The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [181]
Santos turned the laundry truck onto Rua Nova do Almada. As quickly he swung right, and they were into the heart of the Baxia.
Marten looked in the mirror. Two blocks back he saw the Mercedes round a corner and race after them.
“Santos, next block pull over. Tell me which way to go afterward.”
“Right turn, then left,” Santos told Marten, “then two streets and—”
“Control, 6-4. We’ve got the ambulance. 6-2’s on their tail.” Marten heard the quick rasp of Branco’s voice. “We’re right behind them. Copy.”
“Control. 6-4. Where are you? Can you take them down now?” Marten felt a stabbing chill as Conor White’s distinctive British accent spat through his earpiece. In the same instant he flashed on the memory of the first time he had seen him as he accompanied Anne across the floor of the Hotel Malabo. A strong, proud, seemingly sane military man in a well-cut suit.
“We’re on Calçada do Carmo heading toward Rossio Square. Streets are too narrow to make any kind of takedown move.”
Suddenly the piercing scream of a siren followed by the thundering blare of an air horn shot through Marten’s earpiece. A split second later he heard what sounded like a horrendous crash.
For a moment there was absolute silence. Then—
“6-4. Control. 6-4! Copy,” he heard Conor White bark. There was no reply. Then, “6-2. 6-2. Control. 6-2! Do you read me? Copy!”
“This is 6-4, Control. Fire truck went through an intersection. Hit the ambulance and the 6-2 car. Ambulance is on its side. 6-2 car not drivable.”
“Control, 6-4. How bad is it? Anybody killed?”
“Can’t tell. Firemen are on it. My guys seem banged up but okay, don’t know the extent of it. Firemen have the ambulance’s rear doors open. I can’t—Wait. I see Ryder. He’s being helped out. Looks stunned. Don’t know about the others.”
“Get your men out of the 6-2 car.” White was calm but emphatic. “If they can’t walk, carry them. Then get the hell out of there. You’ll have emergency personnel including police all over the place before you can piss. You don’t want them talking to your guys. Copy.”
“6-4, roger, copy.”
“Control, 6-4. Imperative we meet close to accident scene. Our vehicle has GPS. Give me street coordinates. Copy.”
“Roger, Control. Ah, Calçada do Duque at Rua da Condessa. Copy.”
“Calçada do Duque at Rua da Condessa. Five minutes tops. Copy.”
“Roger, Control. Five minutes.”
For an instant Marten sat stunned. It wasn’t just the unexpectedness of the accident and the acute fear that Anne and Ryder might be seriously hurt or worse; what struck him was how quickly White had read the situation and decided on what action to take next. Whatever that was, whoever his 6-4 and 6-2 people were, clearly none of them were running away.
As quickly, real time caught up. He glanced in the mirror looking for the trailing black Mercedes. He saw it several cars behind just as the driver did an abrupt U-turn in traffic, then accelerated off in the opposite direction. Immediately he turned to Grant.
“Fire truck hit the ambulance. It’s on its side. Ryder seems okay. That’s the most we know. White had two cars tailing it. One of them got caught up in the accident. He’s regrouping to meet near the scene.” He looked to Santos. “Your brother may have been hurt, I don’t know. Get us to Calçada do Carmo near Rossio Square. Fast as you can!”
“Yes, sir.” Santos glanced in his mirror, waited for a man on a bicycle to pass, then took an abrupt left and stepped hard on the truck’s accelerator.
12:02 P.M.
114
Anne was on her knees. A young fireman with red hair poking out from under his helmet was with her, trying to help her stand up on what was once a sidewall but was now the floor of the overturned ambulance. She was a little woozy from the impact and rollover, and blood oozed from a gash above her right eye, but other than that she seemed alright. At least that was what she told the fireman. In the distance she heard the singsong of approaching sirens. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Then she saw Ryder