The Curse of Medusa

Devos changed down to third to get more torque as he powered the Audi into a sharp bend on the coast road. The engine growled deeply and the Belgian contract killer slammed his foot down on the throttle to gain speed as they hit the next straight.

To his right he saw a brief flash of moonlight on the surface of Galway Bay before it was smothered but yet more storm clouds. The wipers, set on maximum speed to clear the heavy deluge from the windshield, flashed back and forth in a mesmerizing blur. He flicked his eyes to the rear-view and saw the damned headlight was still behind them.

“You want me to slow down?” he called out to Lefevre.

“Non!” The other man shouted. He was still outside the car and firing shots at the motorcycle. He climbed back inside and pushed the window up. “We are being paid to deliver the files, not take unnecessary risks with Irish fools. We’ll kill him at the airport.”

Devos nodded in agreement but his grin was sort-lived.

“What is it?” Lefevre asked.

“He’s right behind us!” Devos said.

* * *

When Danny Devlin saw Lefevre climb back inside the car, he knew he had only once chance left. He increased the speed to over eighty and raced the bike until it was almost on the rear fender of the Audi. He knew he’d only have seconds to act before they took evasive action, so he killed the light and offered another prayer. He was about to do the most insane thing of his life. Almost…

With no light, and under cover of the storm, he was invisible for a few seconds. He put his head down low and accelerated alongside the fleeing car. The bike had stable and powerful acceleration, and a second later he was almost past the Audi.

Then they saw him, as he knew they would, and immediately swerved their car into his path.

He knew what he had to do, and he knew he had to act fast. As the car’s front wing struck the Commando he leaped into the air and slammed down on the Audi’s hood. The Norton spun off out of control and careered to a stop at the side of the road.

Devlin clung to the air vent ridge at the top of the hood. The Audi began to swerve in an attempt to fling him off and share the same fate as the Norton Commando, but he held on for his life — a task made easier by the strength in his fingers he had built up over so many years of free-climbing.

He knew what had to happen next — and it did. A few seconds after he landed on the car the side window came down and Lefevre climbed halfway out with his USP, grinning at him.

He gave the Irishman a c’est la vie shrug and aimed the pistol at his face.

Devlin had anticipated the move, and using the forward momentum of the speeding car to keep him in place, he snatched the shotgun from his shoulder and fired twice at Lefevre.

The shot shredded through the Belgian’s chest and throat. The top of his dead body now slumped out of the car, his hands scraping along the road.

Devlin watched Devos through the windshield as he saw what had happened, his panicky face lit a ghostly blue by the A7’s dash. In desperation to get rid of the Irish devil now clinging to his car, he swerved more violently than ever.

As the car skidded over to the left, Lefevre’s body was rammed into a hedge and got snagged in the twisted branches, pulling him from the car. The corpse landed with a wet smack on the asphalt as the others raced forward.

Devlin had no time left. He knew Devos had only one play left and was about to do it. If he hit the brakes he would go flying like an Iceland Gull and hit the road at speed where he would stay for a few seconds with every bone in his body broken before Devos ran him down with the Audi.

Devlin raised the shotgun and fired it at the glass, shattering it totally. He then fired a second shot through the smashed glass at Devos, filling his chest full of lead and killing the man instantly. The Belgian killer convulsed for a few seconds and the car began to swerve uncontrollably.

Devlin crawled on to the roof and slipped down inside the vehicle through Lefevre’s open window. He immediately grabbed the wheel and kept the speeding Audi on the road while at the same time forcing his right leg down in between Devos’s legs and hitting the brakes.

The Audi came to a juddering halt in the middle of the lane.

The race was over.

Devlin breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a second. So this is what happens if you take a phone call from Lea Donovan, he thought.

Talking of whom, he looked around the car for her but saw nothing.

Then he heard a deep thumping from the trunk.

He flicked the release catch and it sprung gently open as he ran around to the rear and cut the cable-ties from her wrists and ankles. Finally he pulled the duct tape and oily rag from her mouth.

Lea looked at him and frowned. “Well, you took your fucking time, Danny Devlin — don’t tell me… we drove past a pub on the way and you nipped in for a swift half of the bloody black stuff!”

“You wouldn’t begrudge me that though — not a pint o’ plain, would ya?”