He looked around for a place of shelter. Over at the other side of the tower there was an articulated lorry. He ran towards it, opened the passenger door and climbed into the dry cab. His clothes were soaked and the vehicle was being buffeted alarmingly by the winds; even so, it felt good to be out of the elements for a little while. He opened his bag and pulled out the small plastic case holding his satellite communicator. Switching it on, he started typing a message:
DEVICES PRIMED. INFORM ME OF YOUR STATUS.
He sent the message and then waited.
As he sat there, the mercenary considered the events of the past few hours. He had been informed that the plane containing his employer's targets had been infiltrated and had kept tabs on the progress of the aircraft using his surveillance systems. When the flight had disappeared from his screens, he assumed that the plane had gone down. But his employers wanted the refinery to be blown up with or without the boy in it, so he had gone ahead with his business. None of them could have predicted these storms, but he wasn't going to let that get in the way of a pay day.
He was a methodical man. Painstaking. He left nothing to chance. He had seen the plane disappear from his surveillance screen, but he had not yet received any confirmation that it had crashed. That was why he was sending his message. He would give the man calling himself Danny five minutes to respond. If not, he would have to assume he was dead. The mercenary would not mourn him — he'd just carry on with his job regardless.
He sat in silence, listening to the wind outside and imagining how he was going to spend his money when all this was over.
And then his satellite communicator beeped.
The mercenary's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected it at all. For all his Western ways, he had Danny down as a savage, a refugee from some distant land he had neither heard of nor cared about. How he had managed to survive a plane crash like that was beyond him. He looked down at the screen of the communicator.
EXPECT US WITHIN HALF AN HOUR. ITALIAN BOY IS INTACT. THERE IS ONE OTHER HOSTAGE. ADVISE RENDEZVOUS POINT.
The mercenary shook his head in disbelief. There was more to this guy than he imagined. He had fully expected to leave the refinery without the inconvenience of having to deal with his hostage. But now there was not one hostage, but two. He narrowed his eyes and sat there for a good few minutes while he collected his thoughts and constructed a plan. Finally he typed another message.
TAKE MAIN ROAD INTO REFINERY. THE SITE IS DESERTED BUT DO NOT LET YOUR GUARD DOWN. DON'T LOOK FOR ME — I WILL FIND YOU.
He sent the message and closed the communicator. It seemed like this was going to be more complicated than he thought. But that was OK. He could deal with it. The devices were ready — all he had to do was take delivery of the hostages, make sure they couldn't escape and then put enough distance between himself and the explosion to ensure that he wouldn't be harmed by the scenes of absolute devastation that would most surely follow.
Ben, Angelo and Danny were well outside Florida City now. The roads had once again become deserted. All was dark thanks to the power outages, the wind was slamming blindingly against the windscreen and Ben's tired arms were hurting from the effort of keeping the car on the road. He was desperate to stop, but he knew Danny wouldn't have it: the shotgun pointed directly at him made that perfectly clear.
Suddenly, however, there was a gust of wind that blew him completely off course. He slammed the brakes on to stop the truck veering into the side of the road that was shrouded in darkness. The vehicle skidded and turned a quarter circle on the wet road, coming to a sudden stop.
'What are you doing?' Danny yelled. His voice was a strange mixture of fury and panic. 'Keep driving.'
'I'm trying to stop us crashing, OK?' Ben shouted out. 'The winds are too strong — can't you feel what they're doing to the truck?'
It was a fair enough point. The vehicle was rocking from side to side.
'Anyway,' Ben continued, 'it's hard work driving this thing. My arms are in agony. I need a rest, otherwise we're not going to make it.'
Ben was just trying to buy time, and Danny could obviously tell. He looked at Ben suspiciously, and Ben fully expected him to force him to keep driving. But for some reason he didn't.
'You've got two minutes,' he said curtly. 'Then we carry on.'
Ben nodded grimly, then edged the truck to the side of the road. When the vehicle came to a halt again, there was an awkward silence. Ben tried to clear his mind. There was no way he and Angelo could fight their way out of this situation — not while Danny had a fully loaded shotgun. All he could do was try and talk their captor round, to appeal to a better nature that he was sure lurked somewhere under the surface.
Angelo had clearly come to the same conclusion, because it was he who broke the silence.
'I can speak to my father,' he announced, his voice frightened, desperate — yet somehow determined. 'He will listen to me. I can get him to make amends.'
Danny sneered. 'Unless he can bring people back from the dead, there are no amends your father can possibly make.'
Angelo looked down at his lap, crestfallen.
Ben breathed deeply. He was only going to get one shot at this, and now was the time. 'Tell me, Danny,' he asked. 'How come your English is so good?'
Danny looked confused by the question, but he answered it anyway. 'I have lived and worked in America for many years, always sending money back to my family. I have always longed to return, but I will do anything to make sure that they are well.'
Ben nodded with satisfaction. 'Years?' he repeated. 'I suppose, over that time, you've met quite a lot of people.'
Danny shrugged. 'Some.'
'Ordinary people. People with children.'
Danny didn't reply.
'They're the people you're going to harm, Danny, if you go through with this. You know that, don't you?'
Again, Danny kept silent.
'If that oil refinery blows, Danny,' he persisted, 'who knows how many people will die? The winds will make the fire spread. Perhaps even worse, they will spread the smoke. Smoke kills people. They may not die today, or even tomorrow, but it will kill them, Danny. Just ordinary families. Families with children.'
He paused.
'Children, Danny. Like your sister.'
Danny was breathing deeply now, and his breath was shaking as though he was trying to keep control over some pent-up emotion. He's got doubts, Ben thought to himself. He doesn't know if he can go through with it.
A particularly fierce gust hit the truck. They jolted in their seats and Ben waited for it to pass before he continued.
'You can stop this happening, Danny. You're the only one in the world who can stop it from happening. Think of the lives you could save.'
Another pause. Danny's face was stony-still.
'It's in your hands, Danny. It's all in your hands.'
Both Ben and Angelo were staring intently at their captor now, and he seemed unwilling to catch their eye. For a few brief seconds, Ben was deaf to the sound of the winds and the rain outside. Adrenaline pumped through him as he waited for Danny to speak.
But Danny didn't speak. Not yet. Instead, his communicator beeped. It sounded unnaturally loud as it punctured the silence in the car. Danny fumbled for the device and, without changing his blank expression, read the message that had just come through.
He gazed at it, and his breathing remained heavy.
'Think of the lives you could save, Danny,' Ben repeated hoarsely.
And then, slowly, Danny turned to look at him. His face was set, and he fixed Ben with a determined steely expression.
'Drive,' he said. 'Drive now. If you say another word, I'll shoot you.'