CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Speed is our ally,” Hayden said. “The terrorists won’t pull the trigger until they find the Dagger of Nemesis. Maybe even until Dallas, where there’ll be more people, more cover. Oh, and give these fuckers the same mercy they’re offering all the people on that train.”
She leapt out of the helicopter, boots coming down on the roof of the moving train. She wobbled at first, then gained purchase, suddenly aware of the rushing air and fast-moving countryside to left and right.
“Are you okay?” she yelled, approaching the single captive who’d been left behind. The man was shivering, sat with his back to her, the weight of the trauma he’d experienced already haunting his eyes. Hayden passed him back to Dahl, Smyth and Molokai, down the line, past Yorgi, and back to the chopper. It was the safest place for him right now. In the end, he didn’t dare climb onto the moving chopper so Kinimaka simply reached down and hauled him up.
Hayden was moving across the top of the train. The steel was slippery, but her boots held. A stanchion of lights whipped by to the left, a row of houses to the right. Her eyes had already dried out from the rushing wind. She approached the edge of the carriage, seeing adjacent rusted railway tracks flashing past to the side like an endless, undulating snake and hearing nothing but the roar of the train.
Reaching down, crouching, she balanced herself on the tips of her fingers and peered over the edge. A face loomed. The terrorist she’d seen running away had been lying in wait. In addition to the bomb-vest, he held a knife which he thrust up at her face. Hayden felt the metal slice her jacket at the shoulder and instinctively rolled, catching herself at the last moment before falling off the train.
She grabbed the forward edge of the top of the carriage, fingertips exposed to the knifeman but with no other option of hanging on.
Dahl shouted, standing over her and peering down. He engaged the man’s attention, allowing Hayden precious extra moments. The knife flashed up once, twice, Dahl dodging both attacks. On the third lunge the Swede reached down past the wrist, grabbed it, and simply hauled the attacker up. He came screaming and kicking. Dahl flung him back along the train, right to Molokai’s feet.
Hayden felt one hand come loose, and screamed.
Dahl lunged across her, his weight pinning her to the top of the train.
Molokai followed Hayden’s earlier advice and kicked the terrorist hard until he rolled, screaming, off the top of the train, falling, tumbling with limbs akimbo before hitting the side of a passing meter box. Cambridge would already be sending his final resting place covertly along to his contacts.
Hayden couldn’t breathe, crushed by Dahl. She didn’t care, since that was all that was keeping her from taking a nose dive off the top of the train. The wind whistled by as she wondered just how long Dahl could balance his body on top of her as the train took its snaking high-speed path toward Dallas central.
Someone grabbed her ankles, and then Dahl’s weight was removed. She looked back to see Molokai pulling her to safety.
There was no time for appreciations.
“Six left,” Hayden said. “Let’s get down there.”
“Six that we know of,” Kinimaka reminded everyone. “The people going for the dagger may be dressed in civilian clothing.”
Hayden was first back to the edge of the train, never one to be daunted by anything. She remembered being shot in the back during the Blood King’s night of vengeance, an act which only forged one more layer of iron over her already resilient will.
They climbed down into the space between carriages, feeling grateful for a sudden end to the terrible buffeting. They knew the last carriage would be clear and that there was a terrorist halfway along the coach in front of them with a Smith and Wesson, a military blade, a bomb-vest and a hand grenade, according to Cambridge’s extensive Intel.
“Fast and true,” Hayden said. “Who’s got the best shot?”
Dahl slid past her. “I’m surprised you have to—”
“I do,” Molokai said. “Sniper.”
Dahl blinked, not having factored Molokai into his opinion.
Hayden pushed the Swede. “No time, just do it!”
Molokai crouched, put his hand on the handle and nodded at Dahl. One second later the Swede was ready and nodded back. Molokai swung the door open, Dahl stepped through and lined the terrorist up with a hair-trigger.
Forehead square-on, shocked features frozen for just an instant in time, the true knowledge of his terrible fate suddenly very much registered upon his face.
Dahl fired. The terrorist’s head whipped back, blood spraying those nearby and the side windows. The man fell dead in the aisle, no longer moving. Heads turned toward the newcomers as the screams started.
Dahl shouted above them all. “Be quiet! Go to the back of the train. All the way and then hang on to something. Close the doors. Go! Now!”
They moved aside as passengers surged by, many nodding gratefully. Hayden knew even if she pleaded and begged or ordered them to stay off social media that there was no chance of compliance. Some people just couldn’t help themselves, even if it put their lives at risk.
The carriage was now empty. Hayden moved quickly along its length, knowing that even if the terrorists could communicate they couldn’t be sure of the insurgents’ exact position. Of course, that depended on the smarts of the guy in the next carriage.
He was peering through the glass, looking straight at them.
Dahl didn’t hesitate, just charged like a wild animal, shoulder first, at the connecting door. It didn’t stand a chance, its hinges shattered; and neither did the terrorist on the other side. Both flew backward, and into the air arced a gun and a hand grenade.
Dahl collapsed face first onto the door with the terrorist pinned underneath. Hayden was barged aside by Molokai as he ignored the gun and lunged headlong to catch the grenade on its way down. She recovered quickly, seeing the gun land unluckily close to the terrorist’s grasping hand.
Molokai caught the grenade. Hayden picked up the gun.
Dahl rose up with the heavy door in hand, and slammed it down twice onto the terrorist until all movement stopped.
Hayden stared up the length of the carriage.
“Wait,” she told everyone. “Don’t move until we say, then run to the back of the train.”
No point repeating the same mistake twice.
She counted carriages off in her head as they approached the next. Number four was next, and the dagger had been identified in number two. Maybe five minutes had passed since they put boots onto the train’s roof. The next terrorist fired at them, causing an outbreak of shrieks and the breaking of glass. Molokai stood firmly even as the second bullet tugged at the scarf that covered his lower face, sighting on the attacker, then calmly pulled his trigger and killed the man.
They made another rush forward. More passengers were sent scrambling, running to the back of the train. Hayden heard Cambridge in her ears, saying the city of Dallas could already be seen on the horizon.
She needed to hear nothing else.
The minutes ticked by. Hayden went for the third carriage from the front and saw a terrible struggle underway. Some passengers had risen up against their tormentor, trying to disarm the man. They were bunched all around him, struggling to lash out, struggling to defend themselves, hopefully hampering his own ability to wound and maim. Two were lying bleeding on the floor and another slumped across the back of a seat with a woman shielding his body. She too, was wounded.
“That motherfu—”
The rest of Hayden’s sentence was lost in growling hatred as she stalked down the aisle, reached among the fighters, took hold of the terrorist’s head by the hair and raised it up until she could look into the whites of his eyes. Then, she introduced her Glock to the spot at the bridge of his nose.