‘Train a hundred yards ahead,’ Kolchinsky said into his mouthpiece.
Graham unlocked and opened the hatch, flooding the cabin with a rush of glacial air. After checking that one end was securely bolted to the cabin floor he flung the rope ladder out through the open hatch. He looped his hand through the wallstrap and leaned forward precariously, trying to catch a glimpse of the train. He could vaguely make out its outline in the helicopter’s dimmed undercarriage lights. It was at least sixty feet below them.
‘I’m going to need more light,’ he said.
‘Look in the black box behind you, there should be a Halolight in there.’
Graham undipped the box lid and opened it. He found what he was looking for. A disc-shaped light attached to a leather headband which could be adjusted according to the wearer’s specification. It had been created in the UNACO laboratories along the lines of the Davy lamp. He fitted it around his head then ensured the light was positioned in the centre of his forehead.
‘Ready,’ he said, moving to the open hatch.
There was a brief silence before Kolchinsky spoke. ‘Altitude thirty-eight feet. Ready.’
Graham turned his back on the open hatch and took a firm grip on the section of rope ladder lying on the cabin floor. He stepped out into the bitterly cold night air. Although the wind was negligible the rope ladder was swaying from side to side due to the concentrated buffeting of the rotors above him.
‘How are you doing?’ Kolchinsky asked.
‘The rotors are whipping up a bit of a hurricane out here. No chance of switching them off, I suppose?’
He heard Kolchinsky’s chuckled response in his earpiece.
Each step was a carefully planned manoeuvre, easing his foot off one rung and on to the next where he had to feel for the right grip before committing himself. There was an element of cautious apprehension in his movements, but no fear in his eyes. He had long since come to regard fear as man’s most negative characteristic. With fear came hesitancy, stupidity and uncertainty, any of which could cost a life. He had witnessed it countless times on the battlefields of Vietnam where he had come to learn so much about himself. He regarded fear as nothing more than a chimera and the only way to negate it was an absolute belief in one’s own ability. It was a principle he had carried over into his training of Meo tribesmen in Thailand after his injury in Vietnam. His critics accused him of brainwashing his troops with little consideration for human life, especially when it was revealed he used live ammunition during the weekly obstacle course. His answer had been simple. The only way to combat fear was to confront it, and believe enough in oneself to overcome it. Figures released after the war showed that over a two-year period his troops had not only suffered the least casualties but had also been awarded the most medals for bravery out of all the Meo battalions in Thailand.
His only regret was that the figures hadn’t been released any earlier. Most of his critics were dead, the victims of the fear syndrome he had tried so hard to make them understand.
The ladder was swaying wildly by the time he reached the halfway point. He could see a couple of lights further down in the train, presumably in the coaches, but the front of the train was shrouded in a veiled mist as the first light suffused the distant horizon. Carrie had always maintained there was nothing more beautiful than a New York sunrise. He had disagreed.
Beauty to him was the symmetry of the perfectly delivered curved ball in baseball or the angled precision of a flawless touchdown pass in football. He put those thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the next rung of the ladder. The train was less than ten feet away and he was already planning how he would land and get to the bulky padlock securing the door on the side of the freight car.
‘Michael, I’m picking up something on the radar, dead ahead.’
The powerful spotlight underneath the helicopter illuminated the whole train. They both saw the stone bridge thirty yards away.
‘Take me up!’ Graham shouted into the mouthpiece.
‘I’m going down,’ Kolchinsky replied and dipped the helicopter towards the roof of the rear freight car.
‘It’s too dangerous–’ Graham started, then felt his dangling legs touch the roof.
The helicopter tilted and the rope ladder swung away from the freight car. As the momentum swung him back over the car he let go, landing heavily on the roof.
Kolchinsky immediately nosed the helicopter upwards, desperately trying to avoid the bridge.
He couldn’t clear it in time and the right landing pad struck the stonework and buckled. Stones and masonry tumbled on to the track below as part of the bridge disintegrated from the force of the impact. He managed to regain control of the helicopter but there was a grating sound emanating from one of the Rolls-Royce turboshaft engines and seconds later black smoke began to pour out from the upper fuselage where they were located.
Graham had fallen heavily on his shoulder and instinctively grabbed on to a ridge in the freight car’s roof. It had saved his life. Had he rolled off the roof he would have been flung against the steel stanchion erected to support the reinforced archway. He lay on the roof, momentarily winded, his face screwed up in agony as the pain throbbed through his left shoulder. ‘Michael! Michael!’
He winced as Kolchinsky’s raised voice seemed to reverberate through his head. ‘Michael!’
‘Stop shouting,’ Graham shouted.
‘Are you all right?’ Kolchinsky asked anxiously.
‘I’m alive. My left shoulder hurts like hell though.’
‘Abort–’
‘Forget it,’ Graham snapped.
‘What chance have you got against Milchan with an injured shoulder?’
‘I’ll shoot the son-of-a-bitch, it makes no difference. I’m going in.’
‘One day you’ll surprise us all by actually obeying an order.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Graham replied. ‘What happened to you? I heard a bang as I went under the bridge.’
‘I hit it. I’ve had to land in some field, the engine’s damaged.’
‘And you?’
‘Whiplash, that’s all. If your shoulder’s bad I want–’
Graham didn’t hear the rest. He pulled the headset out from under the balaclava and tossed it away. He realized he was sitting in the dark and flicked on the switch of the Halolight.
Nothing happened. If it had been damaged he knew he could forget about trying to get into the freight car until daybreak. He gave it several taps with his forefinger before it finally came on.
As he moved, a sharp pain shot through his left arm and he pulled it protectively against his body. He waited until the throbbing subsided then made his way to the edge of the roof where he grabbed the top rung of the metal ladder and began to descend the side of the freight car.
Despite the almost unbearable pain in his shoulder he managed to reach the padlock and attach a small magnetized transmitter to it before climbing back up to the roof. Once he was there he removed a matchbox-sized detonator from a pouch on his belt, extended the aerial and turned the dial to the transmitter’s wavelength. There was a muffled explosion as the padlock was destroyed. He was reaching for his Beretta when Milchan’s massive hands appeared on the top rung of the ladder. A moment later his horrendously disfigured face appeared above the level of the roof. Milchan grabbed Graham’s and jerked it sharply. The bullet went wild. Milchan chopped his wrist and the Beretta tumbled from his hand then slid agonizingly slowly down the side of the sloping roof. The butt snagged on the raised ventilator.
Graham ducked a wild punch and made a grab for the Beretta. The train jolted over a fault in the line and the Beretta came free. His fingers raked the roof in desperation only inches from it and he cursed as it slid over the side. He swivelled round to face Milchan, his left shoulder now a constant source of pain. He could barely move his left arm; it seemed dead as it hung limply at his side. This only added to his anger and frustration. He lashed out sideways with his foot, catching Milchan on the side of the face. Milchan dabbed his bleeding lip with the back of his hand then grinned. Graham lashed out again but this time Milchan grabbed his foot and pulled him effortlessly towards the ladder.