Zero Hour Page 14

  Behind him, Joe Zavala stood in the doorway with a piece of cabinetry in his hands.

  Kurt snatched up the black pistol. “Way to make an entrance.”

  Joe grinned. “What I do, I like to do in style.”

  The leader was out cold, the other two assailants were moving but not interested in any more combat. They hadn’t expected to take a beating, and now that they were outnumbered and outgunned, they seemed more interested in surrender.

  Kurt pulled the mask off the leader. “Anyone recognize this face?”

  Joe shook his head, Hayley did likewise. “Never seen him before,” she said.

  “I figure they’re not our friends from the flooded mine,” Kurt replied.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The fact that we’re still conscious,” he said.

  A radio began to squawk in the downed leader’s pocket. “What’s the delay? We heard shooting. Do you need assistance?”

  This time, Kurt thought he recognized the accent. “Russians?”

  “That’s what it sounded like to me,” Joe said.

  “What are they doing mixed up in this?”

  “No idea,” Joe said. “But I saw another group of them heading to the back, where the caboose would be if this train had one.”

  “And at least two more outside,” Kurt said.

  Kurt aimed the pistol at the man with the busted face. “How many friends did you bring to this party?”

  The man answered slowly. “Eight or nine in the truck. I didn’t count ’em.”

  Kurt pointed to the Russian. “How many like him, the guys who did the hiring?”

  “There were four of them.”

  Kurt looked up. “That means at least three more with guns.”

  “And plenty of muscle to do the heavy lifting,” Joe added.

  “We have to get out of here,” Hayley said.

  Joe nodded. “The lady is a rocket scientist. We should probably listen to her.”

  Kurt couldn’t have agreed more, but how and to where? Going on foot into the outback wasn’t going to get them very far.

  The radio squawked again. “Victor, respond. What’s happening?”

  Kurt grabbed the radio and pressed the talk switch. “Victor’s not available right now, mostly because he’s taking an unintended nap. But please stand by, your call is important to us.”

  “What are you doing?” Hayley asked, her eyes all but bugging out of her head. “Now they know we’re here.”

  “They already know we’re here,” Kurt said. “Thanks to Joe, we took the first round. Time to go on the offensive, at least enough to throw a little doubt into their minds.”

  The radio crackled. “Screw with us, and you’re going to regret it,” the voice growled.

  “We’ll see about that,” Kurt replied. “Just so you know, I have your friend Victor’s gun, and, unlike him, I don’t miss what I shoot at.”

  Kurt figured that would give them something to worry about. He stepped outside and checked the corridor. Seeing it was clear, he motioned for Joe and Hayley to follow.

  He figured the group that went to the back of the train was now headed forward at double speed. He had a plan to slow them down. Making a few threats was the first step, finding the breaker panel at the front of the car was the second. He flipped it open just as the radio came to life again.

  “Leave the woman, and you get to live.”

  Kurt put his hand to the car’s master switch and spoke into the radio once more. “You want her,” he said, “then come and get her.”

  With that, he flipped the switch, cutting power and plunging the fifty-foot car into darkness. A wave of muffled shouts came from the passengers.

  Kurt ignored them and continued to the forward door, not hesitating for even a second. He pulled the door open and stepped through. Joe and Hayley followed. And all three stood in the gap between the cars out on the coupler.

  “I hope you have a plan,” Joe said.

  “Don’t I always?”

  “I’m not sure you want me to answer that right now.”

  Kurt studied the metal plating that covered the knuckle-shaped coupler below them. Next, he looked up, glancing through the dusty window into the railcar ahead of them.

  It was an observation car. Warmly lit, half full. The passengers inside were hunkered down in various places, hands on their heads, too scared to move. At the far end, he saw two more of the hijackers.

  “Check the sides.”

  Joe and Hayley peaked around the edges of the car, looking backward.

  “Our friend is still out there,” Hayley said. “He’s got a partner now. They seem to be ambling this way.”

  “There’s a guy on this side too,” Joe said, “also coming forward. Probably moving in lockstep with the men inside.”

  “Which means my plan is mostly working.”

  Joe’s eyebrows went up. “Mostly working? We’re almost surrounded.”

  “Exactly,” Kurt said.

  Joe looked confused. “I’m not sure I want to know what total success looks like.”

  “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 consideri
ng 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.

  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.

  Kurt flipped the radio back on, switching channels until he heard someone speaking.

  “. . . do not allow the train to pass,” another Russian-sounding voice was saying.

  Kurt broke in as soon as the frequency cleared. “Whoever you are in the truck, I’d move if I were you.”

  Kirov’s voice came next. “Driver, if you move that truck, I will personally cut your heart out.”

  Two hundred feet from impact, with the train beginning to gain momentum, the truck driver made a decision that split the difference. He threw open the door, jumped from the rig, and ran for the hills.

  “Didn’t see that coming,” Joe muttered.

  “Oh no,” Hayley gasped.

  “You have to stop now,” Kirov threatened.

  “Don’t stop,” Kurt told the burly Australian engineer.

  “No worries,” the big man said.

  “I really don’t want to be in a train wreck,” Hayley cried.

  The engineer looked at Hayley. “Don’t worry, love,” he said. “At this speed, we’re not really a train anyway.”

  The truck was only a hundred feet ahead.

  “What are we, then?” Hayley asked.

  The engineer grinned manically and held the shuddering engine’s throttle wide open. “The world’s largest, most powerful bulldozer!”

  There was something both inspiring and borderline crazy about the engineer. Either way, he wasn’t slowing down. And Kurt was glad for that.

  “Brace yourselves!” the engineer shouted.

  The last hundred feet vanished in ten seconds. The rumbling train thundered into the broadside of the truck, shoving it forward. The diesels alone weighed six hundred thousand pounds. The sheer power they were generating, and the weight of the entire train, made quick work of the truck, lifting it and then discarding it to the right as if it were made of tin.

  The impact was incredibly loud, a thundering boom followed by the wrenching sound of shredding aluminum. The feeling was like that of a ship breaking a large wave. The train shouldered through the blow with great power. The headlights blew out, and the windshield cracked, but the safety glass stayed in place. And when the last bits of the truck were finally tossed aside and sent tumbling down the embankment, the train itself was still on the tracks.

  • • •

  FOUR CARS BACK, the impact had felt like a sudden application of the brakes. Kirov and his partner had to grab the handholds to keep from being thrown to the ground. They saw the remnants of the truck thrown off
to the side and felt the train continuing on, accelerating smoothly once again.

  “How are we going to get into that locomotive now?” his partner asked. “They’ll be waiting to pick us off the second we open the door. If we can even get there, that is. There’s no door between the two engines. They’re separate units.”

  “Maybe we could go on the roof,” Kirov said.

  Even as he suggested it, Kirov considered the insanity of the attempt. He’d seen it many times in the movies, but he doubted it was really possible. To walk on a swaying train roof in a fifty-mile-per-hour slipstream was not really feasible. Crawling might work, especially if they got up there before the train picked up too much speed.

  Before he came to any conclusions, the sound of an announcement came over the public-address speakers.

  “This is Kurt Austin,” the voice said. “We’ve taken the train back from the hijackers and are resuming our regularly scheduled journey. To the passengers of the Ghan: we apologize for any inconvenience tonight’s festivities may have caused. A satellite link has been established with dispatch. They’ve been apprised of our situation and assure us that help is on the way.

  “To the hijackers who came on board during our unscheduled stop: if you want to end up surrounded by Australian SWAT teams and military units, then, please, sit back, relax, and make yourself comfortable. Otherwise . . . get off this train!”

  To Kirov’s surprise, a cheer went up from the passengers. It rang out through the compartment and echoed around him on all sides.

  He looked at his partner. “The tables have turned.”

  Both of them started for the door together. Ten seconds later, they were standing in the open space between the two cars, staring at the ground as it began to roll by at an ever-faster clip.

  One car behind, a man jumped and tumbled across the gravel. It looked to Kirov like an agonizing landing. Two more followed, doing little better with their dismounts.

  “We have to jump,” Kirov’s partner said.

  Kirov didn’t want to jump, but the alternative was worse. Capture followed by embarrassment, suicide, or imprisonment as a spy and a terrorist. He looked ahead for an open spot. “You first!”