Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

Kurt glanced out behind them. The guards on foot still had their attention on the passenger car, but not for long. Due to the way the train had stopped on the curve, there was more space on one side than the other.

“We’re going to break in and surprise whosever in the lead engine. Hopefully, without having to do any shooting.”

Kurt eyed the foot patrol once more. As they turned toward the tail end of the train, he climbed out from under the passenger car and sprinted forward in the dark. He reached the lead engine and went up the ladder onto the catwalk, or sill, that ran the length of the engine like a running board on an old car.

Joe came up behind him, and Hayley followed quickly as well.

They eased their way toward the cab of the diesel. The throbbing of twin sixteen-cylinder diesels masked their approach.

Kurt reached the door, managed a quick peek inside, and saw exactly what he’d hoped to see: a single gunman with his back to the door and his pistol leveled at a burly man in the driver’s seat.

He put his hand on the door, testing the resistance in the handle. He felt pretty certain it wasn’t locked. He opened it with a start and stepped inside.

The hijacker didn’t react quickly. He turned as if expecting to see one of his kind. His eyes widened only when he saw the gun pointed at his head.

“G’day, mate,” Kurt said.

The hijacker hesitated and then handed the pistol over.

TWENTY

Victor Kirov woke to darkness and a pounding, migrainelike pain in his head. It took a moment, but he soon remembered where he was and what his mission required. The lights came on in the passenger car, and, seconds later, a group of his men dashed into the compartment.

“Where are they?” one asked.

“How should I know?” Kirov replied. “I was unconscious when they left.”

One of the locals who’d taken a beating pointed forward. “They went to the front.”

“We just came from there,” another guy said. “We never saw them.”

Kirov stood, angry and wobbly. He steadied himself. “They’re hiding. Check everywhere. Check the roof. Check the baggage compartments. Double-check every space.”

The men fanned out, looking nervous.

Kirov’s partner sidled up to him. “We’ve been on this train too long as it is.”

Kirov looked at his watch, having trouble focusing. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it didn’t matter. “I’m not going back without the woman.”

“This isn’t some third world country,” his partner reminded him. “The authorities will be coming here soon.”

Kirov considered this. It wouldn’t do to get caught out in the open with the lights on. It might require cyanide, a thought he wanted nothing to do with.

Suddenly, the train lurched forward. The sound and vibration of the diesels straining to pull the load could be felt.

“They’re in the engine,” Kirov said, heading forward.

“We’ll never get to them in time,” his partner pointed out.

“You forget: the truck is still across the road. This train isn’t going very far.”

* * *

In the cab of the forward diesel, Kurt was watching the door with one eye and the hijacker they’d surprised and subdued with the other. He could sense Hayley and Joe staring at the big truck in their path about five hundred feet away.

At first, the train was only inching toward it, but it slowly began to pick up speed. The thundering roar of eight thousand horsepower in the two locomotives beginning to win the battle over inertia. When they were four hundred feet out, the truck driver began flicking his lights on and off and blowing his horn. As if everyone didn’t know he was there.

“He’ll move,” Kurt said confidently.