Typhoon Fury (Oregon Files 12)

Juan attempted to get up again, and this time he flew out of his seat as a huge hand grasped his arm and yanked him up. Franklin Lincoln’s grinning face met his.

“Let’s get you two out of here before they recover,” Linc said, picking up Eric, too. He virtually dragged Juan and Eric with him to the sixth car, where they had waited to enter the dining car.

Once Linc closed the door behind them, they both leaned against the wall and got their bearings.

“You guys okay?” Linc asked as he covered the door with his P90 submachine gun.

“I feel like someone smacked me in the head with a frying pan,” Juan said, although he was quickly regaining his senses.

“Let’s not ever do that again,” Eric said.

“Just be glad we had some warning. A few of those guys probably won’t be able to hear for weeks.”

“I brought you some presents,” Linc said, handing them a couple of ballistic vests. “Your guns are on the seats back there.”

Juan and Eric strapped on the vests and picked up their weapons.

MacD came jogging in with the grenade launcher hanging from his shoulder.

“Y’all don’t look too bad,” he said. “My aim must have been pretty good.”

“Right on target,” Juan said, yawning to clear his ears.

Using precise maps of the train’s route, this section of track had been selected for launching the stun grenades because of the extreme curve of the track. MacD could open a window three cars away, lean out, and have a perfect view of the dining car. Juan and Eric had used a peculiarly shaped rock outcropping that they passed to cue them when to cover their eyes.

“Did you get the Chinese agents, too?” Juan asked.

“Harder shot because they were farther away,” MacD said proudly, “but I planted two in the third car where they were.”

“Good, that should give us some extra time. Eric, set up the trip mines while they cover you. I’ve got a delivery to make.”

Eric, who seemed to be back to normal, nodded and took a bag from Linc. He opened it and removed the first of a dozen laser-activated flashbang grenades. They’d place them at random intervals to cover their retreat. When either the MSS or the Ghost Dragons tried to come through, they’d trip the invisible sensors, setting off the grenades.

Juan got on his phone and called the Oregon. Hali Kasim, the ship’s communications officer, answered.

“Are you all right, Chairman?” he asked. “We saw the explosions but couldn’t see much inside the train.”

“No casualties,” Juan replied. “The first phase is complete. I’m heading to the window now. Have Gomez get the drone over here for pickup.”

Gomez Adams, the Oregon’s helicopter pilot, was also the resident expert in flying its complement of drones.

“He says it’ll be there in a few seconds.”

Juan opened the window and watched the quadcopter, no more than a foot across, coming in to match the train’s speed. Gomez’s placement of the drone was perfect, lining it up with the opening. It darted inside, corrected instantly for the sudden change in wind speed, and came to rest on the floor. The propellers shut down and went silent.

Juan picked up the drone and clicked open a tiny compartment on its underside. He stuck the flash drive into the padded slot and locked it shut, then put the drone back down.

“It’s all yours, Hali,” Juan said.

“Roger that,” Hali said. The drone’s propellers whirred to life. It lifted up and buzzed toward the window like an angry hornet. Gomez guided it back out through the window, and once it was outside, it shot up as if yanked by a string. The drone was out of sight in the blink of an eye.

“What’s our position?”

“You’re ten minutes from the river.”

Juan checked his watch. “We’ll hold them off for that long. Let me know when the package is secured.”

“Roger that. By the way, three of the Chinese agents were walking along the roof of the train when MacD fired the grenades. They just climbed down inside the rear car.”