Jake and Emma broke into a full run.
The Architect reached the boat.
Started the engine.
Emma shouted, “MI5! Stop!”
He didn’t even look back.
The boat lurched forward.
Jake didn’t hesitate.
He leapt.
His hand caught the railing.
The boat jerked, dragging him across the pier. His grip slipped—
Emma screamed, “Jake!”
He pulled himself up, muscles burning, and rolled onto the deck.
The Architect turned.
For the first time, Jake saw his face.
Calm.
Sharp.
Eyes like ice.
The Architect raised a gun.
Jake dove behind the console as bullets tore through the fibreglass.
Emma fired from the pier, forcing the Architect to take cover.
Jake shouted, “Emma — get on!”
She sprinted and jumped, landing hard on the stern as the boat sped into the river.
The chase was on.
The motorboat tore down the Thames, slicing through the early morning mist. The skyline blurred past — the Shard, London Bridge, the looming silhouette of the Tower of London. Water sprayed across the deck as Jake and Emma fought to keep their footing.
The Architect fired again, bullets punching holes through the console. Sparks flew.
Jake ducked behind the wheel housing. “Emma — flank him!”
Emma slid low across the deck, using the engine block as cover. The Architect pivoted, firing in controlled bursts — precise, professional.
Jake shouted over the roar of the engine, “He’s ex-military!”
Emma returned fire. “No kidding!”
The Architect dove behind a storage locker, reloading with terrifying calm. He moved like a man who had rehearsed this escape a hundred times.
Jake lunged forward, tackling him just as the Architect raised his weapon again. The gun skittered across the deck and splashed into the river.
The two men crashed against the railing, the boat swerving wildly.
Emma grabbed the wheel. “Jake, hold on!”
Jake and the Architect grappled, fists slamming into ribs, jaws, and shoulders. The Architect fought with surgical precision — no wasted movement, no hesitation.
Jake managed to pin him against the railing.
“Who are you?” Jake snarled.
The Architect smiled — a thin, cold smile.
“Someone who sees the world clearly.”
He slammed his forehead into Jake’s nose. Jake staggered back, blood streaming.
The Architect seized the moment.
He vaulted over the railing.
Jake shouted, “Emma — he’s going overboard!”
But the Architect didn’t fall into the water.
He landed on a second boat — a sleek black RIB that had been shadowing them silently.
A driver in a balaclava gunned the engine.
Emma cursed. “He had backup!”
Jake wiped the blood from his face. “We’re not losing him.”
Emma spun the wheel, sending their boat into a hard turn that nearly threw them both overboard. The engine roared as she pushed it to its limits.
The chase was on again.
The Architect’s RIB was faster — much faster. It skimmed across the water like a predator, weaving between moored barges and tourist boats.
Emma gritted her teeth. “He’s heading for Canary Wharf.”
Jake steadied himself. “He’ll disappear in the docks.”
Emma pushed the throttle. “Not if we cut him off first.”
They closed the distance, but the Architect wasn’t running blindly. He was leading them somewhere.
Jake frowned. “Emma… he’s not escaping.”
Emma glanced at him. “Then what is he—”
A flash of movement ahead.
A third boat — larger, armoured — swung out from behind a pier, blocking their path.
Emma’s eyes widened. “Jake—!”
Jake grabbed the wheel. “Brace!”
Their boat slammed into the side of the armoured vessel, scraping along its hull. Emma fired upward as masked operatives leaned over the railing, returning fire.
Jake shouted, “He’s got a whole team!”
Emma ducked behind the console. “This isn’t an escape — it’s an extraction!”
The Architect’s RIB pulled alongside the armoured boat. A rope ladder dropped.
He climbed.
Effortless.
Graceful.