AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He shrugs. “You were never in danger from me, Jeremy. I welcome you here now, as a witness.”
“Stop the trains,” he says. “Stop them right now.”
Jeremy walks closer, his hand holding a small black pistol.
Rashad shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Then make it possible.”
Jeremy is only two meters or so away.
What a lovely, gorgeous, sweet May morning,Rashad thinks. “Nothing can be done,” he says. “The trains will meet. The bombs will go off. Death will shortly arrive.”
Rashad wonders what Jeremy will say next when Jeremy surprises him by shooting him.
Rashad grunts and falls to the ground. It feels like a red-hot lance has pierced his lower left leg. He moans in pain and then Jeremy is there, looking down at him.
Jeremy says, “No time, Rashad. Tell me how to stop the trains or I’ll make it worse.”
And then the MI6 man stomps on his bullet wound with his right foot, and Rashad can’t help himself: he howls with pain and fury, waiting until the hot waves of pain in his lower leg ease for a moment before laughing and laughing.
Jeremy leans down, showing Rashad the pistol.
“Laugh all you want,” he says. “I’ll take your prick off with the next shot.”
Rashad takes a series of deep breaths and says, “Go ahead. Shoot all you want. I’ve thought of everything, even talked to an old SOE man who helped me…He told me of plans they never used during the war because it was winding down…some type of proximity fuse, explodes when it reaches a certain point.”
Jeremy says, “Five more seconds, and then I eunuch you.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I can’t stop the trains. I can’t stop the bombs. They’re wired so that when they pass alongside their counterpart, that’s when they explode. That’s when they’ll blow up. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it, Jeremy. Nothing.”
Chapter121
I STANDup, not daring to look at my watch or look outside.
I force myself to examine the switches, dials, handles, and every other control device in view of this speeding locomotive.
How many movies or TV shows have I seen where the unskilled hero or heroine is forced to land a plane, stop a train, or perform an emergency tracheotomy under pressure?
Too many.
I look and ponder and look again, and—
Oh, for God’s sake.
Right in the center of the dashboard, or front counter or whatever the hell they call it, is a bright red lever framed by a rectangular white plate, with red letters announcing:
EMERGENCY BRAKE VALVE
I step forward, grab the handle, and shove it up—hard! I’m rewarded with a decrease of engine noise and a squealing and shuddering of brakes. I don’t have to look at any gauge to know we’re slowing down.
Done.
I’ve done it.
Time to get the hell out of here.
“Please…please help me…”
