Piranha (Oregon Files 10)

The crew knew Max was sending his men into battle.

Berlin

Juan followed the footprints around the building, where they disappeared under an elevated train platform. At the far end he caught sight of Bazin’s silhouette as he approached a parked Mercedes SUV. He jumped in, started it up, and sped directly toward Juan.

Juan put two shots into the windshield before he had to roll out of the way. Neither bullet hit Bazin. Juan ran for the Audi.

Eric had successfully threaded his way through the students milling outside and was just arriving at the Audi wagon. Juan pointed at the SUV rocketing away. “Bazin’s getting away! Get in.”

The keyless entry chirped and Juan fired up the engine, dropping it into gear even before Eric had the door closed. The tires bit into the snow, Juan scraping the car in front of them with a screech of metal in his haste to get out of the parking spot.

The Mercedes skidded around the corner and out of sight. Juan stood on the accelerator. The Audi spun all four wheels as it scrabbled for purchase on the slick road.

The Mercedes was heavier and had better traction, but the lighter Audi had the advantage of four-wheel drive. Juan closed within half a block before the Mercedes started taking a series of hard turns in an effort to lose them.

Even though the traffic was light, there were still plenty of cars to weave around. The Mercedes bounced off a Volvo as it overtook it, sending the sedan spinning into the path of the Audi. Juan wrenched the wheel around to avoid T-boning the screaming driver.

“He’s going to kill someone if we don’t stop him,” Eric said.

“Working on it,” Juan replied through gritted teeth.

They rounded another corner, the Mercedes banking off parked cars, and Juan put the Audi into a four-wheel drift like a rally car driver to make up the rest of the distance. He nosed the front of the Audi against the SUV’s right rear fender and yanked the steering wheel to the left. The Mercedes skidded sideways, but it had enough power driving the rear wheels to keep from spinning out.

The Audi lost contact and Juan had to steady the wheel to keep it from careening into a light post. The Mercedes pulled a couple of car lengths ahead of them.

Juan had to put an end to the chase one way or another. He unrolled his window, drew the Colt, and aimed at the SUV’s rear tire. He squeezed off three rounds. The third connected and the tire blew out.

The exposed rim bit into the snow, making the back end of the Mercedes fishtail back and forth. As Juan brought his arm back inside the window, the Audi hit a patch of ice and he had to slow considerably to regain control. The Mercedes was half a block in front, so he stomped the accelerator to catch up.

Bazin was approaching a red light, but he showed no signs of slowing. A yellow street tram approached on the cross street from the left. While the city’s trams rode on steel rails embedded in the pavement, their seven cars were much more massive than a bus and took longer to slow down, especially on rails made more slippery by the snow and ice.

Bazin accelerated in an attempt to make it through the intersection before the tram got there. The three good tires churned at the snow, but the rim spun uselessly, slowing the SUV.

He didn’t make it.

The tram slammed into the rear half of the SUV, missing the driver’s door by mere inches. The Mercedes was crushed and then flew into the air in a neat p

irouette. The tram barely shuddered from the impact.

Juan didn’t want to suffer the same fate. He twisted the wheel to the left and feathered the gas pedal to maintain contact with the road. With the benefit of grip from all four tires, the Audi was able to maneuver across the intersection behind the slowing tram with millimeters to spare. Juan hit the brakes and the antilock system chattered as it strained to halt the car as it headed in the direction of a bridge over the Spree River, Berlin’s main waterway.

The skewed angle across the road and the extra speed carried the Audi over an embankment and into a park leading down to the river beside the bridge. The snow on the hill was even deeper, and if the car stopped, Juan would never get it going again without a tow. He took his foot off the brake and accelerated left, risking a plunge into the icy river.

After zigzagging across the park, he crashed through a chain barrier and onto a road. He headed back to the scene of the accident.

His route had taken Juan all the way around the block. He came up behind the now stopped tram, which was surrounded by a snarl of vehicles that didn’t allow Juan to get closer than half a block away before he had to stop as well.

He threw open the door and jumped out, running toward the scene of the accident. The tram’s passengers had already filed off at the behest of the driver, who was helping Bazin out of his wrecked vehicle. Even from this distance, Juan could see that every air bag had inflated, sparing him any serious injury.

Bazin pushed the tram driver away and stumbled from the wreckage. He searched the crowd until he locked eyes with Juan, then scanned the traffic jam around him before settling on the tram itself. He ducked his head to use the milling passengers for cover and ran inside. The tram started moving despite howls of protest from the driver, who tried to get back on before the doors shut in his face.

Juan ran alongside the accelerating tram and shot the glass door at its tail end three times, shattering it. He pocketed the gun and latched on with both hands as his feet hit an ice patch. He slipped and was dragged along by the tram, the remnants of the broken safety glass digging into the flesh of his palms.

With all his strength, Juan heaved himself through the gaping hole where the door had been. As soon as he hit the floor, bullets ricocheted off the wall by his head. He took cover behind the nearest seat and returned fire, but Bazin was concealed too well in the driver’s cockpit. Juan tried pulling the emergency brake above the door, but Bazin overrode the signal.

Bazin leaned out from the cockpit and took a couple of more shots. Juan did the same with his last two rounds, narrowly missing Bazin’s head. Once again, Bazin poked his head out, but the slide on his pistol was locked back, indicating he, too, was empty.

At that point, Bazin placed what looked like the driver’s bag on the deadman brake pedal, the safety device that was supposed to stop the train if the driver became incapacitated. Though Bazin left the cockpit, the uncontrolled tram continued racing along the streets, bashing any vehicle in its path. Bazin took the cockpit’s fire extinguisher, went to the closest passenger window, and smashed the extinguisher against the glass. He was going to climb out, leaving Juan on the runaway tram and heading directly for a broad T intersection at full speed. If it didn’t stop before it hit the curve in the track, the tram would derail as it took the corner and plow through the front lobby of an office building at forty miles an hour.