Zero Hour

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.

“What if he doesn’t?” Joe asked.

“Would you stay there?”

“But trains derail,” Hayley cried. “Two hundred and fifty-three worldwide in the last six months alone. And not all of them hit trucks!”

Kurt looked at her sideways. “How would you even know such a thing?”

“I keep abreast of all travel-related accidents,” she said, “to remind myself why I stay at home.”

At three hundred feet, the train’s blazing headlights began to light up the broadside of the big truck. The driver could be seen blocking the light from his eyes.

Kurt flipped the radio back on, switching channels until he heard someone speaking.

“… do not allow the train to pass,” another Russian-sounding voice was saying.

Kurt broke in as soon as the frequency cleared. “Whoever you are in the truck, I’d move if I were you.”

Kirov’s voice came next. “Driver, if you move that truck, I will personally cut your heart out.”

Two hundred feet from impact, with the train beginning to gain momentum, the truck driver made a decision that split the difference. He threw open the door, jumped from the rig, and ran for the hills.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Joe muttered.

“Oh no,” Hayley gasped.

“You have to stop now,” Kirov threatened.

“Don’t stop,” Kurt told the burly Australian engineer.

“No worries,” the big man said.

“I really don’t want to be in a train wreck,” Hayley cried.

The engineer looked at Hayley. “Don’t worry, love,” he said. “At this speed, we’re not really a train anyway.”

The truck was only a hundred feet ahead.

“What are we, then?” Hayley asked.

The engineer grinned manically and held the shuddering engine’s throttle wide open. “The world’s largest, most powerful bulldozer!”

There was something both inspiring and borderline crazy about the engineer. Either way, he wasn’t slowing down. And Kurt was glad for that.

“Brace yourselves!” the engineer shouted.

The last hundred feet vanished in ten seconds. The rumbling train thundered into the broadside of the truck, shoving it forward. The diesels alone weighed six hundred thousand pounds. The sheer power they were generating, and the weight of the entire train, made quick work of the truck, lifting it and then discarding it to the right as if it were made of tin.

The impact was incredibly loud, a thundering boom followed by the wrenching sound of shredding aluminum. The feeling was like that of a ship breaking a large wave. The train shouldered through the blow with great power. The headlights blew out, and the windshield cracked, but the safety glass stayed in place. And when the last bits of the truck were finally tossed aside and sent tumbling down the embankment, the train itself was still on the tracks.

Four cars back, the impact had felt like a sudden application of the brakes. Kirov and his partner had to grab the handholds to keep from being thrown to the ground. They saw the remnants of the truck thrown off to the side and felt the train continuing on, accelerating smoothly once again.

“How are we going to get into that locomotive now?” his partner asked. “They’ll be waiting to pick us off the second we open the door. If we can even get there, that is. There’s no door between the two engines. They’re separate units.”

“Maybe we could go on the roof,” Kirov said.

Even as he suggested it, Kirov considered the insanity of the attempt. He’d seen it many times in the movies, but he doubted it was really possible. To walk on a swaying train roof in a fifty-mile-per-hour slipstream was not really feasible. Crawling might work, especially if they got up there before the train picked up too much speed.

Before he came to any conclusions, the sound of an announcement came over the public-address speakers.

“This is Kurt Austin,” the voice said. “We’ve taken the train back from the hijackers and are resuming our regularly scheduled journey. To the passengers of the Ghan: we apologize for any inconvenience tonight’s festivities may have caused. A satellite link has been established with dispatch. They’ve been apprised of our situation and assure us that help is on the way.

“To the hijackers who came on board during our unscheduled stop: if you want to end up surrounded by Australian SWAT teams and military units, then, please, sit back, relax, and make yourself comfortable. Otherwise… get off this train!”

To Kirov’s surprise, a cheer went up from the passengers. It rang out through the compartment and echoed around him on all sides.

He looked at his partner. “The tables have turned.”

Both of them started for the door together. Ten seconds later, they were standing in the open space between the two cars, staring at the ground as it began to roll by at an ever-faster clip.

One car behind, a man jumped and tumbled across the gravel. It looked to Kirov like an agonizing landing. Two more followed, doing little better with their dismounts.

“We have to jump,” Kirov’s partner said.

Kirov didn’t want to jump, but the alternative was worse. Capture followed by embarrassment, suicide, or imprisonment as a spy and a terrorist. He looked ahead for an open spot. “You first!”

Without delay, Kirov’s partner launched himself. He seemed to land and tumble more than slide.

The train’s horn howled through the night, and Kirov knew time was running out. Any faster and he’d be facing certain death. He took a deep breath and stepped into the breach.

For a long second, he flew, waving his arms for balance. Then he landed sideways and tried to tuck and roll. His face slammed into the gravel. His neck and shoulders were wrenched in the process. He flipped several times, covered at least fifty feet, and ended up facedown in an unconscious heap the second time in less than an hour.

In the forward engine, Kurt, Joe, and the engineer were celebrating as the Ghan continued to pick up speed and leave the original hijackers behind. Hayley was in a seat, shaking and looking like she might be sick.

“Are you going to be okay?” Kurt asked, moving a wastepaper basket into range just in case she wasn’t.

“I think so,” she said. “At least that’s over.”

“Good,” he replied. “Because as soon as we make the next stop, we’re hopping on a helicopter and flying the rest of the way.”

She looked up at him, her eyes bulging out. “Helicopter accident rates are five times higher than that of passenger trains…”

The words trailed off. It was too much, too fast. She turned toward the bucket and promptly threw up.