He tossed his helmet onto the passenger seat, jumped behind the wheel, and took off. Three blocks away, he was riding on the wheel rims, but he kept driving until the lights of the town loomed into view. He glanced in the rearview mirror. The street behind him was quiet.
“Fuck,” he growled.
That was close.
He turned right, drove for another block, but riding on the rims was starting to take its toll. The shit car couldn’t go more than a dozen kilometers per hour.
I can run faster than this.
Just as he pulled over, several cars turned onto the street. He ducked, but as they drove past, he peered out the window. The locals had found him.
Dammit to hell.
He pulled out his cell, made a call.
After the first ring, his guardian angel answered. “Name.”
“King Cobra. I need an extraction.”
“I’m on it.”
Caroline Austin had been his handler for the past three years. She was the best of the best, and he had every confidence she’d get him the hell out.
But she’d gone silent on him for longer than he liked.
“Austin, talk to me,” he said.
“I’m working on it,” she replied. “Are you in full gear?”
“Yup.”
“Where’s your vehicle?”
“I’m in it.”
“Drive two blocks. I’ve arranged for someone to pick you up. He’s dressed in a beige burqa and he’ll be in a black, two-door car. Go.Now.”
He pulled onto the quiet street.
“How you been?” he asked.
“Stop,” she replied.
“Right, you don’t like talkin’. You want me to focus up.”
“Stop the vehicle,” Caroline said. “I’m hearing chatter. I need to confirm your ride’s one of the good guys.”
He pulled over.
“Hmm,” she murmured. “What’s that?” she asked.
He’d worked with her long enough to know she was talking to someone at Langley.
“Okay, confirmed,” she said. “Drive King Cobra.”
He did as she instructed, spotting the man concealed beneath a burqa standing next to the black vehicle.
“Eyes on my ride,” he murmured.