Weapons of the Gods

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hayden held on, every muscle tensed, as the helicopter swung from side to side, trying to evade errant gunfire. The train raced along the track below them, a fearsome, destructive metal titan already frighteningly close to being out of control. Bullets resounded off the chopper’s exterior despite the pilot’s dexterity, and one window was smashed. In truth, the chopper’s presence had distracted the terrorists from their bloody deeds, but Hayden knew it wouldn’t last.

“They ain’t blowing up that train,” she said, “until they find the dagger. Get us down there.”

The pilot dived. Terrorists screamed up at them, brandishing weapons and hurling captives from one man to the other. When a captive objected or fought back they threw them off the top of the speeding train, laughing whilst they did it.

“Let me lie down,” Molokai snarled murderously. “You don’t know it but my main job used to be sniper, just like the man on the island. It’s another reason I wear all this crap; I’m used to it.” All the time he was shifting and rolling, getting comfortable, lining up his shot.

The terrorists yelled and waved the chopper away. Hayden could only see their eyes over brightly colored scarves, their faces were obscured and they wore bulging jackets. It was hard to tell their gender, let alone identify faces. When one terrorist dropped to a knee and lined a Beretta up with their cockpit, Luther opened fire. His shot took the terrorist high in the forehead, avoiding the vest, and released a gout of blood. The man toppled backward instantly, his gun flying away, the body then flopping off the top of the train. His companion looked aghast, then turned and ran, throwing his gun up into the air and leaving a captive behind.

Hayden listened to the chatter.

“This train is thundering toward Dallas!” a sensationalist reporter eagerly told his loyal followers.

“Authorities are gathering,” another said. “Trying to work out a plan to stop this train in its tracks as the minutes tick down.”

“Passengers tell of terrorists with bomb vests, handguns and knives,” someone else stated. “Photographs from inside the train are flooding social media. The terrorists don’t appear to care. The challenge has been issued and now America must watch helplessly to see what happens to the train, its passengers and crew, and the city of Dallas.”

On quieter channels, Cambridge reported without emotion: “The ideas being floated range from ludicrous to extreme. Someone is trying to talk them into blowing the train off the tracks.”

Hayden shook her head sadly. “Have they mentioned us?”

“You’re barely on their radar right now, but somebody did order that the damn idiot reporters should be cleared from the airspace. You don’t have long.”

“We’re ready to go. Can you help us?”

“Whitehall has as many feeds as possible up and running. Train CCTV, piggybacking from the helicopter’s Wi-Fi, television broadcasts, social media photograph and video uploads, and more. You just have to go in fast before the suits cock it all up.”

Hayden again instructed the pilot to dive for the top of the speeding train, and watched as the helicopter’s skids came closer and closer. The team prepared themselves in the standard manner and then hooked their arms around anything sturdy to get ready for the coming impact.

“Can you land this thing on top of a moving train?” Molokai asked.

“Dunno, bud, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

“That’s inspiring.”

Hayden closed her eyes briefly as the chopper nosedived toward the train and then struck its ungiving surface.