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I’m sure both doors are locked. I’m also sure there’s at least one terrorist—maybe two or three—inside the train, riding their way to jihad and ultimate paradise.
I crawl forward, blinking my eyes against the breeze cutting into me. My jacket is a distraction, flapping heavily in the breeze, so I tug it off and ball it up.
It comes to me, the motto that kept me going in Ranger training and through my service in the Army.
Rangers lead the way.
I get moving.
Chapter118
ALVI DUDINtakes a moment to drag his old friend and boss Brian Lamott to the other side of the crowded cab. At any other time the locomotive’s alerter would be sounding because no one’s driving, but Alvi bypassed and disabled the device last night. This diesel engine will not hesitate.
He drops Brian’s arms, takes a breath. “Sorry, Brian, but I was never a Russian. I’m a proud Chechnyan—so proud that I vowed to take my revenge against the Christian Russians who invaded my country, raped our women, and leveled our villages. And left me an orphan when I was twelve.”
Alvi passes the center console and sits down in Brian’s seat, sees that damn police helicopter still dogging him up ahead, expertly lifting itself up and over utility wires and low pedestrian bridges. He rubs at his eyes. Earlier the helicopter had come very, very close, and Alvi saw something rotating under its belly. Thinking it was a missile or some other weapon, he had ducked down behind the console just as the cab’s interior lit up with the brightness of a thousand suns.
Bad, tough Americans. If that had been a Russian police helicopter out there, it would have shredded the cab’s interior with machine-gun fire. The two front windows, the two side windows—plenty of opportunities.
He checks the computer screen. Speed at 50 miles per hour, air pressure good, all systems fine.
What a day this will be!
Just a few minutes more.
Something black hits the window in front of him, obscuring his view. He sits back, stunned, and then there’s gunfire and breaking glass and the sound of a woman screaming at him.
Chapter119
TIME ISrunning out in all directions, so I hold onto a metal strut, lean over the front of the loud, swaying train, unfurl my jacket and let the wind slap it tight against the operator’s window. I then roll, roll, roll, and come off the left edge of the locomotive, lean over, and fire two quick shots into the side window.
It shatters.
I have one move left, and I don’t dare let go of my pistol.
So I slide down the roof, using my other hand to slow my progress, hammer my feet and lower legs through the broken window, and use gravity and my legs to scissor myself into the cab.
I fall heavily on my side, face to face with what looks to be a recently shot man, and I roll over again, seeing there’s a center console separating me from the engineer’s chair.
The train is rumbling along. I’ve cut my face and hands along the way.
There’s a stream of drying blood on the dirty metal floor from the other side of the train, from where this poor guy next to me was shot.
“Hey!” I yell out. “Let’s see your hands! Get out from there!”
There’s a loud outburst of some sort of Slavic language I don’t understand, then a hidden man laughs. “Hey, bitch! I’m nice and comfortable here. Why don’t you come over instead?”
I move around, take stock of my surroundings: center console, chair I’m up against, body of man; terrorist well hidden on other side of console, about a meter away—if that.
“You’re out of time,” I yell. “Come on, let’s figure something out. Let’s stop this train, talk it over.”
More Slavic-type language from the concealed man, while in my mind an English-type language is screaming,You don’t have time!
“Nothing to talk about, bitch! I like it here.”
“How about your name?” I ask. “Mine is Amy. What’s yours?”
Laughter again. “Alvi. If that matters.”
