Mendoza peered over Soto’s head to get a better view of the man. It couldn’t be the Englishman, could it? They had left him behind at the U-Bahn station, and maybe even shot his friend. There was no way he could be on board this train, so maybe it was an official of the company, he thought. No, not dressed like that — black jacket, old scruffy jeans… Mendoza narrowed his eyes and reached inside his pocket for his gun.
Maybe it was an off-duty policeman… no — not the way he was looking at him. He didn’t know and wasn’t taking any chances. It was bad enough that in the chaos of the attack back at the hotel Kruger had kept hold of the idol, and now this.
“We’ve got company — don’t turn around.”
“Who is it?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, but whoever he is, he’s seen me before.”
“How do you know?”
Mendoza ran his fingertips over the scar on his face. “I know when someone sees me for the first time, believe me.”
The man in black introduced himself by pulling a sleek pistol from inside his jacket.
“Get your hands where I can see them, Mendoza!”
Up close now, and with the accent, neither Mendoza nor Soto had any doubts about the identity of their assailant.
Hawke.
But how?
Mendoza reached for his gun and Hawke began firing at them. The shots rang out loudly in the small compartment. “Stay where you are.”
Mendoza thought not, and he fired back forcing the Englishman to dive for cover behind some seats at the back of the carriage. A second later he was returning fire, and the bullets ripped through Aurora’s seat and shattered the safety glass window. Hot, diesel-air rushed into the carriage and the roar of the train in the tunnel was almost deafening. At the far end of the compartment, the business couple leaped to their feet and tried to run, but Mendoza spun around and killed them both with two well-aimed rounds before turning back to Hawke at the other end of the carriage.
“Hawke!” Mendoza hissed. “You will die for killing my brother!”
“Your brother was killed by Juana Diaz, Silvio.”
“Lies!”
“Just hand over the idol and all you will face is custody.”
Hawke looked into their panicked eyes and wondered if they would ever give themselves up, but the two fresh corpses on the compartment floor told him all he needed to know.
“You want the idol?” Mendoza said. He started to laugh nervously and then began firing indiscriminately at Hawke’s end of the carriage. Overhead the ghostly white light began to flicker as the train swung around another corner.
Hawke returned fire. He fired over their heads, still hoping to take them alive, but then a bullet from Soto nearly hit him and he knew he had to take them out. He fired again and struck Aurora’s shoulder. It ripped through her jacket and she screamed as the round grazed her flesh and buried itself in the wall behind her head.
“You bastard!” Mendoza screamed. “First my brother and now my woman.” He felt the rage rise in him as the smoke drifted out of Hawke’s muzzle. Who was this man to hound him and try and kill everyone he loved? Who was this man to threaten him and take pot shots at his woman? The smell of burnt gunpowder mingled with the scent of Aurora’s perfume.
“All right, fine…” Mendoza said. “I’ll get the idol for you.”
“Drop the guns.” Hawke kept his cover and they all swayed with the turns in the tracks. “And make it slow.”
The Mexican cartel boss nodded as he and Soto lowered their guns and then he reached into his pocket. Aurora’s eyes flicked over to him. She knew what was about to happen and a second later her hopes were proved right when Mendoza pulled the switchblade out of his pocket and threw it at Hawke. Its aim would have been deadly in its accuracy, with the high-velocity blade burying itself in the Englishman’s neck were it not for a violent jerk in the train as it ran over some points and turned just as the blade left his hand.
The knife missed Hawke’s throat by an inch and struck the wall behind him, clattering to the floor beside his boots.
“Playtime over, Mendoza,” Hawke said, bringing his gun into the aim.
“Run!” Mendoza screamed in Spanish, and kicked open the door behind them.
Aurora obeyed, darting through the compartment door a step ahead of the cartel boss. Mendoza turned to follow her but Hawke rugby tackled him to the ground and they landed with a crash on the hard floor. The Englishman raised his gun, but the Mexican grabbed his wrist and smacked it down on the floor in an attempt to knock the weapon out of his hand. In the struggle they rolled over and now Mendoza was on top and didn’t intend on losing the advantage again.
Hawke retained his grip on the gun, squeezing the weapon so hard he pushed the blood out of his knuckles, but Mendoza didn’t give up, smacking his hand down a second and third time. The former SBS man released the gun but brought his other hand up and punched the Mexican in the jaw at the same time. Before he could recover, Hawke brought his knee up and wedged his boot in Mendoza’s stomach, forcing him back and kicking him away.
Hawke scrambled to his knees and reached for the gun but Mendoza caught his drift early and sprinted forward again, powering a ruthless kick into his face, blasting him back and almost knocking him out.
Mendoza kicked the gun away but snatched up his knife. This one was for gutting, he thought, and leaped over to the Englishman, blade raised above his head. And it wouldn’t the first time he had gutted someone, either.
But Hawke was fast, rolling over and jumping to his feet. He snatched up his gun and Mendoza knew better than anyone that you never brought a knife to a gunfight so he darted out of the compartment, and found himself in the gangway connection dividing two of the carriages. He opened the door and clambered outside.
Hawke saw him go, and he followed knowing he had the upper hand. The Mexican was on the run. He watched him sliding along the outside of the train with the deft agility of an acrobat, and then climb up onto the roof.
He knew it meant more of the damned tunnel, but Hawke stuffed the gun in his belt and followed the man up to the roof. Outside the high-pitch roar of the diesel engine mixed with the ka-chang-ka-chang sound of the wheels flying over the rails’ fishplates and created a confusing chaos. Hawke’s hair whipped around madly as he climbed up to the roof, but his journey nearly ended when Mendoza kicked him hard in the face. He was lying on his back because of the height restriction caused by the roof of the tunnel, but he was able to bring his boot forward with enough force to deliver a solid strike to Hawke’s face.
Hawke fell backwards, gripping a ridge of steel running along the top of the train with his right hand as the force of the wind rushing past him pulled his left side back and clawed at his grip. He fought the velocity of the rushing air and brought his left hand back to the ridge, but now Mendoza brought the heel of his boot down on his fingers. Hawke released his hand with the pain still throbbing in his fingers and immediately swung backwards with the force of the air blasting into him.
With no warning the tunnel opened up and they were racing into a large station. Mendoza clambered to his feet ready to deliver the final blow to Hawke but the Englishman was ready for him. He fired at the Mexican one-handed while hanging on to the train with his other hand, and struck him in the shoulder.
Mendoza stepped back, reaching up to check his wound. He grinned like a devil as the cold air of the station whistled around him, flicking up his black hair and rippling his shirt. He heard Aurora yelling, and turned to see her at the other end of the carriage, climbing onto the roof.
Hawke was dimly aware of the barking tannoys and then travellers running from the platforms to the exits, but his attention was on the two targets in front of him.