Damn Yanks

Jack rolled to a halt as he landed atop the clocktower and looked around. MI18 would have his balls if he let a yank take another artifact out from under their noses.
“Howdy, partner!” The booming, confident voice sent disgusted shivers down his spine. He surveyed the suited and sunglassed figure hovering over the edge of the clocktower in front of him, “Chad Tankenson.” He saluted and flashed his pearly smile, “Mighty fine boots you got there.”
Jack glanced down at the Springheels on his feet, then looked at the heavy boots spewing fire from the bottom the American agent was wearing, “Same to you.”
“Thanks, they're experimental, strictly hush-hush, you know?”
“Which is why you're wearing them on a moonlit night over London, naturally.” Jack didn't expect the sarcasm to register, and his expectations were met.
“Listen, I'll make this quick,” Chad pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Jack, “Tell me where to find this fancy coin and then go home.” He cocked the gun.
“Fine, fine.” Jack held up his hands before him and calmly walked towards Chad. As he approached the roof's edge, he shifted his right hand into a V gesture and quickened his pace, running off the roof.
“Aw goddamnit!” Chad exclaimed, firing off twice in Jack's direction. Jack rebounded off a bank and swung around a lamp-post, trenchcoat flapping behind him, and heard the satisfying thunk-thunk of homing bullets missing their mark and hitting a wall. When he noticed he hadn't heard any more gunshots, he turned his head back towards the American agent, and he cursed under his breath as he saw him flying off in the opposite direction.
In a leap and a bound he was back on the rooftops following his trail. A dislodged tile almost sent him back to the ground, but he rolled into a recovery and dropped down onto the lower roof, regaining sight of Chad, standing on the roof of King's Cross station holding a golden coin, moonlight glinting off it. He took a moment to calculate the jump, then pushed off, flipping through the air over Chad's head and landing behind him with one hand on the coin.
“I presume you know the Rules?”
“Yeah, and I know since I got here first, ya snake, I get to pick the Contest.” The agent's features, behind the shades, had formed a scowl.
“By all means, go ahead.” Jack smiled.
“I'm thinkin', all right?” After a few moments, he snapped the fingers of his free hand, “How about a race, first to the top of your Big Clock Thingy-”
“Big Ben.”
“Whoever. First one there wins.”
“Works for me. How about we make it interesting. Wager my Springheels against your Aces and Eights.”
“You're on, limey. Prepare to get your ass kicked.” Beneath them, the roof began to rise, and the Tutamen Coin flew out of their grasp and rose into the air. Buildings around them shot towards the sky and the trees of St. George's Gardens grew to rival them. Big Ben itself climbed above the landscape and up through the clouds.  “By the way, it's 'prepare to get your arse kicked, yank',” Jack smirked. Both men prepared to leap.
Big Ben chimed.
Chad left the roof in a blaze of jet fumes from his boots, “Later, sucker.” Jack heard the six shots as he leapt from roof to roof, zigzagging in his path to shake off the homing rounds. Above him, he heard Chad laughing, and he ventured a look up from his path as Chad unloaded the gun again. Even if Jack didn't have to be dodging bullets, Chad's boots would be putting him ahead. He didn't have to land.
As the Gardens approached, Jack paced himself, waiting for the next round of shots. As he jumped into a tree, he waited and then jumped, glancing back to make sure they were behind him, then looking up to the sky for Chad. Pushing both his legs and the Springheels, he leapt for an extended branch that put him just in front of Chad, then leapt straight up, lamenting that he had no way of seeing the look of confusion on Chad's face as he sailed past.
Chad sagged in the air as Jack landed on his shoulders, “What the hell are you doin'?”
“Kicking your arse.” Jack looked down to confirm that his plan had worked. Four of the six bullets had followed him as planned, and he only needed one of them to stick the landing.
He heard the clang of bullet on metal, and then the sputtering of a malfunctioning rocket boot.
“Aw hell.”
As Chad began to plummet, Jack bounded off onto the next tree, then onto the roof of Great Ormond Street Hospital. The rest of the way, he took his time and enjoyed the supernatural night air. He plucked the wide golden coin from its place balancing on top of Big Ben's spire, and the familiar golden flash put him back on top of King's Cross, coin and revolver in hand.
He looked down at Chad, groaning on the floor, and rummaged in his pocket, “Here,” he flicked a point coin onto his stomach, “Get yourself a coke or something, you might feel at home.”