Dirk goosed the throttle and pulled up on the handlebars. The Vespa pitched forward, hopping a curb and lurching past the tree. Dirk then locked up the brakes, but had to swerve again to miss a student on a bicycle. With nowhere to go, he bounded across a sidewalk and skidded into a bougainvillea bush. Sharp thorns pricked him in a dozen spots. He was otherwise unhurt. The Vespa, with a few more scratches added to its battle-scarred surface, signaled its durability with a putt-putt idle.

A pair of students helped pull Dirk from the bush.

“Are you hurt?” one asked.

“Only my ego,” he said. “Thanks all the same.”

He gave the scooter a quick once-over, hopped aboard, and twisted the throttle. The sedan had already sped off down the road. Dirk drove across the sidewalk and off the curb, resuming the chase a block behind. This time the Vespa was less cooperative, thumping from a bent rear wheel that rubbed against the frame.

Dirk coaxed as much speed as he could from the scooter while trying to keep the car in sight. The sedan had reached the far side of the campus, where the road ended at a cross street fronting a waterway called the Ibrahimiya Canal. The car turned right at the canal road and disappeared, heading toward the Nile.

Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. Dirk hoped Summer and Riki had given the police an accurate description of the car. As he reached the crossroad, he was forced to slow for a flatbed truck, then turned right. He zipped around the truck and looked for the fleeing car.

It wasn’t there.

He held the throttle down and desperately scanned the surroundings. Then the car appeared, passing above him. Ahead, a circular exit ramp looped over and around to a bridge that crossed the Ibrahimiya.

Dirk steered onto the ramp. As he circled onto the bridge, he saw a wisp of smoke. The white sedan had locked up its tires and was skidding to a stop along the curb. The back door sprang open, and Zeibig was shoved out. The backseat gunman followed, one hand grasping Zeibig’s shirt, the other a pistol. They staggered onto a pedestrian walkway. The gunman gave Zeibig a hard push that sent him sprawling against the side bridge rail.

As Dirk closed fast, the gunman regained his footing and angled his pistol toward Zeibig. Approaching a drainage cut in the curb, Dirk nudged the Vespa onto the walkway and steered toward the men.

The gunman wheeled around to see Dirk barreling down at full speed. He raised the gun to fire. Then self-preservation took over, and he dove for the safety of the car.

He was a hair late.

The scooter’s nose clipped the gunman in the shoulder, knocking free the gun—and very nearly the gunman’s arm.

The collision threw the scooter into a high hop and a skid. Dirk bounced into the air, barely hanging on as the Vespa slammed into the bridge rail. He could do only one thing to save himself—push off the scooter at impact.

As the Vespa came to an abrupt halt, he shoved off with his arms. The momentum sent Dirk flying over the bridge rail. He tried to compress his body into a tuck as he braced for impact. It didn’t come. At least not right away.

It was a twenty-foot drop to the canal below, where he splashed hard into the water.

The cool canal eased any sense of physical shock, and he stroked to the surface. He swam to a concrete abutment, grasped the corner, and caught his breath. Once he’d regained his bearings, he shook off a pain in his knee and elbow and swam for the nearest shore.

At the canal bank, Zeibig rushed down and pulled him ashore. “Are you all right?”

Dirk nodded. “I had a nice rotation, but could have made a cleaner entry.”

“I’d rate it a ten. That was quite the kamikaze move.”

“I thought he was going to shoot you.” He looked up to the bridge. “Are they gone?”

“After you nearly took the guy’s arm off, he was in no mood to stick around. Crawled into the back of the car, and away they went. I think the sirens did the trick, though it came from a wayward fire truck.”

“Good riddance all the same,” Dirk said. They made their way up to the road. “I recognized the driver. He was at Amarna yesterday, the one with the grenades. What did they want from you?”

“I don’t know. They took my phone and demanded its passcode. That was it. I still have my wallet. And my hide.”

Back at the bridge, Dirk gazed at the remains of the Vespa and shook his head. “Let’s see if we can find the girls.”

They hiked back across campus and found Summer and Riki still outside the hospital, speaking with an Egyptian police officer who’d just arrived. Summer did a double take when she saw Dirk’s soggy clothes.

The student in the hijab had a different reaction. “That’s him. He’s the one. He’s the man who stole my scooter.” She lunged at him.

Dirk jumped back, bumping into Riki.

She laughed. “Are you always so magnetic to the opposite sex?”

Tags: Clive Cussler Dirk Pitt Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net