“If I have to!” Chase looked at the gear on Starkman’s back. “Give me your grappling gun.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” Starkman objected. But he handed the device to Chase anyway.

The door rose high enough for the low-slung Ferrari to fit beneath. Starkman stomped on the accelerator, the engine howling. The car blasted forward like a bullet. “Holy shit!”

“I always wanted one of these!” Chase checked the load on his machine gun, then looked ahead. The driveway from the house zigzagged down the hill to join up with the road leading to the bridge-where another pair of Grand Cherokees had been positioned into a roadblock. Beyond them, halfway across the bridge itself, was a silver BMW X5.

Starkman pointed; more of Frost’s security forces crouched behind the Jeeps. “Hate to tell you this, but Ferraris aren’t bulletproof!”

“Nor are Jeeps! You ready?” The F430 swooped into the last curve.

“As I’ll ever be!” Starkman hefted his UMP in his left hand, holding the steering wheel with his right. The Ferrari straightened, the makeshift roadblock directly ahead-

“Fire!”

Chase opened fire as the Ferrari accelerated, sweeping his shots across the right-hand Jeep at window height. Starkman extended his arm from the side of the car and blasted away at the other SUV, spent bullet casings clinking off the windscreen.

The Jeeps shuddered under the onslaught, glass exploding and metal panels cratering as shots ripped through them. Chase saw a man fall. He didn’t expect to take out all the guards-he just needed to keep them down until the Ferrari could blast past.

“Get on the pavement!” he yelled.

“What?”

“The sidewalk, sidewalk!” The SUVs had blocked the two-lane roadway, but there was a pavement for pedestrians on the right.

“We won’t fit!”

“Yes we will!” Not that they had a choice-in a collision between a lightweight Italian sports car and a two-ton American SUV, there was no doubt which would come out worse.

Starkman swerved the Ferrari to the right, both men still firing at the Jeeps. Chase’s gun clicked empty. Bullets clonked into the side of the F430 as the security men shot back.

“Shit!” cried Starkman. “We’re not gonna fit!”

“Just go!” screamed Chase, bracing himself as the F430 hit the curb. The front spoiler splintered on impact-then the low-profile wheels slammed against the unforgiving concrete with a bang that pounded up his spine like a hammer blow.

Chase’s side of the car screeched against the bridge’s railing while the front wing on Starkman’s side clipped the rear of the Jeep and crumpled back like tinfoil. Both wing mirrors were sheared off, spraying the two men with glass.

“Duck!” Chase shouted as Starkman swung the Ferrari back onto the road. More bullets struck the car as they hunched down in their seats, one clanking against the hooped rollbar just inches behind Chase’s head.

Starkman accelerated again. Chase was shoved back in his seat as the Ferrari blasted away from the Jeeps. He let out an involuntary whoop of excitement at the sensation. “Bloody hell!”

“Good choice of car!” Starkman called over the rush of the wind. “Okay, so-”

The windscreen shattered.

Starkman spasmed as blood sprayed from a wound in his chest, a ragged hole blown right through his body armor. The engine note dropped abruptly as his foot slipped from the accelerator. The Ferrari coasted, slowing fast.

“Jesus!” Chase cried. He grabbed the steering wheel, trying to keep the F430 from hitting the parked BMW ahead.

Standing beside it, a gleaming gun in his hands, was someone Chase recognized instantly.

Schenk.

He recognized the gun, too. Frost’s chief of security had just shot Starkman with a Wildey.

His Wildey.

Chase brought up his UMP, remembering too late that he needed to change clips. Schenk aimed the long silver barrel at him-

He released the wheel and flung himself bodily over the top of his door. The distinctive boom of the Wildey reached him as a Magnum round blew a fist-sized hole in the back of his seat. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

Another boom. A chunk of asphalt flew into the air inches from his legs. He rolled again, the awkward shape of the cable gun digging into his back. There was a crunch of metal as the slowing Ferrari banged into the side of the SUV and came to a halt. The engine stalled. Schenk jumped back, taking cover behind his vehicle.

Chase sprang up and ran for the BMW. Schenk saw him and fired again, but Chase dived behind the X5, fumbling for a new magazine.

Shit!

Touch alone told him something was wrong. The open end of the clip was crooked, bent out of shape. He’d crushed it under his own weight when he rolled over the road. It wouldn’t fit into the UMP’s receiver.

Chase dropped the useless magazine, instead flipping the UMP in his hands and sweeping it at ankle height as Schenk rushed around the side of the X5, the Wildey ready in his hand-

The German’s shot went wide as Chase hooked one foot out from under him with the UMP’s stock. Schenk grunted as he was knocked off balance, and staggered, arms windmilling.

Chase rugby-tackled him, driving him back until he crashed against the guardrail, trying to force him over.

But Schenk was a solid slab of muscle, too big even for Chase to overpower by brute force. He realized the danger he was in and bent at the knees, dropping his center of gravity below the top of the railing. His arm swung, and the butt of the Wildey smashed down on Chase’s neck, felling him with a bolt of pain. Schenk’s boot cracked against the side of his skull. Chase dropped onto his side. Head swimming, he looked up.

The Wildey was pointed straight at his face. Beyond it, Schenk came into focus. The German grinned-

Blam!

Chase flinched.

But it wasn’t the Wildey that had fired.

It was Starkman’s UMP, the last bullet in its magazine gouging a bloody hole in Schenk’s right shoulder. The Wildey dropped from the German’s hand as he lurched back against the railing.

Chase caught his gun and flipped it around. “I think this is mine.”

He fired. The bullet hit Schenk in his left eye, the eyeball bursting in a revolting spray as the shot continued through his brain and exploded out of the top of his skull. His head snapped back with the impact and he toppled over the railing, falling hundreds of feet to the icy waters below.

Clutching his aching head, Chase staggered to the Ferrari. Starkman was slumped over the door, bubbles of blood dripping from his mouth. For a second Chase thought he was dead, but then his one eye twitched, looking up at him.

“Bet you’re glad you didn’t kill me now, huh?” Starkman said weakly. He pulled himself upright and flopped back into the seat. “Come on, you got a plane to catch…”

Chase opened the door to lift him into the passenger seat, but Starkman shook his head. “Leave me… I’m fucked, and company’s coming.” He looked in the direction they had come. One of the Jeeps from the roadblock was already chasing them, and more vehicles were speeding up the road from the corporate buildings. “I’ll stop ’em…”

“With what?”

Starkman somehow managed a half-smile and held up a block of CL-20-the timer already running.

“Just make sure you’re off this bridge in twenty seconds,” he wheezed, with his last ounce of strength forcing himself out of the Ferrari to lie on the road at Chase’s feet. “Fight to the end, Eddie…”

“Fight to the end,” Chase repeated as he jumped into the Ferrari and restarted the engine. He jammed it into reverse and pulled away from the BMW, then clicked into first and poured on the power.

Riding in the passenger seat didn’t even remotely compare to the experience of controlling 483 horsepower. The acceleration was so fierce it felt like taking off in a jet. By the time he remembered to change up a gear, he was already doing over sixty miles an hour, the engine wailing like a banshee behind him.