The Apocalypse Fire (Ava Curzon Trilogy Book 2) by Dominic Selwood

Author:Dominic Selwood [Selwood, Dominic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781911420163
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2016-10-31T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Rue Myrha

La Goutte d’Or

18e arrondissement

Paris

The Republic of France

PULLING THE APARTMENT door closed behind her, Ava turned and ran towards the far end of the corridor.

Whoever was watching would not be far away.

When she got to the last door, she saw what she was looking for – a sign marked Sortie de Secours.

She pushed the thin black horizontal bar, and the door swung open to reveal a metal fire escape.

Taking the steps two at a time, she landed in a narrow concrete yard filled with bins. Beside them was a shoulder-high metal gate, which she hauled herself over.

Ferguson was immediately behind her.

Up on the fire escape, a door slammed shut and someone ran out onto the external stairs.

Pulling into the shadows on the near side of the small street, Ava began sprinting back down towards the main road.

There was a good chance that whoever had been watching them also had the rear of the building under surveillance, too.

She powered down the street, unable to hear anything over the noise of her own footfalls and her heart hammering in her chest.

Now on the main road, she saw a taxi parked up at a rank around a hundred and twenty yards ahead.

Looking over her shoulder, she could clearly make out two men running after them. She could not tell whether they were armed, but she had no intention of hanging around to find out.

Ferguson had seen them, too, and together they sprinted for the taxi.

Up ahead, a couple was stooping to speak to the taxi driver through the open passenger window.

Arriving breathlessly at the car, Ava shouted an apologetic “Désolée!” at the couple as she yanked open the door and threw herself into the back seat at the same time as Ferguson piled into the front.

She breathlessly ordered the driver to get going, and the taxi moved off, leaving the bewildered couple staring at the disappearing car.

As they accelerated, the taxi passed the two men running on the pavement directly towards them. Ava ducked down, but not before she had seen the one in the lead spot her, and put a telephone up to his ear.

Once the car rounded the corner, she sat upright again.

“They saw us,” Ferguson announced, his voice deflated.

“They’ll have the number of the cab,” Ava acknowledged. “We need to get out of this one as soon as we can.”

At the next rank they changed taxis, and soon joined the great Boulevard de Sébastopol, heading south.

The name turned her mind to Durov, and whatever he – and the Kremlin – were up to.

It seemed fitting that they were speeding down a street named after one of the most decisive military actions against Russia. How many people passing up and down it, she wondered, knew of the ghastly siege of the great Crimean port of Sevastopol, when the English, French, and Ottoman forces fought for control of the home of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet? After eleven months of dreadful conditions on both sides, the Russians scuttled the fleet and blew the city up, then abandoned it.

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