Much as I hated to admit it, you couldn't beat O'Brien when it came to a car chase.
The wind hit my face with force. If it weren't for the shades it would be blinding.
O'Brien's car was a convertible, something of a strange choice on an over-clocked racing monster. It worked for us now, though. I couldn't imagine the four of us fitting in otherwise.
As the smallest person in the crew I earned a cramped seat next to Max. Neither of us was particularly happy about it. At his height and mass, he was sticking out of the vehicle like an oversized doll pushed into a toy car.
Cuthbert sat in the mother-in-law seat up front. He offered to be the spotter and navigator, but it made as much sense as me spotting for him.
O'Brien's power gave him a supernatural sense of kinestatics. While it didn't make him more athletic or agile, his intuitive grasp of movement rivalled Jim's mastery of ballistics. It let him carry out unbelievable stunts without missing a step. More importantly, it extended to any vehicles he was driving. If a manoeuvre was physically possible, he could perform it.
Not that it was much of a car chase, though.
We were driving down a high-speed lane, the traffic around us thick but not clogging. Neither car dared to go full throttle. Kowalski realised that if he crashed, it'd be all over. We were too horrified of causing a multiple crash in the traffic to go all-out after him.
I couldn't tell if he'd spotted us, but he didn't drive like he did. He sped through with zero regard for regulations, rising a cacophony of angry honks, but he kept a pretty steady pace and direction.
Maybe we were lucky. Maybe he was just exhausted. Max did his best to lean down, but I still felt like I was sitting next to a flasher beacon.
We were trying to keep our distance, following the battered sedan without giving ourselves away. The point wasn't to get him to stop, it was to keep him in sight. For now we bid our time, tailing him, waiting for our chance.
“He's heading towards the beltway,” I reported into my phone. “We should be there in – two, up to three minutes. How are the checkpoints going?”
“We can't do anything with that traffic,” Dan replied. “It all went too fast. If we set them up right there, we wouldn't be able to dislodge the traffic in time, and the last thing we want-”
“- is this maniac anywhere near potential hostages,” I finished.
“We've got a whole fleet of patrol cars ready to go, though. Just follow him until he gets to some less crowded spot and let us know. We'll get him cordoned in one minute.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Easier said than done. Kowalski had to lay low, which meant he would ditch the traffic at some point. Once we'd get out of the stream of cars, we'd be in plain sight.
“Harris is besides himself.”
“I realise. I had to block his number.” I shook my head. Not that Dan could see it.
“He said to tell you that you're not to engage him, under any circumstances. Just keep on his track and call for back-up when you've got him, is that clear?”
“And how is that back-up doing?” I replied with a question.
“I told you, we've got a fleet of patrol cars-”
“Dan, I asked about back-up, not uniforms with pistols, no body armour and combat experience of shooting paper shields.”
My partner gave a sympathetic sigh. “The SWAT is still tied mopping down the mob. The Empowered squad is trying to pull out, but they'll need to resupply.”
“Let me get this straight. Harris wants us to surround Kowalski with an army of uniforms, pin him down and wait for an hour or two until SWAT arrives?”
“You said it.” Dan sounded as amused as I was.
“And unlike the last four times, it will work how?”
“How would I know? Ask Harris.”
I wanted to tell Dan how I felt about Harris and his plan, then explain which orifice he can stuff it in. There was no point taking it out on my partner, though. It wasn't his fault we had an idiot boss, mentally stuck in the 20th Century. Plus, Dan had his hands full making up for him. The last thing he needed right now was my bitching.
“Well... We will defend ourselves if he attacks us first,” I replied in a neutral tone.
“That's the attitude.” With that final blessing, Dan hung up.
The white sedan turned towards a slip road leading towards an old market district.
Fortune smiled. Most of the surrounding blocks were under renovations. The few surviving shops were either on the outskirts or closed early. At this hour, there wasn't a living soul in about a mile radius, except for homeless and squatters. No cars took that ramp, either. It worked perfectly for Kowalski, and even better for us.
“Now the hard part starts.”
In spite of his words, O'Brien shown no sign of agitation. He cruised through the traffic, clearly in his element, never taking his eyes off the white sedan. I looked at the traffic signs and send Dan a text with directions. A dozen of seconds later or so, the phone pinged back.
We're letting him through. Keep tracking, it read.
“What the hell... They want us to keep on going,” I said to the rest of the team.
“Good call,” Max replied. “Do you really think that he'd go down without a fight? If we cut him off on the road, we'll only put those uniforms in danger.”
“And ourselves,” Cuthbert added.
“And ourselves,” I agreed. “Shit. He will spot us.”
“... I think he just did,” O'Brien interjected.
The white sedan accelerated with a screech, rushing down the spiralling ramp at a mounting speed. The tires barely kept traction, the turning vehicle began to spiral on the asphalt. Kowalski floored the accelerator to run away from us.
That moment, the front right wheel of his car gave in.
The car spun around its axis. Its doors hit the barrier on the side of the road. It bounced off, heading straight towards the the metal railing.
I heard a gasp. Mine own, I realised.
The car tore through the barrier and smashed right into a street light right behind it.
The concrete pillar snapped, the metal lamp fell onto the white roof, pinning the crashed vehicle in place. The front wheels spun in the air, the rear just barely touched the asphalt.
We unleashed a collective stream of curses.
O'Brien hit the brake, gently but firmly dropping the speed. Some forty yards away, he spun the car sideways and brought it to a stop. We jumped out, taking cover behind the vehicle. Cuthbert cranked his rifle and gave us a slight nod.
O'Brien ran first. I followed him from the right, covering the passenger door.
The closer I got, the more I realised it was a miracle the car didn't plunge down the ramp. The street lamp was bent backwards, ready to break any moment. The rear wheels barely touched the ground. I felt sick thinking of the car's owner. I could only hope it was one of the mobsters. Otherwise, we were so sued.
“Crap,” O'Brien muttered from the other side of the car.
I quickly closed the distance and aimed my gun at the window. The air cushions were up, but it was empty.
“He's not down there, either,” Max confirmed, leaning over the barrier.
“C'mon, get back in the car. We need to get down there ASAP,” O'Brien hurried us up. We nodded in agreement.
“Time for your thing, Sun.”
