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I act fast. Leon covers my back while I shoot open the backdoor of the van. The gas has done its job. The two armed guards plus Ian are passed out. The gas hasn’t leaked into the driver’s cabin, but the glass is bulletproof. Even if the driver or guard riding shotgun shoots at us, we’re protected.
Like me, Leon wears a gas filter under his Phantom mask. He jumps in and hooks his hands under Ian’s arms, dragging him out while it’s my turn to cover him. A gap opens in the throng of fleeing people. One of the bike brigade cops takes shelter behind a concrete flower box and opens fire. More screaming erupts.
Someone shouts, “Hold your fire.”
Our men are firing darts at the cops. One by one, they drop like flies. It’s impossible to tell where the darts are coming from. Our paid man grabs Ian’s feet. They swiftly carry him to a van with fake police markings waiting around the corner. I melt into the crowd, running alongside the people aiming for the safety of the streets south of the courthouse.
Sirens sound in the distance. The noise of a helicopter becomes audible. I make it to the corner just in time to see the van with the fake markings pull away, its siren blaring.
“Cas.” Leon grabs my arm. “This way.”
We run toward the bike parked on the side street. The men with the dart guns intersperse with the escaping crowd, filtering away into the streets. The people we’ve darted and the guards we gassed will wake up in another few minutes. The tranquilizer is light. By the time Ian comes to, the van would’ve pulled into the underground parking of an abandoned building. A motorbike and change of clothes are waiting there for Ian. After cutting off the handcuffs and leg irons, the driver of the van will instruct Ian to take the backroad to Damian’s office block. The driver will abandon the van and leave by car.
In the meantime, Leon and I will make our way to Damian’s offices. From there, Ian and I will take a helicopter to Zimbabwe. Leon will lie low inside Damian’s building, which is the equivalent of Fort Knox, until it’s safe to move. In case the police question Leon, his alibi is watertight. He already uploaded a street camera recording of him crossing the square in Sandton miles away from here at the exact time of the escape. Damian is at home, having a barbecue with his family and neighbors.
It’s a good plan.
It’s a great plan.
It worked.
My breaths are staccato as I peel off the jumpsuit and mask. Leon does the same. We bundle our disguises into the street bin before fitting helmets. Leon starts the bike while I pull on my backpack. When I hop onto the back, he takes off.
I blow out a shaky breath.
It worked.
I still can’t believe it. A nervous laugh escapes my lips.
Leon opens the gas as we take the road toward Newtown. The Christmas lights over the street flash by. The yellow ones from the bridge leading to the highway intermix with the white. It’s a kaleidoscope of moving lights, a beautiful display that reflects the exhilaration of my heart. The temperature is pleasant. It’s a perfect summer night. The air that washes over me as we speed toward the intersection cools my hot skin.
For a short distance, we follow the fake police vehicle. At the next corner, we turn left. Its blue light is a beacon in the night. It stops at the traffic light, throwing shards of sapphire onto the dark buildings. Just before we pass under the bridge, an explosion rocks the van.
Chapter 23
Cas
No!
Leon jerks. His body goes rigid, but he doesn’t slow down. Instead of heading toward the flames, he takes a sharp left and races toward the abandoned factories on the dilapidated side of the city.
“Go back,” I yell, slamming a fist on his shoulder.
He’s deaf to my screams and immune to my punches.
“Turn around, damn you!”
Ignoring me, he makes his way around the city toward the Oriental Plaza until Damian’s skyscraper comes into view. I crane my neck. The orange glow and smoke are buried behind the buildings.
Leon makes a detour to Mayfair. When the coast remains clear on Newtown’s side, he returns via Fordsburg. As agreed, the roller door of the underground parking lifts when we arrive. Leon enters and parks next to the elevator.
I stumble from the bike, losing my balance and barely catching myself. Under the helmet, I’m hyperventilating. I fight with the clasp until it gives and yank the helmet from my head. Dragging in laborious breaths, I pace next to the elevator.
Leon is like a string about to snap. He removes his helmet and slams a palm on the elevator button.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, resting my hands on my knees so I don’t keel over.
