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“He’s with me,” said Shaw, putting a hand on Whit’s arm.
Frank rolled down the passenger-side window and said, “The whole town is going nuts.”
Shaw and Reggie helped Dominic into the backseat and then slid in next to him. Whit jumped in next to Frank, who gunned it, and the car sped off laying black tread down on ancient cobblestone.
“Okay, Shaw, start talking,” said Frank as he maneuvered the car through the narrow streets and down the hill toward where the villas were located.
“Your name is Shaw?” said Reggie, looking at him.
He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Frank staring at him. “They snagged Waller, but his men ambushed them. I was there to help out.”
“Help out?” exclaimed Whit. “We’d all be dead but for you.”
“Well, we still might be,” snapped Frank.
As he finished speaking one of Waller’s men ran out from the doorway that led from the church; it was the same passageway out that Reggie and Kuchin had taken when they’d visited the church the first time. The gunman spotted them and fired. Everyone ducked as the windshield cracked. There was a bump, the man was catapulted into the air by the collision with the car, and dropped to the ground. Frank looked up.
“Hey, Shaw?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you drive?”
“Why?”
“Because the son of a bitch just shot me!”
Shaw saw the blood seeping from Frank’s jacket, pushed the man to the side, climbed over the seat, and took over the wheel. He floored it and then checked Frank, who was slumped over next to Whit.
“How bad?”
Frank fumbled with his shirt and looked. “Missed the belly, think it went through me. Hard to say.”
Whit checked the seatback. “It did. Here’s the slug.” He held it up.
“Hang on, Frank, and tell me where to go,” said Shaw.
“Private strip sixty kilometers south of here. Wings waiting.” He gave Shaw the specific directions and then fell silent, his breathing labored and his face turning gray.
Reggie and Whit took off Frank’s jacket, tore open his shirt, and checked the wound more carefully. Reggie said, “Look in the glove compartment for a first-aid kit.”
There wasn’t one but there was a box of sterilized wipes. She used those to clean the wound and then used strips of Frank’s shirt to help stop the bleeding and to bandage the wound. She sat back. “That’s all I can do for now. He needs medical attention.”
“There’s a doc on the plane,” mumbled Frank. Shaw glanced at him to see the other man’s gaze on him. “Knowing you I figured it was a good idea.” Shaw grabbed an antiseptic pack and tossed it to Reggie. “For your face. Waller got you good with his shoe.”
She cleaned up her face as best she could and then worked on Dominic’s injured arm.
The siren made them all jerk around.
“Cop car right behind us,” said Whit as he stared in the side mirror.
“Shit, there is no way we can stop and explain this,” said Shaw. He floored it.
Five miles later as the sounds of the siren faded into the Provençal countryside Whit said, “You’re a right good wheel man.”
“Let’s just be thankful they didn’t have the resources out here to do a call-ahead roadblock. Then I’d just be a ‘right good’ prisoner.”
They finally reached the private airstrip. Parked next to the plane was a shimmering black Range Rover. The physician on board the jet cleaned up Frank’s wound and reset Dominic’s bone, holding it in place with two small pieces of wood and lots of medical tape. “He’ll need a cast,” said the doctor. “I don’t have the materials to do one here.”
