Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

A few minutes later, Johansson walked the length of the ball mill. For once, his hands were empty, the rawhide lash coiled to his belt. As he approached the feed piles, he spotted Giordino and the other worker seated on one of the mounds. Johansson’s face flushed, and his eyes bulged with rage.

“On your feet!” he screamed. “Why aren’t you working?”

“The ball mill is full up,” Giordino said, casually pointing to the spinning cylinder. He remained seated while his companion jumped upright.

“I said, on your feet.”

Giordino tried rising, but his injured leg lost its footing, and he buckled to his knee. Johansson lunged forward, catching Giordino before he could recover. Grabbing a shovel wedged in the ore, the Swede swung it hard, aiming for the bum leg.

The blade connected with a whack, striking just above the wound on Giordino’s thigh. He collapsed as blood began seeping from the reopened wound.

Standing on the platform, Pitt had seen it coming but could not react in time. His own shovel in hand, he took a quick step across the platform and leaped off the edge. He fell toward Johansson but was too far away to land on him. Instead, he swung the shovel in a chopping motion as he fell, stretching his arms and aiming at Johansson’s head.

The shovel missed the overseer’s head but struck his left shoulder hard. Johansson winced and spun around as the shovel bounced away and Pitt landed hard at his feet. Still gripping his own shovel, Johansson took a swipe at Pitt. Trying to rise, Pitt was forced to fling himself backward, and he caught a glancing blow on his side as he rolled toward the ball mill.

Pursuing like a rabid animal, Johansson was above Pitt instantly, raising the shovel for a vertical blow to the head. Pitt rolled beneath the spinning gears of the ball mill as the shovel head smacked the ground beside him. Pitt reacted in turn, grabbing the shovel’s wooden handle to prevent another blow. Johansson tried to jerk it away, but his left arm was numb from the earlier blow and he didn’t have the strength. Changing tack, he pushed the handle down while diving onto Pitt.

The big Swede weighed seventy-five pounds more than Pitt and landed like a rock. The impact knocked the breath from Pitt’s lungs. Johansson managed to wedge the shovel handle beneath Pitt’s throat as he landed and applied his full strength to choke him.

Pitt struggled to push the handle clear, but he was pinned in an awkward position. As the handle pressed tighter against his throat, he noticed a large gear of the ball mill’s drive system whirring above his head. Pitt bucked and twisted, trying to throw Johansson against the gear—or at least to break his grip on the shovel.

It was no use. Johansson didn’t budge, and he focused all of his energies on choking the life out of Pitt.

A pounding sensation exploded in his head as Pitt began gasping for air. A wave of desperation fell over him, and he let go of the handle with his right hand and reached up toward Johansson’s waist, groping for his sidearm.

But Johansson’s pistol was holstered on his opposite hip. Instead, Pitt felt the coiled bullwhip hooked to his belt. He grasped the whip, pulling it free, but he began to sag as spots blurred his vision.

Then a loud whack filled his ears, and the choking eased, if only for a moment.

Giordino had crawled within throwing range and was pelting Johansson with clumps of ore. A hard chunk, driven by Giordino with the velocity of a major league fastball, struck Johansson behind the ear. The Swede grunted and turned toward Giordino, ducking as another rock came flying by.

The distraction gave Pitt time to catch a breath of air, which cleared his vision. Seizing the moment, he whipped up his free arm and looped the bullwhip around Johansson’s head.

Johansson retaliated by releasing the shovel and throwing a right fist at Pitt’s head.

Pitt could do nothing to deflect the blow, as he was reaching up with the handle of the whip. As the blow struck his face, he jammed a lanyard ring on the handle into the gear teeth spinning just above him.

The punch nearly knocked Pitt out, but he remained alert enough to see the coiled whip tighten around Johansson’s neck and jerk him upward. As he flailed to break free, the huge toothed wheel carried the Swede up onto its rotating surface. A hoarse scream passed from Johansson’s lips as he was dragged by the neck to the machine’s opposite side.

At its base, the external gear en

gaged with the flywheel from the ball mill’s 800-horsepower motor. Johansson fought to escape, but was pulled into the rotating gears. The meshing metal teeth chewing through the leather whip and then into the flesh of the overseer’s neck. His screaming ended, and the rotating gear spit a thin line of red across the room. The machine bucked and slowed a moment, then revved back up to speed. Beneath the gears, a pool of blood spread across the floor from Johansson’s decapitated body.

Pitt climbed to his feet. The guard at the other end of the mill had finally taken notice and began running toward him.

“You really gunked up the works this time,” Giordino said, grinning despite his pain.

“Thanks for the assist.” Pitt moved quickly toward him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but the leg’s leaking again. You better take a solo run.”

The guard was now yelling at Pitt while attempting to draw his weapon.

Pitt nodded at his friend. “I’ll be back.” He dove under the conveyor belt as a burst of gunfire echoed through the building. Giordino casually tossed some crushed ore across the floor when the guard rushed after Pitt. His eyes focused on his quarry, the guard slipped on the ore and fell halfway to the floor.

Pitt used the opportunity to spring from the opposite side of the conveyor and dash out the end of the building.

A late spray of gunfire followed him as he cut around the corner and ducked into some nearby foliage. Trapped on the five-acre island, he had no illusion about being able to remain concealed for long. The gunfire had already attracted the attention of several nearby guards.