Trigger Read online

  “Kill the engine and get off the bike slowly.” His eyes flicked from Chase, to me, and back again, as he pulled a phone out of his pocket.

  I slipped off the bike while Chase turned off the engine.

  “Marcello.” I had to convince him to let us go before the bad guys caught up with us.

  “Not now, Jordan.” He was harsh, never taking an eye off Chase, who was standing next to the bike.

  He spoke quietly into the phone. Marcello didn’t deserve to be hurt, but we needed to get out of here. We didn’t have many options with a gun pointed at Chase’s head. I needed a distraction right now.

  “Marcello,” I implored. “You have to listen. There are people after me. You don’t understand what is going on here!”

  “I understand all too well.” His eyes held mine for a moment before settling back on Chase. “You got caught up in a bad situation. You’re being taken advantage of. He is putting you in grave danger.”

  “We have to get out of here right now! If you don’t let us go, they’re going to kill you and take me away!” I was frantic.

  Marcello hesitated, his eyes flitting back and forth between us. “I’m helping you, Jordan. I can protect you.”

  I wanted to believe that I’d never been some asset he had used as bait. Maybe we had all stumbled into this mess by coincidence. Maybe he could help both of us. Marcello’s gun hand lowered a little as he took a half-step toward me. I stepped forward as well, keeping his attention on me.

  With Marcello distracted, Chase only had to shift a little to be within reach of the gun. With alarming quickness, a well-placed blow from Chase knocked the weapon out of Marcello’s hands. A second punch put Marcello totally off balance.

  Chase jumped back on the bike with me right behind him. I struggled to put on the helmet as Chase started the engine. Disoriented, Marcello staggered around looking for his weapon. The thugs from the park were now dangerously close.

  “Hold on!” Chase shouted as the bike peeled out.

  Marcello started to run after us shouting something I couldn’t make out over the roar of the motor. A couple of the men that were after us were getting into cars while the few who remained on foot ran past Marcello, almost knocking him over again. The cops were starting to react to all the activity. Some were shouting into their phones while others yelled at each other.

  At the corner, Chase took the turn sharply. Two dark BMWs shot out onto the road in pursuit. Marcello climbed into a sedan that had a couple other people in it. That car pulled out onto the street behind the two BMWs. Traffic was thick, which gave us the advantage because the motorcycle could weave in between cars.

  Chase zipped along the center line between two lanes taking us deeper into the city where traffic was heaviest. In the distance, the high-pitched squeal of sirens warned that more people would soon be joining the party.

  I was having a difficult time figuring out where we were headed until I recalled what he had said earlier that day. The perfect place for a meeting in Barcelona was Las Ramblas because of the crowds and the many exits. If we didn’t lose them in traffic, he meant to use the pedestrian promenade as a last-ditch effort to escape.

  The motorcycle leapt forward, tearing through the middle of a major intersection right as the light turned red. Horns blared from all directions as I dared a look over my shoulder. The first BMW barely missed getting T-boned as it made it through the junction. The second BMW had to inch its way around vehicles as other drivers honked incessantly. Marcello’s car was also forcing its way through traffic.

  Another crossroads was just ahead. The motorcycle picked up more speed as the light turned yellow. Alarm clawed at my throat. I wasn’t sure we could make it, but I knew we couldn’t stop. Without signaling, the car in front of us angled to try to force a merge into the adjacent lane, effectively blocking our path through the intersection.

  Chase slammed on the brakes while I braced myself. The tires screamed in protest as they fought to come to a stop. Just as the bike felt as though it was going to flip over, Chase yanked the handlebars to the right and hit the gas.

  The bike swerved around the back end of the car ahead of us and into the adjacent lane. We jumped up onto the curb, scattering pedestrians every which way. With several abrupt stops and starts, Chase was able to maneuver us through the people and back onto the road. Once we cleared the junction, Chase hit the gas.

  One BMW tried to force its way through the lanes of traffic into the crossroads without much luck. The other one had actually gone up on the curb, knocking over the light post. They barely missed hitting some people, but made it through. Chase must have seen them in the rearview mirror because he changed lanes after passing some cars to put obstacles between them and us. As all of this went on, the continuous blare of sirens drew closer.

  I felt something cold pressed into my hand. It was Chase’s gun. Taking it, I looked behind me again. The darkened passenger window on the lead car was rolled down. A black-clad arm was sticking out of it. Sunlight glinted off the metal barrel of a pistol.

  “Gun!” I shouted. As soon as I spoke, the bike zigzagged.

  “Shoot out their tires!” he yelled.

  The weapon pointed at me, the high-speed chase, and the weight of the gun in my hand caused something in my mind to shift. My perception changed. I suddenly felt different as everything clicked into sync and time slowed down.

  All emotion evaporated from my body. My senses were on high alert, but I was completely calm. There was only the weapon in my hand and a need to stop the men behind us. I knew what I needed to do. I knew exactly how to do it. My thoughts and actions flowed as one.

  I was in complete control.

  Keeping my left arm tight around his midsection, I gripped the gun firmly in my right. Careful not to throw us off balance, I pivoted at the waist. It wasn’t easy to face backwards, especially at such a high speed. My objective alone was difficult; combined with my position, it was practically impossible. Forcing those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the task.

  I took careful aim at the front passenger tire of the first vehicle. The bike leaned as it started to take a right-hand corner. I allowed my body to tilt with it. My best chance would be once we were out of the turn on the straightaway, when they were in the middle of the turn. At that point, I would have a clear shot at the tires on the passenger side.

  The bike leveled as the BMW entered the corner wide. It wasn’t as good a shot as it could have been, but it was the best I was going to get. I let the place of silence and calm in my head envelop me. My whole body was relaxed yet completely alert at the same time. My eyes were locked on the front tire of the BMW, as was my gun. When it felt right, I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. Once the shot was off, I lowered the pistol to the seat behind me.

  The impact from the bullet ruptured the front tire of the BMW with a huge blast. The vehicle careened across several lanes of traffic, sending multiple cars swerving before a large garbage truck slammed into the side of it. The sound of the crash reverberated against the tall buildings that lined the street, creating a deafening roar. I had no time to rejoice or even think about what I had just done. The second BMW had bypassed their fallen brethren and were gaining on us by the second. The front passenger and rear driver windows rolled down. Hands clutching guns extended out of both.

  “They’re getting closer!” I shouted to Chase.

  The bike picked up more speed as it darted around vehicles. The car Marcello was in doggedly followed some distance behind the bad guys in the BMW.

  “Take another right-hand turn!” I shouted to Chase.

  It had worked well the first time; maybe I would be lucky again.

  The men in the BMW started shooting as we raced up a straightaway. People on the sidewalks scattered at the sound of gunfire. The bike zipped around the far side of a delivery truck, putting it between us and our enemies. This shield was only good for a few moments as the BMW forced another car out of the way so it could get over into
the lane behind us.

  “Corner!” Chase warned, because I was still facing backward.

  As we hit the curve I automatically tightened my grip. We cleared it right as the first car chasing us hit the beginning of the turn with a squeal of tires. The centrifugal force made it difficult to hold the gun steady as we leveled out. It was now or never.

  The feeling of calm and convergence continued to flow through me. Concentrating on that feeling, I found the exact spot I needed to hold the gun to make the shot. Eyes locked on the target, I squeezed the trigger.

  For the second time, a tire exploded and a BMW swerved violently across several lanes of traffic. Other motorists honked and veered away from the out-of-control vehicle. The BMW collided with two cars and shot up onto the sidewalk where it landed on its side.

  In seconds, the pile-up was lost from sight. I flinched a little at the vision of twisted metal that stuck in my head. I hoped that no innocent bystanders were injured, but what was done could not be undone.

  Resolute, I faced forward. I flicked the safety on the pistol as I tucked it into my pants. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. I had fired a gun from the back of a racing motorcycle, in heavy traffic, at another moving vehicle. Not only that, my shooting had been controlled and precise. I had experience firing various types of weapons before, but this was like graduate school compared to kindergarten.

  Danger still hot on our tail, I held onto the pervasive calmness I was feeling. The car Marcello was in had taken the lead spot behind us. Even though I knew we needed to lose them, I did not want to shoot at a bunch of cops. At the speeds we were traveling, there was no way to tell how the car would react. Injuring or killing law enforcement was not an option at this point. Chase must have assumed this as he continued racing toward Las Ramblas at breakneck speed.

  As we approached Placa Catalunya, I checked to make sure the gun was secure in the waistband of my pants. It was a reflexive movement that felt natural.

  Marcello’s car was not gaining ground, but they weren’t losing any either. The first of the white polizia cars turned onto the road behind Marcello with its siren wailing and blue lights flashing.

  “Hold on!” Chase shouted when the road to Las Ramblas came into view.

  Chase took the corner fast and hit the gas, taking us onto Las Ramblas. The bike shot down the one-way street by the promenade. Pedestrians looked up curiously when they heard us zoom past at an outrageous speed.

  The sirens caused the vehicles ahead of us to pull over, allowing us to race past them. About halfway down the Las Ramblas, I risked a glance over my shoulder. They were close enough that I could clearly see Marcello in the front seat. He was looking directly at me. I was thankful for the helmet’s visor, which made direct eye contact impossible.

  “Ready,” Chase shouted the warning, which was barely audible.

  I braced myself as Chase slammed on the breaks in order to execute a hair-pin turn. The bike bucked as the rear tire left a streak of steaming rubber on the sidewalk. My entire body was alive with adrenaline as we were propelled across the esplanade. The vehicles behind us all came to a squealing halt.

  The bike moved awkwardly across the promenade. Pedestrians froze as they watched us narrowly miss them. The place he had picked to cross was more sparsely populated than other areas, but there were still a lot of people around. Behind us, several cops got out of their cars to follow us on foot.

  We cleared the far edge of Las Ramblas and turned onto the road. Technically, we were going the wrong way down this one-way street, but I figured that this infraction was relatively minor compared to what we had already accomplished today.

  One of the polizia vehicles tried to force it’s a way across the esplanade without much success. Two others shadowed us down the opposite street. The polizia on foot gave up the chase just as another motorcycle came streaking out of nowhere.

  The small red bike was gaining ground swiftly. Marcello was driving it with no helmet on. He must have commandeered the motorcycle from some onlooker. Now he was the only one in pursuit.

  Impressed, yet also annoyed with his persistence, I faced the front. At least now it was down to two motorcycles rather than the small caravan we’d had earlier.

  “Marcello is behind us on a bike!” I warned Chase.

  He nodded once in acknowledgment before taking a sudden left turn down a narrow side street. I held on tight, checking over my shoulder as Chase took a couple more turns in an attempt to lose Marcello.

  Marcello was pretty good on his motorcycle. It didn’t have the sleek power of the bike we were on, but what it lacked, Marcello made up for with precision driving and dogged determination.

  We were nearing the Barcelona Sants train station. Traffic was congested, so I wasn’t sure if he was going to try to lose him in the throng of vehicles, or if we would get trapped. I was prepared for whatever Chase would instruct me to do or for whatever inspiration might strike me on its own.

  Down the block in front of us, five tour buses were parked on the side of the road with a mass of tourists milling around them. I couldn’t tell if they were off-loading or on-loading. Watching the swarm of people so close to the station, I had an inkling of what Chase may be intending to do.

  Abruptly, Chase swerved wide around a few cars, aiming the bike directly at the tour buses. When we were almost on top of them, he curved the bike around the front of the first one, taking us into a small alley. He slammed on the brakes, bringing the bike to a jolting stop.

  I was off the bike almost before it stopped moving. Chase snatched the packs out of the side compartment as he removed his helmet. He fiddled with something on the motorcycle while I took my pack from him. Done with the bike, he hustled us out of the alley into the middle of the group of tourists. Chase led me through the crowd, keeping his head down.

  BOOM! A loud explosion rocked the area, startling everyone including me. The only person who didn’t react was Chase. He wove our way through the crowd in the opposite direction. A second explosion resonated off of the surrounding buildings. Thick black smoke billowed out of the alley where we had left the motorcycle.

  While the first blast had stunned bystanders, the second scared them into motion. The crowd was suddenly a stampeding herd of people. Chase allowed us to get swept up in the general movement of the crowd, but deftly steered us in the direction he wanted to go.

  I knew the explosion had come from the motorcycle we had abandoned. I wasn’t sure if Chase had put some sort of explosive on it, or if it had come rigged to explode if necessary. What I did know was that it was a heck of a distraction.

  Marcello pulled up next to the alley on the red motorcycle. He was talking into his cell phone as he put himself between the alley and the crowd. While he was talking, his eyes swept the surrounding area. I knew he was looking for me. Just as I was about to duck my head, our eyes met and his lips stopped moving. That split second of eye contact lasted a lifetime.

  For a millisecond I hesitated. Had I made the right choice following Chase? What if I wasn’t just an asset to Marcello? He had followed me all the way to Barcelona. Either he actually cared, or he was so overzealous about his job that he would do anything to succeed. What if the person who was really using me as an asset was the one who was leading me away from Marcello? A dread darker than any emotion I had felt before blossomed in my gut.

  My momentary indecision ended as abruptly as it began when the surging mass of people between us interrupted our eye contact. Without that visual connection with Marcello, the only real thing I felt was Chase’s hand gripping mine. My trepidation was replaced by the need to keep moving. Turning my back to Marcello, I followed Chase toward the near side of the train station. While most people were moving toward the scene of the explosion, we headed in the opposite direction toward a parking lot.

  With the chaos escalating all around us, Chase coolly walked up to a dark gray Volkswagen parked between two vans. Standing by the driver’s door, he fidgeted with some
thing in his bag. With everyone distracted by the mayhem from the explosion, we went unnoticed.

  In a matter of seconds, he had the car open. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he unlocked the passenger door. I slipped inside and buckled my seatbelt as he played with some wires under the dashboard. I was barely settled before the engine hummed to life. Shifting into reverse, he smoothly backed the VW out of its parking spot.

  Emergency vehicles arrived on scene as people loitered a safe distance from the alley. Clear of the billowing black smoke, Marcello was talking to some uniformed men. Chase directed the car through the parking lot to the exit furthest away from the action. He pulled onto the road, heading away from the train station.

  No one was following us now.

  The engine of the Volkswagen hummed soothingly as Chase calmly drove through traffic. The cool silence of the interior was blissful after the chaos of the high-speed pursuit.

  Now that we had evaded capture, I was starting to return to reality. The perfect calmness I had felt was evaporating. The shock and fear I had shut out earlier started to creep into my body despite my efforts to squash it. Chase appeared totally composed as he slowed for some pedestrians crossing the street. The change between the driving situations now and minutes ago was so absolute, it boggled the mind.

  I had been taken aback to see Marcello in Barcelona. I was completely shocked when he showed up outside of Park Guell. I was also flabbergasted by the tenacity with which he had pursued us. It was as if he had been possessed by some demon.

  The silence hanging between us lasted until traffic began to dwindle on the outskirts of the city.

  Chase finally spoke. “We’re heading to Lleida which is about 165 kilometers away. It should take about two hours to get there. There we can hop the high-speed train to Madrid where we can change trains for Sevilla.”

  “Is getting on another train the best plan right now?” I ventured.

  “The fastest way for us to get to Sevilla, with the smallest chance of attracting attention, is by train.”