motorcycles had closed to within thirty yards and were coming closer, fishtailing and lunging as they pursued their prey. Annja couldnât help thinking of the hunters who had chased La Bête all those years ago. Surely they had pursued it through these same woods.
But theyâd never found the lair, had they? Despite her concern over her present situation, Annja couldnât help feeling a little joyful triumph mixed in.
She squeezed the trigger, blasting through a 3-round salvo. One of the bullets hit the lead motorcycleâs handlebars and jarred the wheel. The rider quickly recovered and opened fire again.
âYou missed!â the old man roared.
âI see that,â Annja replied. âI kind of got that when he didnât fall off the motorcycle.â
Bullets bounced off the SUVâs exterior again, sounding like hail.
âHold steady,â Annja instructed, taking aim again.
âOn this pathetic excuse for a road? Ha!â The old man jerked hard left, following the twists and turns.
Annja fired again, deliberately aiming toward the center of the lead riderâs chest. She kept up the rate of fire, hoping to get lucky or at least give their pursuers something to think about.
One of the bullets struck the motorcycleâs front tire. Rubber shredded and the motorcycle went out of control, lunging suddenly into the forest and smashing against a boulder the size of an earthmover. The gas tank ignited and exploded, blowing the rider free.
Her weapon empty, Annja reached for the second pistol. More rounds hammered the Mercedes.
The old man cursed, but his words were in Latin. And very descriptive.
âLatin?â Annja asked in surprise.
âI find the language moreâ¦native to my tongue,â the old man said. He followed another turn and the road flared out straight for a hundred yards. âHold on.â
Annja didnât have time to brace herself on such short notice. The seat belt bit into her chest as it clamped down when the old man jammed his foot on the brakes. She whipped her head around, watching as the last motorcycle following them down the mountainside tried to stop.
The manâs efforts only succeeded in locking up his brakes and sending him into an out-of-control skid. He hit the back of the SUV and flipped over the top, landing on the hood of the Mercedes. He lay there for a moment, then weakly, tried to bring up the pistol heâd somehow managed to hang on to.
Annja lifted her own weapon, but the old man shoved the transmission into reverse and spilled the man from the hood before she could fire. Then the old man shifted back into a forward gear, floored the accelerator and ran him down as he tried to get to his feet.
A dull thud sounded as the man struck the front of the SUV. A moment later the Mercedes rocked back and forth as it crunched over the manâs body.
In disbelief, Annja whipped her head around and looked back. The man lay twisted and broken in the path.
âThat was cruel,â she said.
âYouâre right,â the old man agreed. âShooting him would have been much more merciful. After all, for reasons unknown to me, he was willing to kill me to get you. However, I didnât see that we were going to be successful in persuading him to stand still long enough for you to shoot him several times. Heâd probably have preferred blowing up against the side of a boulder like his friend.â
âI donât know who they were,â Annja said. âWe could go back and check for identification.â
âMen like that, assassins, rarely carry identification,â the old man said, continuing to gain speed. âFeel free to jump out and go back. I wonât have hurt feelings. It wouldnât be the first time Iâve saved someoneâs life only to have them squander it foolishly against the very person or thing I saved them from. Do you know if the other men in the cave are
But theyâd never found the lair, had they? Despite her concern over her present situation, Annja couldnât help feeling a little joyful triumph mixed in.
She squeezed the trigger, blasting through a 3-round salvo. One of the bullets hit the lead motorcycleâs handlebars and jarred the wheel. The rider quickly recovered and opened fire again.
âYou missed!â the old man roared.
âI see that,â Annja replied. âI kind of got that when he didnât fall off the motorcycle.â
Bullets bounced off the SUVâs exterior again, sounding like hail.
âHold steady,â Annja instructed, taking aim again.
âOn this pathetic excuse for a road? Ha!â The old man jerked hard left, following the twists and turns.
Annja fired again, deliberately aiming toward the center of the lead riderâs chest. She kept up the rate of fire, hoping to get lucky or at least give their pursuers something to think about.
One of the bullets struck the motorcycleâs front tire. Rubber shredded and the motorcycle went out of control, lunging suddenly into the forest and smashing against a boulder the size of an earthmover. The gas tank ignited and exploded, blowing the rider free.
Her weapon empty, Annja reached for the second pistol. More rounds hammered the Mercedes.
The old man cursed, but his words were in Latin. And very descriptive.
âLatin?â Annja asked in surprise.
âI find the language moreâ¦native to my tongue,â the old man said. He followed another turn and the road flared out straight for a hundred yards. âHold on.â
Annja didnât have time to brace herself on such short notice. The seat belt bit into her chest as it clamped down when the old man jammed his foot on the brakes. She whipped her head around, watching as the last motorcycle following them down the mountainside tried to stop.
The manâs efforts only succeeded in locking up his brakes and sending him into an out-of-control skid. He hit the back of the SUV and flipped over the top, landing on the hood of the Mercedes. He lay there for a moment, then weakly, tried to bring up the pistol heâd somehow managed to hang on to.
Annja lifted her own weapon, but the old man shoved the transmission into reverse and spilled the man from the hood before she could fire. Then the old man shifted back into a forward gear, floored the accelerator and ran him down as he tried to get to his feet.
A dull thud sounded as the man struck the front of the SUV. A moment later the Mercedes rocked back and forth as it crunched over the manâs body.
In disbelief, Annja whipped her head around and looked back. The man lay twisted and broken in the path.
âThat was cruel,â she said.
âYouâre right,â the old man agreed. âShooting him would have been much more merciful. After all, for reasons unknown to me, he was willing to kill me to get you. However, I didnât see that we were going to be successful in persuading him to stand still long enough for you to shoot him several times. Heâd probably have preferred blowing up against the side of a boulder like his friend.â
âI donât know who they were,â Annja said. âWe could go back and check for identification.â
âMen like that, assassins, rarely carry identification,â the old man said, continuing to gain speed. âFeel free to jump out and go back. I wonât have hurt feelings. It wouldnât be the first time Iâve saved someoneâs life only to have them squander it foolishly against the very person or thing I saved them from. Do you know if the other men in the cave are
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