The Riddle (A James Acton Thriller, Book #11) (25 page)

“Of
England?” asked Sarah.

The waitress
glared at her. “Of Russia, you ignorant American pig!”

“Hey,
there’s no call for that kind of language,” said Jake, standing. “I think we’ll
be leaving.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, folding it over
his arm as several of the men at the far end of the café left their seats.
Sarah rose, grabbing her jacket as well, still holding Jake’s hand across the
table.

The
woman shouted something at the crowd, the only word he understood being
“Amerikanskiy!” More rose from their chairs as Jake led Sarah out the front
door, pulling his jacket on as they stepped out onto the chilly street.

“We need
to get out of here, quickly,” he said, hustling Sarah along as she fumbled with
her jacket. He paused to help her as several men stepped out of the café, angry
expressions on their faces and shouts of vodka infused bravado spilling across
the cobblestone street. He grabbed Sarah by the arm, hauling her along. “We
need to get to the car, fast.”

Their
rental was within sight, just near the end of the block. He reached into his
pocket, fumbling for the key, a momentary panic setting in when he couldn’t
find it. His fingertips touched something and he grabbed, relief flowing
through him as he felt the key fob in his hand. He glanced behind him and the
crowd was larger now, several marching toward them, shouting, one with a fist
pumping the air, a drink in the other.

He kept
them moving fast, resisting the urge to run, knowing that like an animal, a mob
was more likely to pursue if they thought their prey just might get away.

And
their pursuers had no idea they had a car only yards away.

“You get
in and lock your door right away,” he said as they approached the car. “Are you
ready?”

“Y-yes.”

He could
feel her trembling, his hand still gripping her arm. He pulled the fob out and
pressed the unlock button twice. The car chirped and the lights flashed.

Somebody
yelled.

“Now!”
he yelled, letting her go as he dodged behind the car and grabbed for his door.
He stole a quick glance back and saw several of the men racing toward them, far
too close. Sarah’s door slammed shut as he jumped in. He jammed the fob at the
dash, missing the slot as his elbow pushed down on the lock. His foot shoved on
the brake as his second attempt was successful.

He
pressed the ignition switch and the engine roared to life, someone slamming
their fist on the roof at the same moment. Sarah screamed as a hand slammed
against her window. He put the car in drive and lifted his foot off the brake
just as someone slid across the hood, blocking his path.

He
slammed the brake back down, bringing them to a jerking halt.

Another
slam on Sarah’s window, the car quickly surrounded.

“Jake!
Do something!”

Her
voice was desperate, terrified.

It
sounded like he felt.

Something
swung at the windshield, splintering the safety glass on the passenger side.

“Screw
it!” He eased his foot off the brake and the car began to move forward. “Get
the hell out of the way!” he shouted as those in front began to push back on
the car, hatred in their eyes, mob mentality having taken over.

These
people meant to kill them.

He
removed his foot from the brake completely and gently pressed on the gas,
cranking the wheel to pull out from the curb, his view of the road blocked.

A horn
blasted but he committed himself, pushing down a little more on the gas, the
bumper shoving those in front, some moving to the side, one jumping on the
hood.

It
didn’t matter anymore.

They had
to get out of here, they had to get to safety.

Something
slammed into his side of the car, shoving the front end back toward the car
that had been parked in front of them. They hit with a jolt, a car alarm
suddenly blaring as they were brought to a halt, he instinctively hitting the
brakes.

Somebody
pulled full force on Sarah’s door handle.

He
hammered his foot down on the gas, squeezing between the car that had hit them
and the parked car, shoving the car and its angry driver aside as they began to
gain speed. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw the crowd chasing after
them, the only pursuer now on their hood.

He
pulled the stock to wash the windshield, the wipers flicking past, hitting the
man’s hand, a finger stuck through a hole in the passenger side of the
windshield where it had been hit.

The man
lifted his hand.

And Jake
slammed on the brakes.

The
man’s eyes popped wide open as he slid down the hood and onto the cobblestone.
Jake hit the gas, cranking the wheel around the man, trying not to hit him but
not really caring when he heard a thump and a cry.

“Get
your phone out and look up where the embassy is!”

“What?”

“Just
get your phone out!”

Sarah
fumbled in her purse, finally pulling out the phone as Jake looked in the
rearview mirror, cursing. The car he had hit was racing up behind them. He
pressed on the gas a little harder, but had no idea where they were going.

Sarah
held up her phone.

“Get the
address for the embassy then program it into the GPS.”

She
nodded, no longer bothering to try and speak, instead trying to get trembling
fingers to work on a touch screen phone.

What
I’d give for an old Blackberry right now.

He spun
the wheel, cranking the car around a corner and onto a busier street, trying to
watch ahead for any chance of being stuck in traffic while pressing the buttons
on the built in navigation system, it thankfully already set up for English
instructions.

“I’ve
got it!” exclaimed Sarah, holding it up.

“Type it
in! Type it in!”

Sarah
typed in Moscow, a list of streets appearing, it narrowing as she continued
typing. A second car seemed to have joined the chase, probably filled with
drunken patrons from the café. Several waving arms were shoved out its windows
as well as a few from the car he had hit. Either it had passengers before the
collision or others had joined the driver in his pursuit.

Either
way it didn’t matter.

From
what he could tell they had at least eight people after them.

“There!”

“Turn
left at the next intersection in one hundred meters.”

He cut
across two lanes of traffic, taking the turn just as the light changed. He
glanced at the display and saw they were less than five minutes away from the
embassy.

“Call
them!”

“What?”

“Call
the embassy. Tell them what’s happening!”

Sarah
worked the phone and suddenly he could hear ringing over the speakers,
forgetting they had paired the phone with the car when they first rented it.

Thank
God!

“American
Embassy—”

“Thank
God, we need help!” he cried, only to hear the automated voice hell system
begin. Sarah began selecting options and finally the phone rang. Jake slammed
on the brakes as a car cut in front of them, his arm darting out to protect
Sarah from jerking forward, neither of them with their seatbelts on. “Put your
seatbelt on!” he shouted, glancing in his rearview mirror. “Hold on!”

The car
was suddenly slammed from behind as their pursuers caught up. He jammed down on
the gas, the car leaping forward as he glanced back, a nervous laugh erupting
as he saw the airbags had been deployed, most likely killing the car’s engine
as a safety measure.

The
laugh was soon stifled as the second car pulled around.

“American
Embassy, how may I help you?”

“We’re
being pursued by a car full of Russians!” he shouted as the GPS signaled
another turn silently, the phone in control of the audio. He cranked the wheel.

Three
minutes.

“I’m
sorry, sir, you’ll have to calm down, I can’t hear you properly.”

Jake
wanted to shout even louder, but bit his tongue. “We are two American citizens.
We were attacked by a mob of Russians when they found out we were American.
They are pursuing us now in our car. We are about three minutes away from the
Embassy. You have to let us in or they’re going to kill us!”

“One
moment please.”

Music
played.

“Is she
kidding me?!”

Strains
of a Muzaked version of More Than Words by Extreme filled the car.

Sarah’s
seatbelt finally clicked into place, reminding him to grab his own, yanking it
across his chest. Sarah grabbed it and shoved it into the buckle when the music
stopped. It was a man’s voice. “This is the Regional Security Officer. Give me
your situation.”

“We’re
American citizens. Right now one car is pursuing us, probably four individuals
inside. They assaulted us and we escaped in our rental. We’re”—he glanced at
the display—“two minutes out from the embassy.”

“Do you
have your passports?”

“What
the hell kind of question is that?”

“Do
you—”

“Yes!”

“Good.
Just show those at the gate and you’ll be let inside.”

“These
people mean to kill us!”

“Once
you are inside the gates we will protect you. There’s nothing we can do outside
those gates. Are you coming from the east or west?”

Jake
glanced at the map.

“East!”

“Okay, good,
it’s a one way street.  The gate is on your right. Just stop right there and
get out of the car. Just leave it, forget the keys. Make sure you have your
passports raised in the air and announce clearly that you are American.”

“Okay,
okay. We’re almost there!”

A siren
sounded behind them.

“What’s
that?” asked the man.

“We’ve
got a cop following us now.”

“Okay,
don’t stop. Just keep going.”

Jake
made a hard right, seeing the gate ahead. And two police cars, sirens and
lights blaring, raced toward them in the wrong direction.

“There’s
more cops coming right at us!”

He heard
the Officer shout something unintelligible. The gate was only a couple of
hundred yards away. The light traffic ahead was veering to the left and right
as the police cars tore toward them.

“Go! Go!
Go!” urged Sarah as she gripped the dash, her passport rolled up in her palm. It
was going to be down to feet. He could see Marine Guards running toward the
gate now, the red and white boom barrier still down, manned by what looked like
Russians, the large gray iron gates behind that still closed.

He
hammered on the brakes, shoving the car into park with a jolt. “GO!” he
screamed as he unlocked his seatbelt. Sarah threw open her door and tried to
jump out, forgetting her belt. She cried out, struggling for a moment as Jake
leapt from the car. He reached back in and pressed the button, releasing Sarah
and she flew forward, shrugging off the shoulder belt.

The boom
barrier was still down, the two Russian uniformed guards stepping toward them
with their hands out as the three police cars and their pursuers screeched to a
halt, shouts erupting as ear splitting sirens drowned out most everything.

Jake
reached into his pocket and pulled out his passport, rushing toward the gate.
“We’re Americans! We’re Americans! Let us in!”

Somebody
was running toward the front gates, a phone pressed to his ear suggesting he
might be the Regional Security Officer. “Open the gates! Open the gates!”

A
Russian guard tried to block him but Jake knew it was all or nothing now. He
dropped his shoulder and hit him square in the chest, bowling him over, hard.
The jolt was jarring, but he kept forward, leaping over the boom gate, Sarah
right beside him, a steady scream still sounding from the moment she left the
car, her face one of pure terror like he had never seen in his life.

The iron
gates started to slide open when he heard gunshots erupt behind him. He didn’t
stop. If they were willing to shoot them now, then there was no way they’d
survive an arrest. He opened his arms wide, trying to shield Sarah as he slowed
slightly to let her through the narrow opening first.

Something
hit him from behind, hard.

He flew
forward, his arms out front breaking his fall as he smacked hard into the
ground, excruciating pain radiating throughout his back. It didn’t feel like a
gunshot, at least not how he’d have guessed one would feel, but he had
definitely been hit by something, and it had been preceded by a shot.

Rubber
bullet?

He
pushed himself to his elbows, looking up at the gate not five feet away. Sarah
was inside, trying to leave to help him but she was being held back by two
Marine guards, her pleas thankfully being ignored, Jake knowing the moment she
crossed the threshold of those gates she’d be back in Russian territory.

“Shots
fired! Shots fired!” yelled someone, the hammering of boots on pavement
nearing, a platoon of Marines rushing toward the scene.

But
nobody crossed the line, nobody moved to help him

He
pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawling forward, his passport still gripped
in his hand, his back breaking in pain, when someone kicked him, hard. He felt
his entire torso lift up as ribs cracked, the pain in his back a sudden distant
memory. Instinctively he tried to curl into a ball as a flurry of kicks ravaged
him. He heard shouts of protest in English, Sarah’s begging for them to stop,
and the Russians continuing to deliver street justice.

He
opened his eyes and saw that the Russian police were holding back, four men
from the café the ones actually doing the kicking. He looked up and saw a boot
raised, about to stomp on his head. Sarah screamed, someone shouted something,
and suddenly all hell broke loose. The pounding of boots approaching, a chorus
of “Move back!” ordered repeatedly and the sight of military issued black
boots  rushing toward him almost made him forget the boot about to drop on his
head. He looked up at the man, rage and hatred etched over his face, Russian
expletives spitting from his twisted mouth. Jake raised his hands to try and
block the blow when a rifle butt suddenly hit his attacker square on the chin,
knocking him to the side. The sounds of hand-to-hand combat surrounded him then
he felt someone grab him under the armpits, hauling him to his feet.