Zero Hour, стр. 30
“Complete encirclement,” Kurt explained. He glanced forward into the lighted Pullman car once again. “Finally,” he whispered, “a couple of heavies, coming this way.”
The approaching thugs moved slowly, checking each row of seats to make sure Kurt and Hayley weren’t among the passengers in the car.
“Congratulations,” Joe whispered. “You’ve now graduated from the General Custer School of Tactical Brilliance.”
Kurt smiled, reached over, and gently opened a trapdoor in the floor plating. The gravel and railroad ties of the railbed could be seen through the opening. “If Custer knew what I did, he’d have tunneled under Sitting Bull and popped up behind him. Crawl forward, quick and quiet.”
“And then what?”
“And then we hijack the train. Or rehijack it, I should say.”
“Hijack the hijackers?” Joe said. “Now you’re talking my language.”
Joe went down first, Hayley followed. Kurt squeezed his way through behind them, gently lowering the metal plate once he’d climbed down. He’d only crawled a foot or two when the door opened above him.
He held still as heavy footfalls scuffed and clunked on the decking.
The thugs were hesitating, either waiting for directions or a signal to make a coordinated attack.
“We’re in position,” a voice said.
Kurt’s hand went to the radio to cover it, but no sound came forth. The hijackers had switched channels to keep him from hearing their plans.
“Move in,” a tinny voice replied. “And make it fast. We’re running out of time.”
Through a narrow gap in the plating Kurt saw the door to the darkened railcar open and watched as the men entered. As soon as they did, Kurt began to move, scrambling forward on his forearms and knees, moving like a lizard on its belly. There were twenty-four inches of clearance between the axles of the cars and the track bed. It wasn’t much headroom, but enough to make the escape work.
Enveloped by the smell of oil, dust, and creosote, as the sharp edges of the gravel stones dug into his knees and elbows, Kurt moved with all possible haste.
He worried mostly that the men on the ground would spot him, but he needn’t have been concerned. The light spilling from the other railcars was bright enough to affect their night vision. From their vantage point, looking into the dark space beneath the train was like gazing into a black hole.
Kurt made it past the two bogies on which the Pullman-type car’s wheels rested, continued forward under the next car, and caught up to Joe and Hayley. She was struggling.
“Not exactly enjoying this part of the trip,” she said.
“At least you fit under here,” Kurt said. “This is a little tight for me. And considering the size of Joe’s head, I’m not sure how he’s avoided knocking himself out yet.”
Joe chuckled. They kept going and quickly reached the aft of the two diesel engines.
“Afraid we’ve run into a roadblock,” Joe said.
Kurt looked past them. There was much less clearance under the engine than under the passenger cars.
“These modern engines have the electric motors down on the wheels,” Joe explained, pointing. “The gearing too. Not to mention the fuel tank in the middle, and probably a cowcatcher up front.”
“You sure we can’t squeeze by?”
“Not a chance.”
Kurt frowned. If they couldn’t go under, they would have to go over or around. “If you were a hijacker in a locomotive, what would you be watching?”
“The engineer,” Joe said.
Kurt’s eyebrows went up. “My thoughts exactly.”
“What are you going to do?” Hayley asked.
Kurt glanced out behind them. The guards on foot still had their attention on the passenger car, but not for long. Due to the way the train had stopped on the curve, there was more space on one side than the other.
“We’re going to break in and surprise whosever in the lead engine. Hopefully, without having to do any shooting.”
Kurt eyed the foot patrol once more. As they turned toward the tail end of the train, he climbed out from under the passenger car and sprinted forward in the dark. He reached the lead engine and went up the ladder onto the catwalk, or sill, that ran the length of the engine like a running board on an old car.
Joe came up behind him, and Hayley followed quickly as well.
They eased their way toward the cab of the diesel. The throbbing of twin sixteen-cylinder diesels masked their approach.
Kurt reached the door, managed a quick peek inside, and saw exactly what he’d hoped to see: a single gunman with his back to the door and his pistol leveled at a burly man in the driver’s seat.
He put his hand on the door, testing the resistance in the handle. He felt pretty certain it wasn’t locked. He opened it with a start and stepped inside.
The hijacker didn’t react quickly. He turned as if expecting to see one of his kind. His eyes widened only when he saw the gun pointed at his head.
“G’day, mate,” Kurt said.
The hijacker hesitated and then handed the pistol over.
TWENTY
Victor Kirov woke to darkness and a pounding, migrainelike pain in his head. It took a moment, but he soon remembered where he was and what his mission required. The lights came on in the passenger car, and, seconds later, a group of his men dashed into the compartment.
“Where are they?” one asked.
“How should I know?” Kirov replied. “I was unconscious when they left.”
One of the locals who’d taken a beating pointed forward. “They went to the front.”
“We just came from there,” another guy said. “We never saw them.”
Kirov stood, angry and wobbly. He steadied himself. “They’re hiding. Check everywhere. Check the roof. Check the baggage compartments. Double-check every space.”
The men fanned out, looking nervous.
Kirov’s partner sidled up to him. “We’ve been on this train too long as it is.”
Kirov looked at his watch, having trouble focusing. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it didn’t matter. “I’m not going back without the woman.”
“This isn’t some third world country,” his partner reminded him. “The authorities will be coming here soon.”
Kirov considered this. It wouldn’t do to get caught out in the open with the lights on. It might require cyanide, a thought he wanted nothing to do with.
Suddenly, the train lurched forward. The sound and vibration of the diesels straining to pull the load could be felt.
“They’re in the engine,” Kirov said, heading forward.
“We’ll never get to them in time,” his partner pointed out.
“You forget: the truck is still across the road. This train isn’t going very far.”
In the cab of the forward diesel, Kurt was watching the door with one eye and the hijacker they’d surprised and subdued with the other. He could sense Hayley and Joe staring at the big truck in their path about five hundred feet away.
At first, the train was only inching toward it, but it slowly began to pick up speed. The thundering roar of eight thousand horsepower in the two locomotives beginning to win the battle over inertia. When they were four hundred feet out, the truck driver began flicking his lights on and off and blowing his horn. As if everyone didn’t know he was there.
“He’ll move,” Kurt said confidently.
“What if he doesn’t?” Joe asked.
“Would you stay there?”
“But trains derail,” Hayley cried. “Two hundred and fifty-three worldwide in the last six months alone. And not all of them hit trucks!”
Kurt looked at her sideways. “How would you even know such a thing?”
“I keep abreast of all travel-related accidents,” she said, “to remind myself why I stay at home.”
At three hundred feet, the train’s blazing headlights began to light up the broadside of the big truck. The driver could be seen blocking the light from his eyes.