No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(76)

“Okay, he’s starting to check. We keep this up, he’s going to try to lose us.”

Nung said, “What do you want me to do? Back off?”

“Yeah. Stay within the same light-block, though. Keep as far back as you can, but stay in his lane. I don’t want to lose him if he turns.”

We went another mile, and his helmet flicked back twice more. He split through a light, gave one more glance back, then took off.

I slapped the seat. “Christ. That’s it.”

Jennifer put her hand on Nung’s arm and said, “Catch him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Nung goosed the accelerator, and we began weaving through the traffic, like a lumbering hippo to his panther. He kept glancing back, going in and out, and we managed to maintain our inside-the-light distance. We both paused at a red, our vehicle two cars back, and he turned around and glared. For the first time, through the face shield, I saw he was a Caucasian with blue eyes. I said, “That’s him. That’s Braden.”

I opened the door, saying, “I’m taking him now. Pull up when I get him on the ground.”

Jennifer said, “Pike, we can’t get through the traffic if—”

Nung said, “He’s running the light.”

I slammed the door closed, saying, “Do the same. Get close. Take him down.”

Nung started driving like a maniac, scraping the chassis of the car as he ran by the traffic with two wheels over the curb. He punched through the light, honking his horn, then closed the distance, throwing Jennifer and me back and forth. To my front I saw a traffic circle with a statue of a giant lion, the cars leisurely going around.

Braden glanced back once, and his eyes went wide at how close we’d gotten. He hit the throttle, leaning over into the curve of the circle as if he were racing a superbike at Laguna Seca. He got halfway around and his left peg hit the ground, his foot scraping the asphalt. He lost control, the bike skittering into the roadway, sliding forward with a massive pile of sparks, him following behind on his back, skipping across the pavement.

We fought our way through the stop-and-go traffic, hampered by the cars ahead slamming on their brakes from the wreck. I saw Braden stand up, weave in a small circle like a drunk, then focus on us. He ripped the helmet from his head, his mouth open and panting. He shouted something I couldn’t hear, snatched the knapsack of jewels off the ground, and took off running through the traffic, cars skidding aside and horns blaring.

To Jennifer, Nung said, “Take the wheel,” and opened the door.

I did the same and saw Nung ahead of me, sprinting. Braden ran straight toward a line of people waiting to get into some tourist attraction. He knocked them out of the way and disappeared into a portal. I paused, turning back to Jennifer, knowing she’d identify where we were. What the line of people meant.

Sliding over to the wheel, she said, “It’s the Catacombs. A mile of tunnels full of skeletons. You follow, and you’ll flush him to the other side. There’s only one way to go. I’ll meet you there.”

I heard a horn honk and said, “Skeletons? What do you mean?”

She said, “Go. You’ll figure it out.”

I turned away and saw Nung disappear through the entrance. I took off sprinting, reaching the front in seconds.

By the time I arrived, everyone was shouting and yelling, with an old man out front waving a radio. I slipped behind him and reached a turnstile, an obese woman behind it blocking my way. I said, “I’m following that man. Police.”

She looked at me in confusion, and I hopped the turnstile. She smacked me in the back with her radio and I raced down the hall, hitting a spiral stone stairwell that was claustrophobic. I started down as fast as I could, going around and around and hearing nothing below me. I went so fast I started to get dizzy, wondering how far I had to descend before I reached the bottom.

A light flared below, and I hit a tunnel, smelling of wet stone. I shouted, “Nung!”

I heard nothing. The tunnel went in only one direction, so I figured they both had to be ahead of me. I took off running, eating up the ground. I reached a patch of tourists next to a closed gate blocking access to another tunnel. Mine continued on, but the gate had no lock. In between breaths, I asked, “Which way?”

A man pointed away from the door, saying, “Right ahead.”

I started running flat-out, trusting my feet to find purchase in the gloom, my brain telling me to slow down. I rounded a corner, almost smacking my head into the roof of stone, and caught a glimpse of someone disappear. I redoubled my efforts.

Somewhere during my run the limestone walls gave way to bones. Millions and millions of bones. I was sprinting through death, with skulls arranged in symmetrical patterns and femurs used as cradles for the design. Literally walls made of bones.

My feet splashed in water, and the man ahead turned at the sound. In the dim light, I recognized Nung. He said, “Just ahead,” then disappeared.

The tunnel expanded into a small room with a column made of bones in the middle. In the light splayed out from a single lamp, I saw Nung squaring off against Braden, both circling each other. Braden snatched a skull from the wall and tossed it, causing Nung to flinch.

Braden darted forward, and I entered the light, grabbing a leg bone. He saw me and pulled up short just as I hurled it. He ducked, and it clipped his scalp, probably setting loose some disease from the fourteenth century. He snarled at me, put a hand to his head, then turned and began running again.