The Yorkshireman ducked as Ramses finally turned, one hand resting nonchalantly on the wheel.
“You are already too late,” he said.
Drake struck up at Gator’s stomach, but the man danced back, still wielding his cumbersome weapon. To be fair it held the team back for an extra moment. Nobody wanted to get planted by such a meaty stick, but the inside of the ferry was a large space and gave Dahl and the others plenty of maneuverability. Gator snarled and swung around and then ran straight to Ramses, the terrorist prince now holding a semi-automatic. Drake noted the pack strapped to Gator’s back.
“You only delay the inevitable,” Ramses intoned.
Spraying the inside of the ferry with one hand, he amended the course a little with the other, targeting Liberty Island.
“You were never bothered about living?” Drake said, from behind a stanchion. “The bazaar? The castle? The elaborate plan to escape? What the hell was all that?”
“Ah, the bazaar was simply a — how do you say—‘clearout’ sale? A disposal of all my worldly goods. The castle — a goodbye and means to an end. You did take me straight to New York, after all. And the escape plan — yes a little elaborate I’ll grant you that. But do you see now? You’re already too late. The clock is ticking.”
Drake didn’t know exactly what Ramses meant but the implication was clear. Stepping out from cover, he sprayed the wheelhouse with bullets and ran in the wake of them, his team at his side. No more talking; this was his endgame. Ramses staggered back, blood fountaining from his shoulder. Gator screamed as rounds entered his body. Glass covered both terrorists in a jagged spray.
Drake smashed the door and then slipped, bouncing off the framework and skidding to an abrupt halt, cursing his luck. Dahl leapt over him, Kenzie at his side. The two entered the wheelhouse and raised weapons to kill. Ramses met them with all the force of a seven-foot-tall, muscle-bound madman, grinning like a feral, rabid dog; he barged and tried to fling them about.
Dahl was having none of it, standing up to the brute strength and absorbing all blows. Kenzie danced around them both, striking at Ramses’ flanks like she would a dangerous wolf. The radical prince pummeled the Swede. A shoulder barge made Dahl shudder. Immensely powerful hands gripped the Swede’s throat and began to squeeze. Bringing his own arms up, Dahl half-broke the hold and then took one himself; both men swaying and clutching until neither could breathe. Ramses swung Dahl around and slammed his back against a wall, but the Swede’s only reaction was to crack a wider smile.
Kenzie leaped into the air, raising an elbow that she brought down with crushing strength, right onto Ramses’ leaking bullet wound. Never expecting one blow to end such a struggle, she then followed up with a punch to the man’s throat even as he screamed, causing his eyes to bulge.
Then Ramses, staggering, covered in blood, pulled away, retching. Dahl let him go, sensing the end. The terrorist’s eyes latched onto the Swede’s and there was no sign of defeat in them.
“I will take this moment as one of victory,” he croaked. “And crush the heart of capitalism.”
He reached out as if to touch Gator.
Dahl fired in reaction. A round slammed into Ramses’ stomach, knocking him back.
Gator leapt and fell towards Ramses.
The terrorist prince managed to catch hold of the backpack strapped to Gator’s falling back, his outstretched hand gripping an exposed blue wire as they both collapsed.
Kenzie shot forward, targeting the arm that held the wire with the only weapon she kept close, the best weapon she had — the crude katana. Her blade chopped down swiftly, severing Ramses’ arm at the shoulder, wrenching a look of intense surprise from the terrorist.
The arm hit the floor at the same time as Gator, but the fingers still grasped the now exposed end of the blue wire.
“Failsafe,” Ramses coughed. “You were right to attack me in such a way. The clock wasn’t ticking. But…” A spasm wracked him, blood leaking fast from abdomen, arm and left shoulder.
“It… is… now.”
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Drake scrambled across the floor, rolling Gator onto his stomach as the madman giggled into the bloody deck. Dahl dropped beside him, pain, horror and foreboding written all over his face. The strap was buckled down, but Drake had it open in a moment and then eased the metal casing clear of the rough material.
The countdown timer faced them, its flashing red numbers as menacing and terrible as the blood that spread across the floor beneath their knees.
“Forty minutes,” Hayden spoke first, her voice hushed. “Don’t play with it, Drake. Defuse that thing right now.”
Drake was already turning the bomb as he had the last. Kinimaka handed him an opened utility knife, which he took to the screws, moving carefully, wary of the plethora of booby traps a bombmaker like Gator could put into play. When he had the device clear of the mad terrorist he glanced up at Alicia.
“Say no more,” she said, grabbed the man under the arms and dragged him away. For this kind of killer there would be no mercy.
With a steady hand, he removed the bomb’s front plate. Folded blue wires came with it, stretching alarmingly.
“It’s not a fucking pipe bomb,” Dahl whispered. “Be careful.”
Drake paused to stare at his friend. “Do you want to do this?”
“And be responsible for setting it off? Not really. No.”
Drake chewed on his lower lip, hyper aware of all the factors involved. The flashing countdown was an ever present reminder of how little time they had left.
Hayden called Moore. Kinimaka called the bomb squad. Someone else called NEST. All angles were covered as Drake took a look at the device, and information rapidly flooded in.
“Pull the wires again,” Dahl suggested.
“Too risky.”
“I’m guessing there’s no motion sensor this time judging by the way Gator was running around.”
“Correct. And we can’t re-employ your sledgehammer idea.”
“Collapsing circuit?”
“That’s the issue. They already used something new — a failsafe wire. And this bastard is the real thing. If I tamper with this it could go off.”
Gator made unearthly noises from the other room as Alicia worked. It wasn’t long before she stuck her head through the shattered door. “He says the bomb does have an anti-tamper switch.” She shrugged. “But then I guess he would.”
“No time,” Dahl said. “There’s no bloody time for that.”
Drake glanced at the timer. Already they were down to thirty five minutes. He rocked back on his haunches. “Shit, we can’t risk it. How long ‘til the bomb squad get here?”
“Five minutes tops,” Kinimaka said as choppers pounded down onto the ferry’s decks wherever they could. Others hovered just above as first responders jumped. “But what if they can’t defuse it?”
“How about throwing it into the bay?” Lauren suggested.
“Nice idea, but it’s too shallow,” Hayden had already asked Moore. “Contaminated water would saturate the city.”
Drake rocked back and forth, contemplating madness, and then caught Dahl’s eyes. The same idea was in the Swede’s, he knew. Through the locked gaze they communicated directly and easily.
We can do it. It’s the only way.
We’d be blind. Outcome unknown. Once started, there’s no going back. We’d be taking a one-way trip.
So what the hell are you waiting for? Mount up, motherfucker.
Drake responded to the challenge in Dahl’s eyes and straightened. Taking a deep breath he strapped on his rifle, holstered his guns and pulled the nuke free of the backpack. Hayden stared at him with wide eyes, a perceptive frown on her face.