The Messiah Secret - James Becker [83]
‘Ending this,’ Bronson said simply.
Killian stared down the street in front of him and lifted his foot from the accelerator pedal. For the moment, he’d lost sight of Bronson, though he knew he had to be somewhere nearby.
He slowed still further, checking every opening on both sides of the street, his head snapping from side to side as he searched for his prey.
‘Can’t we just get back to the hotel?’ Angela pleaded.
‘He must have found out where we were staying,’ Bronson pointed out. ‘That was why he was waiting on the street nearby. It’s the one place we can’t go back to.’
‘But if we just drive to the airport?’
‘That’s where we’re going, eventually. But first I’m going to make sure that priest is stuck here in Cairo long enough to let us get out of Egypt without seeing him again.’
Bronson turned the next corner and saw, just as he’d expected, the priest driving fairly slowly down the street in front of them.
‘Get down,’ Bronson said. ‘He’ll be checking his mirrors, looking for two people in a white Peugeot.’
Angela ducked down as low as she could.
Bronson looked ahead, weighing up the situation. He was closing up on the priest quickly, and knew it was only a matter of time before he realized who was behind him.
He’d closed to about ten yards when the priest suddenly accelerated hard. He knew he’d been recognized.
Bronson floored the accelerator pedal to increase speed, then eased out until the front wing of his car was level with the rear wing of the other. Then he swung the steering wheel hard over to the right, still keeping the speed up. In America, it’s known as the ‘PIT manoeuvre’. Bronson had no idea what it was called in Egypt, but it worked just the same.
As he kept up the pressure on the steering wheel, the rear wheels of the priest’s car suddenly lost adhesion and it started to spin anti-clockwise. Bronson quickly turned the wheel left again, so that the front of his car hit the rear of the other, finishing the manoeuvre.
The priest’s car spun sideways across the road, tyres howling as shreds of rubber were torn away from the tread, and slammed hard into the jagged edge of the pavement on the left-hand side of the road. As the car hit, Bronson distinctly heard the bang as at least one of the tyres blew. He smiled in satisfaction.
‘Now you can sit up again,’ he said to Angela. ‘He won’t be bothering us any more.’
In the rear-view mirror he saw a figure climb out of the wrecked Renault. Then he swept round a corner and out of sight.
‘Now where do we go?’ Angela asked.
Bronson shook his head. ‘We’ll drive to the airport and climb on to the first flight out of this country, ideally one heading back to Britain.’
To his surprise, Angela shook her head. ‘I haven’t finished with this yet,’ she said firmly. ‘Going to the airport’s a good idea – there’ll be armed guards and police there, because of the terrorist situation. As soon as we arrive I’m going to start translating that text. Then we’ll decide where we go next, but I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be Britain.’
Half a mile away, Killian picked up his bags and walked away from his crashed car, ignoring the shouts and protestations from the crowds of people who’d gathered at the scene.
Though he realized a British police officer would be a competent driver, Bronson’s move had taken him completely by surprise. His car was undriveable – not only had one of the tyres blown, but the sideways impact with the kerb had snapped one of the front suspension components, and that wheel leaned drunkenly to one side as well.
He’d have to find a taxi and get away from the area as quickly as he could, before a car-load of cops turned up and started asking awkward questions. Then he’d have to decide what to do next. He tried to put himself in Bronson’s place. He guessed that Bronson and Angela would either return to their hotel or, perhaps more likely, head straight for the airport to follow whatever clues they’d found in the Montgomery paintings. And if they were