Westbound on Rue Froidevaux - Paris, France
20:20 Local Time, Wednesday, 11 April 2012
“The easiest escape route would be to head northwest, down along the Rue Froidevaux. From there, the Rue Jean Zay would be the most likely route, but who knows where these terrorist might go…” von Bowman stated coolly.
"We will just have to stop them before that then." Alt concurred in speech and action as his foot slammed on the gas pedal.
Gaining on the white van, the Civic swerved around an enormous, horning blaring Isuzu C/E-Series Mark II. As the van revealed itself twenty or so yards from in front of the truck, a clear straightaway appeared ahead of the two operatives. The sports car shot down the Saint-Jacques onto the Rue Froidevaux, creeping up on the enemy vehicle. Rapidly approaching the white escape car, Alt accelerated, causing the Civic to drive within ten feet of the Nezak’s rear bumper.
“Hold on!” shouted Alt as he nudged the accelerator, positioning the Civic’s right front bumper with the van's rear.
Skillfully twisting the steering wheel, the sports car jabbed the van. Then, the van spun out, circularly skidding in front of the car’s forward bumper. Abruptly, the van switched into reverse and started to gun down the Rue Deparcieux. The sports Civic growled as it followed the van down the road. As the roadway narrowed up ahead, Alt stepped on the accelerator, coming up on the right side of the van. Scanning out of the windshield, Othmar’s eye caught the glint of a metallic object, a hand gun, emerging from the driver’s side window of the van. Before von Bowman could warn his counterpart, the Civic collided with the van. The operative’s rounds tore through the driver’s side mirror of the sports car, fortunately not injuring either of two.
About as fast as summer lightning, the van sharply oscillated off balance and flipped, crashing into the floral park at the end of the street. The van halted. Its cabin smoked profusely. The Nezak were now trapped. Thrusting his door open, Othmar stepped out of the Civic and drew two throwing knives from his sleeve. Virtually resting on its side, the white van steamed in absolute silence. It was quite, too quite. Intently making every step silent, von Bowman cautiously moved towards the flipped van, scanning around the perimeter for any signs of danger.
"Do you see anyone Watcher?" Styx called, approaching slowly from the left.
“Negative,” Othmar whispered, “I’ll advance around the back of the van, you move over to the side door…”
Both soldiers slowly but surely reached the white van in deafening quietude. Circling around the vehicle, Othmar’s nerves started to tingle as he inched towards the back doors. Grey smoke thickened the air around the soldier with the repugnant smell of gasoline filling his senses. His breathing began to labor; his palms commenced sweating around the high carbon stainless steel, double-edged throwing knives. While shutting his eyes momentarily, Othmar whispered a prayer. Now within reach of the door, Othmar silently placed his hand on the rusted door handle from the left side of the van.
“Opening the back door,” breathed Othmar through his communication device, “in three… two… one ”
As soon as the last word annunciated from his mouth, the sound of a metallic object rolling against the cement could be heard from behind him. Glancing back, the distinct, circular, silhouette of a grenade could be seen resting two yards behind him.
“Grena…” screamed von Bowman as he hurdled himself away from the explosive. A thundering discharge of metal and earth engulfed the street in an ear-piercing bang.
The force of the explosion sent Othmar tumbling across the grassy park.
A ringing pandemonium gripped his ears.
Blackness covered his eyes.
Unconsciousness set in.