Havoc - v4 (30 page)

Another RPG arced from behind the truck. Mercer watched its path as it slashed through the cold mountain air. Sasha Federov was behind one of the pylons and had just a couple of seconds to run before the rocket exploded against the metal stanchion. He was thrown fifteen feet by the blast, landing in a tangle of loose limbs, and when the smoke cleared he wasn’t moving.

Mercer fought to lift himself from the avalanche debris, tearing at the stones with his bare hands until his fingers bled. He heard the trucks’ engines fire. With Cali so far to the left, Poli had a clear path down the hairpin road to the railhead. The convoy would pass no more than twenty feet from Mercer, and if he didn’t get himself free he was dead.

Frantic now, he kicked and struggled, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. The trucks grew louder as they started across the facility. They fired barrage after barrage in Cali’s direction to keep her pinned. Mercer had seconds at most, and rather than loosening, the rubble seemed to be solidifying around his legs. What a stupid way to die, he thought fleetingly—standing thigh-deep in a pile of mine tailings so trained gunmen could use him like kids with BB guns going after soda bottles.

In one desperate heave he managed to free one leg. He lurched to his right, painfully wrenching his trapped knee to tear it from the earth. The lead truck rounded the massive pile as Mercer dove flat. His movements caused the heavy aggregate to shift again, and a small wave of rock slid down the mound and buried him under a foot of loose stone.

The trucks roared by, doing forty miles per hour, and while a couple of the terrorists noticed the rock slide, none saw the man hiding under the veneer of rubble. Moments later the vehicles turned down the first hairpin and vanished down the hill.

Mercer began to heave himself from under the rock, moving slowly because his body had taken a beating by the stones. He was almost free when Cali raced up to him, the two Russian scientists in tow. The man was catatonic, while the woman scanned the grounds warily.

Cali threw herself into Mercer’s arms, tears on her cheeks. “I thought you were dead.”

“The boy is,” Mercer said grimly, holding her tight. He wanted nothing more than to stand there forever, forget about Poli, the plutonium, and everything else and simply surrender to the embrace. Pulling his arms from around her neck took a force of will. “Sasha?”

“We haven’t checked.”

“See to him. I’m going after Poli.”

“How? They’ll have the barrels loaded before you get halfway to the train.”

Mercer looked over his head. “Like hell they will.”

He grabbed the RPG from where it stuck up from the tailings, checked that it hadn’t been damaged, and slung the long tube over his shoulder. The steady growl of the locomotive at the bottom of the valley deepened as the engineer made ready to pull from the ore depot.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to catch a train.”

The pylons supporting the ore chute had integrated ladders so workers could access the half-mile-long slide for maintenance. The metal was scaled with rust and the paint was badly flaked. With the RPG and an AK over his shoulder, Mercer climbed the ladder, wincing with the pressure of each step on his strained knee but thankful it would take his weight.

No sooner had he cleared the ground than he felt movement below him. Cali was climbing on his heels. He wasn’t going to make any chivalrous remarks. He could use all the help he could get.

The support column was eighty feet high and it took them nearly two minutes to climb. Their hands were cramped from the cold metal rungs, and Mercer’s eyes teared up because the wind was gusting to thirty miles an hour.

From the top of the stanchion they could see the ore-loading hoppers and the train far below, although their vantage wouldn’t let them see what was happening on its far side. The twisty road down to the depot looked clear. Poli would have had more than enough time to reach the rail spur.

Mercer helped Cali up onto the small platform next to the chute. “You sure about this?”

She threw him her trademark saucy grin. “As sure as you are.”

The chute was more than twenty feet wide, with curved sides to prevent ore from tumbling to the ground. The decades of rain and snow hadn’t rusted the metal. It was still bright from years of being polished by ore headed to the hoppers down below. Mercer repositioned the RPG so it was across his chest and cinched the AK-74’s sling around his arm before he and Cali climbed over the rim. The angle was steep and they had to hold themselves in place by planting their rubber-soled boots and holding on to the edge. Just before he sat, Mercer saw the locomotive lurch and heard the rail car’s couplings crash together as the train started to leave.

“Shit! Come on.”

When they sat, their view was blocked by the sides of the chute so it was like looking down a ski lift or a bobsled run. Mercer could feel gravity sucking at his chest as his eyes adjusted to the vertiginous scene. He took Cali’s hand and they eased their feet off the bottom of the chute. They began to slide immediately, slowly at first but the speed built quickly. Too quickly. Mercer tried to apply pressure with his feet to slow himself. Cali did the same and for a moment it was working. Then her shoe caught a seam in the metal chute and she flipped head over heels. As Mercer made to grab her, Cali careened into him and he too began to tumble out of control.

They somersaulted down the chute for fifty feet before Mercer managed to grab Cali’s collar. The move vaulted him over her prone form and he slammed into the chute hard enough to make it vibrate, but the maneuver stopped her from flipping again. Now flat on his back, Mercer eased his heels against the metal, careful to lift when he neared a seam, and had himself slowed enough to regain control of the slide.

“Are you okay?” he called over his shoulder, feeling Cali’s presence right behind him.

“I think so,” she answered.

“We’re almost there.” Mercer was glad she hadn’t asked about his condition. His back ached from the impact and he’d have a bump the size of an egg on his forehead if he survived the next few minutes.

They’d descended two thirds of the way to the ore hoppers, and now that they knew how to handle the slide, they rocketed downward, crisp wind whipping at their faces so their eyes streamed tears. With thirty feet to go, they could see the top of the train through the open hopper. It was still moving slowly but the last car was halfway through the loading trough. They had seconds or they’d drop twenty feet to the hard rails below.

“Hurry,” Mercer shouted and he and Cali took their feet off the chute completely.

They shot down the last section of the ore slide like arrows, the metal walls becoming a blur as they focused on landing atop the last rail car. Cali pulled slightly ahead.

The ore hopper was a long metal trough with steeply angled sides and an open bottom that allowed the crushed rock to stream into rail cars. Cali braced her feet when she reached the end of the slide, slowing herself just enough so when she was launched off the lip she didn’t crash into the far side of the hopper. The impact was still brutal, but she absorbed the blow and fell easily to the roof of the rolling boxcar.

Mercer had to contend with the RPG-7 as he came to the end of the chute, tugging the weapon back over his shoulder at the last second. He was in an awkward position when he shot off the end of the slide. Cali screamed his name. He slammed into the opposite side of the ore hopper, knocking the air from his lungs in a painful explosion of breath. He looked down to see that the rear of the train was almost past him. He pushed off from the hopper and fell through empty space.

His timing was a fraction off. He dropped clear of the chute and hit the very end of the boxcar, further bruising his aching ribs. With his legs dangling off the edge of the train, he struggled to find something to grab, but there were no handholds and he began to slide off. He looked down. Railroad ties emerged from under the car like an ever-lengthening ladder as the locomotive accelerated down the valley.

He slid farther, clamping onto the edge with just his elbows, his legs bicycling against the rear of the car as he fought to find purchase. He couldn’t support himself much longer—his body had taken too much punishment and he just wanted to let go. Instead he fought harder, kicking at the rear of the boxcar with his steel-toed boots, using his chin and the muscles of his neck to give him an ounce more leverage. Cali was running toward him. He had to hold on for a few more seconds, but he wasn’t sure he could.

A head emerged between their boxcar and the next one in line. Mercer saw it through Cali’s long legs. Then he saw a torso and an assault rifle.

“Behind you,” he gasped. Cali kept coming. Mercer managed another hoarse bellow: “Behind you!”

She barely slowed as she whirled around, flipping her Kalashnikov off her shoulder and under her arm in a fluid, almost well-practiced motion. She fired from the hip, sweeping across the gunman’s midsection, and continued to spin so she was still running toward Mercer. The three bullets that hit the gunman passed clean through, tumbling as they transited his body and tearing fist-sized chunks of tissue from his back. He fell between the two cars and hit the tracks.

Mercer glanced down as he felt Cali’s hands on his jacket collar. The gunman had landed across the tracks and the train’s steel wheels had sliced his corpse into three pieces.

“Hold on,” Cali panted, struggling to haul him back aboard the boxcar.

“If you insist,” Mercer said, knowing she had him. She heaved and he rolled over the edge of the car and onto his back, not caring that the RPG’s pistol grip was digging into his flesh.

Mercer gave himself just a second before getting to his feet. Poli wouldn’t just post one man to guard the train’s roof. And with the train continuing to accelerate down the valley, they didn’t have much time to stop it before it was going too fast for what he had in mind.

“Are you okay?” Cali asked. She’d seen Mercer wince when he put weight on his bad knee.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said grimly. “Come on.”

In a crouch they padded forward, and as they neared the coupling to the next rail car Mercer cautiously poked his head over the gap. It was clear. They leapt in unison and continued forward. The train was starting to vibrate as it sped past twenty miles per hour.

“Watch our backs,” Mercer said, fearful now that one of Poli’s men could still emerge from between the cars.

They leapt four more cars without seeing anyone and were a quarter of the way down the sixth car when three men began to climb up from between it and the next car. They spotted Mercer and Cali instantly. Mercer opened fire and saw an explosion of pink mist blow away in the wind as one of his rounds found its mark, but the other two men vanished back into the gap. Without cover, Mercer had to turn back and run. He grabbed Cali’s arm and they raced to the end of the car, scrambling down the ladder before the gunmen at the front of the car recovered. This situation was exactly what Mercer didn’t want. It was a standoff, and every second that passed meant the train was going that much faster.

He didn’t think through his decision. He just went for it. He handed Cali his AK-74 and hung the RPG from a tear in the boxcar’s skin. “Act like we’re both still here. Fire both weapons and weave back and forth so it looks like two people pinned here.”

“Where are you going?”

“Outflank them.”

Mercer ducked around to look up the length of the train. With the exception of the big door in its middle, the side of the railcar was a featureless wall of steel. The tracks ahead ran straight down the valley floor, boxed in by mountains on both sides.

“They’ll see you on the side of the train if they look around the corner,” Cali said, desperately trying to stop him.

“I know.”

Without another word, he climbed the rest of the way down the ladder and crawled onto the heavy coupling securing this car to the next. The tracks were only two feet below him, a blur of wooden ties and gray ballast stones. He ducked lower still and peered under the railcar. Beyond the bogie trucks that anchored the wheels was a series of girders and beams that gave the boxcar its strength. It would be difficult but not impossible.

Mercer moved the Yarygin pistol from his back into the front of his jeans and slung himself under the coupling. An occasional weed growing between the tracks whipped at his head. Ignoring the distraction, he reached forward and grabbed the bogie truck, feeling the power of the train’s engine through the cold metal. He shifted his weight, using the muscles of his legs and stomach to keep his body from sagging onto the ground, and slowly inched himself into the space above the axles.

He heard Cali fire a couple of shots as he eased himself above the whirling axles. Grease coated everything, but the railcar was so old it was sticky rather than slick. He flipped onto his stomach to jam his feet against one of the longitudinal beams and hold on to the other with his arms. Inch by inch he shimmied down the length of the car, his stomach quivering with the strain of holding his body in a shallow arch. The ground whizzed by a foot under his nose. He could no longer hear Cali because of the noise generated by the boxcar, but when he reached the forward set of bogies he caught the sound of the gunmen. He torqued a leg over the top of the bogie assembly, felt the axle spinning against his skin, and yanked the leg back. One hand slipped from the beam and for a precarious moment he was suspended over the tracks by one hand and a foot and felt himself tipping over.

Mercer scrambled to right his grip and keep his heart from exploding from his chest. He took a couple of breaths before trying again. This time his foot landed on one of the axle’s supports and he managed to awkwardly climb onto the truck. The front of the car was only a few feet away. He could clearly hear the men shooting back at Cali, precisely timed shots that made him think they had ammunition to spare.

He eased forward again and was reaching for the coupling when he felt the mechanism vibrate. One of the gunmen had jumped off the ladder and onto the coupling. Hanging one-handed like a gibbon, with his shoulder no more than an inch from the wooden ties, Mercer pulled the Yarygin pistol just as the gunman got on his knees to see if he could pull off the same trick Mercer just had.