screamed and pleaded for him to release her daughter, the colour drained from the girl’s cheeks. ‘Mama?’ she said.
Driver trained her weapon on Tom and softened her voice. ‘Put the girl down.’
‘Put the gun down and I’ll think about it,’ Tom replied, backing up towards the main street.
She advanced one slow step at a time, unable to get a clear shot. The girl was frightened stiff enough not to move, yet still, Driver couldn’t guarantee a clean kill.
In truth, she had no intention of killing Tom. So she blocked out the babble over the comms and the screaming, pleading mother, trying to think of alternatives. A kneecap shot might do it. She could make the shot – but Tom might react and pull the trigger on the girl. Was he capable? She still couldn’t believe it.
‘Put the girl down and we can talk this out,’ Driver said, as she inched forward.
‘I told you to ditch the weapon,’ Tom replied, slurring his words.
‘This isn’t you,’ she continued. ‘I know you.’
Tom cracked a lopsided smile. ‘You don’t have the faintest idea.’
Driver hurried herself towards a decision. It was now or never. She had to take a shot.
But a silver van skidded to a stop on the street, only yards behind Tom. The rear door rolled open and an athletic man and woman in dark clothing jumped out, weapons at the ready. Tom back-pedalled towards them, noticing their weapons ready to engage.
‘No, just get me out of here,’ he snapped, throwing his young hostage into the street.
He fell into the arms of his people as the girl rolled into the middle of the road.
‘Lucia!’ the mother screamed, her path to her daughter blocked by a bus pulling to a stop.
The kid burst into tears. A black Smart car swerved clear, but a white box truck came the other way – horn blasting, tyres squealing and nowhere near stopping. Driver dropped her gun and sprinted into the road. She bent low and scooped the girl on the run. Diving to the pavement, she twisted mid-air and held the girl to her chest. The truck skidded past, an inch from killing them both.
Lucia’s mother was beside herself. Lying on her back with the girl in her arms, Driver raised her head off the road and saw the silver backup van speeding away. Tom was inside, alive and free.
She handed the child to the frantic mother and heard police car sirens closing in.
‘I need an exit,’ Driver said, getting to her feet.
‘Three o’clock,’ Baptiste replied.
She turned to her left and saw the ambulance coming her way with Baptiste and Rios sat up front. The vehicle slowed, but kept on rolling with the rear doors open. Wells hung out of the back, a hand outstretched. Driver telegraphed the move and broke fast into a run. Wells grabbed her hand and lifted her clean off her feet into the back of the ambulance.
‘Where’s Pope?’ she asked him.
‘I dunno,’ Wells shrugged, about to close the doors.
‘Wait for me, you bloody bastards,’ came the breathless plea over the comms.
Pope shot into view, catching air-time off the kerb. He hit the road and pedalled hard to make up the ground. His piston-like calves pumped for all they were worth, the bike frame swaying left to right. He made up the ground in seconds and caught hold of a grab handle inside the doorway. With pedals spinning free, he pushed off the frame and booted the mountain bike to one side. As Pope hung off the back of the ambulance, Wells hauled him in by the waist, the bike tumbling away down the street. He slammed the doors closed. ‘Hit it.’
Rios punched a button on the dash. The siren kicked in and Baptiste quick-changed through the gears, accelerating away from the scene. The ambulance swerved left and right as Baptiste carved through heavy Roman traffic. Driver punched the side of the ambulance in anger and flopped onto the gurney, her mind spinning fast like a top. She bounced right up again, realising there was a body on the bed. Lim was in attendance, feeling the man’s pulse.
‘Who the hell’s this?’ Driver asked.
‘It’s Loaf Head,’ Pope said.
‘Who?’
‘Merlin’s driver,’ Lim said, examining the groaning man’s injuries. ‘Wounded, but coming round.’
‘Can someone please update me on what in shit’s shithole is going on?’ Gilmore shouted in Driver’s ear. ‘After all, I’m only your fucking chief of ops.’
‘Merlin got away,’ she replied.
‘Fuck!’ Gilmore yelled. ‘McNeil… What the hell, Sam?’
‘It’s not all bad,’ Driver said, seeking to change the subject. ‘We’ve got one of Merlin’s guys.’
‘Dead or alive?’ Gilmore asked.
‘Alive, for now.’
‘Get what you can,’ Gilmore ordered. ‘Then dump him.’
As Driver worked on refocusing her mind, Wells felt the lump on his head and Pope tugged at the crotch of his cycling gear.
‘Strewth, I’m sweating,’ he said. ‘Is anyone else sweating?’