Without hesitation, Yang jerked the wheel. The sedan left the road and the tires immediately dug for purchase in the grassy space that separated the side street from the airport fence. He could feel the vibrations reverberating through his bones as the car bounced over the uneven terrain.
His breath whooshed out of him when he slammed his foot down on the accelerator as far as it would go. He gritted his teeth and winced the instant before the vehicle’s front end contacted the chain-link.
He expected resistance.
There was none.
The car’s momentum tore through the fencing as easily as a chopstick through fresh dumpling batter. Metal screeched against metal as he left nothing but a mangled mess of twisted vinyl-coated steel behind him.
He was not out of the woods yet, however. The terrain next to the tarmac was so uneven he was reminded of ski moguls. The sedan bounced and squeaked as joints were pushed to the breaking point, and the sniper rifle he had tossed into the passenger seat fell onto the floorboard. When the front tires finally hit the runway, they did so with a jerk so hard it threatened to send him hurtling through the windshield.
“Yang!” he heard Bishop yelling but did not dare respond. He could not. Not with his teeth clamped tight in concentration as he left rubber behind him while once more stomping on the gas pedal and hurtling down the runway.
Close. Close,he thought.Get as close as I can!
He chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw the Black Knight bent low over his handlebars. The man bounced over the lumpy earth beside the tarmac with enough force to make the motorcycle look like a seesaw. And yet, he was not catapulted over the handlebars or dumped sideways into the grass.
No quit. Absolutely no quit, Yang thought desperately, returning his attention to the expanse of runway in front of him.
He was near the jet now. Near enough to hear the loudhumof its engines. But even above that was the deafening thunder of the motorcycle as the man landed on the tarmac and laid on the throttle.
When Yang thought he might plow straight into the aircraft, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stood on the brakes. The sedan fishtailed to a chaotic, screeching stop that left the vehicle’s engine ticking loudly and Yang cursing beneath his breath.
He was quick to unclip his seat belt and pocket his cell phone. But he did not dare reach for the sniper rifle in the passenger floorboard. There was no time—and he comforted himself knowing he had worn gloves and left no fingerprints behind. Instead, he flung open the door and leapt from the car as his heart roared right along with the plane’s engines.
The smell of jet fuel was strong and tunneled up his nose. He barely noticed. His entire focus was the plane and the safety it promised. Because even above the noise of the airport, he could hear the big motorcycle careening closer. And atop it sat a relentless predator who was determined to make Yang his prey.
The private jet’s door was open. The molded steps beckoned as he raced toward the waiting aircraft. And the pilot, the man his handlers had hired to spirit him away, stood at the top of the steps, beckoning him to run faster.
“Go!” Yang screamed as his foot hit the first tread. “Get us in the air!”
His shoulders hitched together to make the target on his back smaller. The Black Knight had a weapon. The man had used it twice while trying to blow out a tire on the sedan. And now Yang had no doubt it was aimed between his shoulder blades.
Pounding up the stairs, he ducked when he heard a shot and felt the air displaced by the round that flew by his head to embed itself in the cushion of the seat closest to the door. He hit the button that automatically retracted the stairs. And only turned when he could grab the handle of the door.
His heart clawed a frantic path into his throat when he caught sight of the man in black ditching his fantastical bike next to the abandoned sedan. The huge machine was still rolling when the big man leapt from its leather seat. Its front wheel plowed into the front fender of the rental car and then fell over to skid fifteen feet across the tarmac.
The soldier-turned-presidential-henchman didn’t care. The giant sprinted toward Yang and time seemed to slow as they briefly locked eyes.
Rage. Revenge. Death.
Yang read all of it in the man’s diamond-hard stare. And the Knight’s jaw was set at a steely angle that matched the unforgiving metal of the weapon he aimed at Yang’s chest.
The world seemed to hold its breath—or maybe that was just Yang. And then there was nothing. Yang was blind to everything as the door finally swung shut with an airtighthissa split second before thethunkof a bullet lodged into the fuselage.
“Go! Go! Go!” he yelled at the pilot at the same time he tumbled back into the safety of the cabin.
Therelativesafety of the cabin.
Anotherthunktold him his pursuer wasn’t finished. And it was only when the pilot hit the throttle and the jet lurched down the runway that Yang dared drag in a breath of relief.
Weaving unsteadily up the aisle, he slid into the closest seat. The powerful engines roared as the jet hurtled down the runway. Gripping the armrest with one hand and his cell phone with the other, he welcomed the G’s that pressed him back into his seat as the swift, light aircraft quickly caught wind and lifted into the sky.
Finally safe from the man who had so relentlessly dogged him, Yang lifted his phone to his ear, shocked to find his hand shaking.
“Bishop? You still there?”
“I’m here. You in the air?”
