Read Online From Russia Without Love by Stephen Templin - Free Book Online Page B

to minimize the speed of impact. Within a second, the brake pumped more than ten times as the vehicle attempted to maintain control and keep the brakes from locking up. He made sure his hands were on the wheel and not obstructing the path of the air bag. He put his head back against the headrest and tried to relax before the heavyweight crunch.
    The front corner of the Mercedes struck the front corner of the BMW with a loud crack, and pieces of vehicle splashed over the road. Inside the BMW, air bags blew out, and the vehicle spun. Chris’s face, chest, and arms struck the hard pillow of air that hadn’t been there an instant earlier. The impact of the bag was so violent that he wondered why his head was still attached, and his wrists burned from the speed at which the pillow had grazed his flesh. He pushed the air bag down with a hand, so he could see. The road ahead was clear, but it was jammed with traffic to the rear.
    Sonny caught his breath as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Armed male in the Mercedes that just hit us,” he said.
    If Sonny spotted the armed man, it was likely the armed man had recognized them, too. Driving around in a car with bullet holes in it wasn’t helping them be covert. Smoke rose from under the BMW’s hood, and the engine had shut off. Chris attempted to start it, but it wouldn’t turn over. He tried again, but the engine didn’t respond.
    “Engine won’t start,” he told the others.
    “Armed male exiting the Mercedes,” Hannah said, pushing her air bag out of the way.
    “We’re in a shit state if we don’t get out and hoof it,” Sonny said. “Pronto.”
    “Let’s go,” Chris said.
    Sonny helped Michael out of the backseat, but Chris’s door wouldn’t budge. He crawled over the center console and followed Hannah through her door. Once outside, Sonny helped Michael move off the street while Hannah took aim behind their car. Chris followed the direction of her pistol to the black Mercedes, where the armed male stood, raising a pistol in Sonny and Michael’s direction. Hannah got off the first shot. She missed, but she was close enough that the enemy ducked out of sight before he could fire.
    Three pistol-wielding blond-haired men—who looked more Slavic than Greek—used their Mercedes for cover. One of them held his pistol in one hand and pulled out his phone with the other. A second Mercedes, also heading the wrong way on the street, stopped in the middle of the road, and more Slavs pointed their weapons in Chris and Hannah’s direction.
    Chris glanced over his shoulder to check on Sonny and Michael, and he caught a glimpse of Sonny’s foot disappearing between two buildings.
    “Let’s go, Hannah,” he said.
    “I’m right beside you.”
    They hurried away from the BMW and the street. The air around them erupted with bullets, and a brief stabbing sensation shot through his shoulder, a flash of pain running up his neck. It made the back of his head ache, but he was too busy to pay it much attention. He felt like a rabbit that had just been flushed out of its hole by a squad of hunters, and it was only a matter of time before he and Hannah ended up in a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.
    They dashed between the two buildings where Sonny and Michael had disappeared, and the air around them stopped snapping and crackling. Chris and Hannah ran west along the sidewalk of a one-way street, Sonny and Michael ahead of them—but they needed to go south to reach Olympus. It was only five hundred meters away, but it might as well have been five hundred kilometers.
    “Hannah, I need you to cover our asses while I run point,” Chris said.
    She nodded. “Got it.”
    Chris sprinted out in front of Sonny. “I’ll take point.”
    “Make it quick,” Sonny said, half carrying Michael.
    Up ahead and across the street was a thick little forest of trees. Chris stopped there and took a peek around the corner of a building. A black Mercedes was driving toward him. He led his