Page 59 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter forty-seven

Wolf’s rental car was idling against the curb when Tomas Beck’s warning hit the Neealaho.

Go in five blocks.

Wolf glanced at the stoplight ahead of him along the right side of the road. It was red. It needed to stay that color until he’d cut in line behind the fake ambulance.

Shutter the Abbey Road traffic light, at the intersection of Abbey and Albany, Wolf ordered through the Neealaho as he glanced in the rearview mirror.

A white Ford Fiesta barreled down the street toward him.

He twisted the Corsa’s steering wheel to the left, gunned the engine, and cut in front of the Fiesta.

Tires screeched behind him, followed by the blare of a horn.

Wolf shot up to the intersection and stomped on the brakes.

On it. Capland’s calm mind touched Wolf’s thoughts through the neural net.

Wolf relaxed. Thank the goddess. Their computer genius was back in play.

While Capland had hacked into London’s traffic system before the Citation landed and showed one of his subordinates which traffic lights to manipulate and how to shutter or activate them, Wolf hadn’t been certain Cap would finish his role in Nantz’s office before phase two of the aggress began.

The traffic lights were essential to the success of this aggress . Their refusal to cooperate would mess everything up. Having Capland on hand to sweet talk them was an enormous relief.

Two blocks to go , Joeseph Birch announced through the Neealaho.

Wolf leaned forward and looked to the right. A steady stream of traffic flowed past. Not quite bumper to bumper, but close. A dozen vehicles back was a yellow ambulance. Its flashers were on, but the siren was silent. He waited until the ambulance was almost upon him.

Hit the Albany streetlight now, Wolf ordered when the ambulance was two cars down.

The light turned yellow as the ambulance pulled up.

Winters gunned the engine, driving the vehicle through the yellow light.

The sudden flash forward caught the black Escalade—Nantz’s bodyguards’ SUV—off guard.

It lagged behind the ambulance, creating an opening.

Wolf gunned the Corsa forward, squeezing between the two cars.

Brakes squealed and horns blared. Ignoring the protests from behind, he crept up behind Winters. He was in position now to shut the entire lane down, assuming Mackenzie had the truck in position.

Two streetlights down, he saw the box truck on the right. It was second in line, behind another Ford Fiesta. Blue this time. He slowed the Corsa, allowing Winters to get further ahead.

Hit the light on Albany by Warren.

A couple of heartbeats later and the traffic light turned yellow.

Once again, Winters sped up, shooting through the intersection.

Wolf slowed down, coming to a stop as the light turned red.

The driver of the Escalade laid on the horn, one long, continuous scream of frustration.

But the stream of oncoming traffic, along with Wolf’s Corsa blocking the road in front, kept the SUV locked in place.

The ambulance continued on without its guards.

The Fiesta pulled onto Albany from Warren Street, followed by the bulky box truck. Wolf caught sight of Mackenzie’s hawkish profile as the truck squeezed in front of him.

Wolf’s lips stretched into a thin, satisfied smile.

There were three vehicles between the ambulance and Nantz’s bodyguards. Now they just needed to stall Nantz’s team long enough for the ambulance to disappear.

Two streetlights later, the truck suddenly jolted. Dense white smoke—courtesy of the smoke bomb his mechanic had attached to its hood—seeped from its engine compartment, tinting the air above. The truck jolted forward a few feet, the white smoke thickening into a cloud. Then it stopped dead.

The oncoming traffic hadn’t slowed, and the steady parade of people walking the sidewalk to the Escalade’s right prevented the SUV from climbing the curb and driving past the truck on the walkway.

When they’d devised the plan, Wolf had questioned whether Nantz’s bodyguards would take the sidewalk regardless of the danger to pedestrians.

But apparently, concern over retaining their driver’s licenses was stronger than concern over sticking close to their client.

Wolf inched up behind the truck and settled in.

Now it was a matter of keeping the car behind him blocked until Winters announced they’d reached the rendezvous point and moved to the escape van. This aggress was all but over.

The knot in his gut loosened.

Mackenzie remained behind the steering wheel, while Ollie hopped out of the passenger seat and headed to the front of the truck.

Once there, he’d pop the hood and pretended to tinker with the engine.

After Winters sent the all clear, Ollie would miraculously get the truck running again.

By then, the ambulance would be long gone.

Through the rearview mirror, Wolf watched the Escalade’s passenger door burst open.

A broad shouldered woohanta wearing a dark suit practically exploded from the SUV and charged the truck.

As he passed Wolf, he nudged his jacket open, exposing his holstered weapon.

The move was deliberate and threatening.

So was the death glare he’d locked on the driver’s door of the truck.

Everything from the woohanta’s reflective sunglasses to his black suit, tie, and shoes screamed bodyguard.

Winters should have abandoned Albany Street by now, in favor of a collection of side streets that would lead to the parking garage and their rendezvous point. They were minutes away from being in the clear.

Now that the aggress was all but finished, Wolf rolled down his window and settled back to enjoy the impending show.

Mackenzie was not one to allow bullying unless he was the bully.

Which made him perfect for this role. The woohanta charging the truck like an angry rhino was about to get out-assholed by the emperor of assholes.

Sure enough, the frustrated rhino skidded to a stop in front of the truck’s driver’s door and commenced screaming. Wolf could only hear a fraction of the bodyguard’s demands. Mackenzie thrust open the truck door and hopped down, squaring off against the enraged woohanta.

“Get…it out…the…” screamed the bodyguard.

“How…motherfucker... am I ….carry it?” Mackenzie roared back, his face darkening like a thundercloud. Tendons started bulging in his neck.

The skirmish escalated from shouting to shoving. Wolf frowned as the bodyguard reared back, his hand diving for the gun holstered beneath his armpit. Things were getting too heated. He’d given explicit instructions. No shooting. The last thing they needed was for Mackenzie to take a round.

Time to intervene.

Before he could exit the Corsa, the bodyguard pulled his weapon.

Mackenzie countered the move like a machine—he smacked the weapon from the woohanta’s hand, rammed his shoulder into the bodyguard’s shoulder, grabbed his wrist, and pivoted.

In two seconds, Mackenzie had his opponent’s arm pinned behind his back.

Then he slammed him against the truck—hard.

As the former commander screamed in his opponent’s ear, Wolf’s cell phone pinged. A text lit up the screen.

Transfer complete.

Ollie would have gotten the same message, which meant the truck would be operational at any moment.

Sure enough, Ollie stuck his head around the corner of the hood and yelled something.

For a moment, it looked like Mackenzie intended to ignore his instructions in favor of beating his adversary to a pulp.

That was the problem with hotheads. Their tempers often led them astray.

Not this time though. Mackenzie yanked the bodyguard back from the truck door, let go of his arm and shoved him hard enough to send the woohanta sprawling. Before climbing back into the driver’s seat, he swooped down and snatched up the abandoned gun.

Seconds later, the truck rumbled to life.

His face the color of a late summer sunset over Mount Denali—deep red, with hints of purple—Nantz’s bodyguard slunk back to the Escalade.

Wolf bent forward, concealing his face as the woohanta stalked past. When the truck started forward, Wolf’s Corsa fell in behind it.

Three intersections later, the truck took a right.

Six blocks later, Wolf took a left and watched the Escalade surge past him, no doubt on their way to St. Bartholomew’s, where they would not find their client.

He smirked at the thought.

He backtracked to the outskirts of London, where he’d rented the box truck.

Mackenzie and Ollie were already there, waiting for him.

After returning the truck’s key to the office and signing off on the remaining paperwork, he joined Mackenzie and Ollie in the Corsa.

They headed for the Citation, the cityscape of London getting smaller and grayer with each rotation of their tires.

The Corsa was scheduled to be collected and returned to the rental agency after the jet went wheels up.

“You trying to get plugged back there?” Wolf slid a glance toward the former commander of ST7, who was sitting in the passenger seat and tapping a war beat out on his jean-clad thigh.

The bastard stopped drumming long enough to shoot him the middle finger. “How about you worry about your role in the plan, and I’ll worry about mine?”

Since both their roles were already in the rearview mirror, Wolf let the jab go.

“Did Cap get hold of our clown’s hard drive?” Mackenzie finally asked, his fingers slowing and then stopping on his thigh.

“He did,” Wolf said.

“And Rawlings and Winters are on the way to the airstrip, along with our crews?”

“They are.”

A fifteen-passenger Ford Transit had been waiting at the rendezvous point in an unmanned parking garage.

He’d chosen the vehicle for its roomy interior.

After they’d removed the front bucket seats, the forward area had room for a prone Nantz, his IV drip, and his personal paramedic, aka Rawlings.

The back two rows of bucket seats would accommodate all his warriors assigned to scout and interference duty.

“Fuck.” Mackenzie suddenly sneered, his eyebrows bristling. “I’d love to see that motherfucker’s face when he realizes his boss is in the wind.”

For the first time that Wolf could remember, he agreed with the old umbretan. He would like to see that as well.

How long before someone stumbled across the missing ambulance in the parking garage? The building didn’t have an attendant, just a machine handing out tickets and receiving the money due. It could be days before anyone found it.

Which would give them time to hide their captive inside Shadow Mountain. There, while Wolf, O’Neill, and Aiden interrogated Nantz, Capland would expose every secret his laptop held.

Between the questioning and hard drive, if the Shadow Warrior was willing, they’d come up with the means to prevent the Wanatesa.