The Genesis Plague (2010)

and zipped out perilously close to her scalp.
    ‘ Heeeeeeeeelp! ’
    In less than five seconds, she guessed, he’d be circling the car to close in for the kill. And there was nothing she could do about it.
    When Flaherty saw Dumbo-ears step up his pace and pull out a Glock, he pushed down hard on the Chrysler Concorde’s accelerator. The car fishtailed in the snow before finding traction on a patch of rock salt and shooting forward. The slight delay allowed the agile gunman to corner the museum and fire off two shots that kept the archaeologist pinned down behind her car.
    Christ, did he hit her? was all Flaherty could think. Then the guy dashed out in the roadway on Forsyth Avenue and managed a third shot.
    ‘No, no, no!’
    Sliding a wide right on to Forsyth Avenue, Flaherty fought the steering wheel to straighten the car on the slick road. He leaned on the horn and depressed the accelerator again. Now he had Dumbo’s attention. The guy planted himself in the centre of the street at twenty metres, levelled the Glock at the Concorde’s windshield.
    Dipping below the dashboard, Flaherty jammed down on the brakes while cutting the wheel hard to the left. The round thwunked into the passenger-side doorframe. The Concorde swung into a sideways skid, but the forward momentum kept it along a direct line for the shooter.
    Still low, Flaherty reached for his underarm holster and unsnapped his Beretta.
    There was a thump that continued over the car’s rear window, then trunk, that was certainly the gunman. Flaherty immediately popped up and saw the Corolla directly ahead. He braced himself for the impact. The huge Concorde’s bumper clipped the side of the Corolla and the car spun another ninety degrees so that he was now looking at the erratic tyre tracks he’d left in the snow.
    The downed gunman was already making a move for his fumbled Glock, his right leg hobbling from the car-jumping stunt.
    Flaherty threw open the driver’s-side door, thrust the gun between the V opening and pulled the trigger. The shot wasn’t well aimed, but it forced Dumbo to abandon the Glock and go scrambling for cover behind a concrete construction barricade that cordoned off the sidewalk beside the museum’s new American Wing.
    While keeping his eyes on the barricade, Flaherty reached across to the passenger door, pulled the handle, and pushed it open.
    ‘Brooke, it’s me, Agent Flaherty! Get in the car!’
    There was a sickening pause that had him wondering whether Dumbo’s third shot had found its intended target.
    ‘Brooke! Let’s go!’
    Finally, he heard feet crunching through snow. She bounded into the seat beside him then pulled the door shut.
    ‘Stay down,’ he told her.
    After confirming in the rearview mirror that the street behind him was empty, Flaherty pulled his door shut, shifted the car into reverse, and pushed down on the accelerator, spinning the tyres. As soon as the car got moving, he flipped the gun to his left hand, powered down his window, and hung his arm out.
    Sure enough, Dumbo jumped out over the barricade and began running at the car. Like every tenacious assassin, he was gripping a backup pistol. Flaherty immediately shot at him. His left-handed aim was lousy, and the assassin sensed it - didn’t break stride or deviate to either side, just kept coming.
    ‘Damn, he’s fast,’ Flaherty grumbled. He fired again and saw the round spit snow close to the assassin’s feet. He pushed harder on the accelerator, trying like hell to keep the car on a straight line. Another quick glance in the rearview showed that the intersection was directly behind. No time for a three-point turn. Blindly racing into traffic wouldn’t be smart, either. That meant another fancy manoeuvre.
    ‘Keep down,’ he told Brooke.
    Flaherty pulled his left arm in and jerked the wheel all the way to the left while at the same time easing off the gas. With the tyres grabbing nothing but ice and powder, the car initiated a wicked spin. At the ninety-degree mark, he cranked the wheel in the opposite direction and pushed down on the accelerator again. The timing was good, but the result was far from perfect. The car slid more than the 180 degrees he intended, caught the kerb and the snow heaped along it. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to stop the car from moving forward. Anticipating the assassin’s next move, Flaherty ducked low, pulled the wheel slightly to the right and gave it more gas.
    The rear window clacked three times in