Алистер Маклин - Dead Halt

Whitlock was the first person on board the Merry Dancer to react to the explosion. Grabbing Scoby by the arm he shoved him roughly to the floor.

“Lie down,” Sabrina shouted to the bewildered guests. “And keep your heads down.” Then, unholstering her Beretta, she ran, doubled-over, to the window. She could see the source of the explosion. Smoke billowed into the sky as the remains of the blue transit van burned fiercely less than fifty yards away from the bridge.

Whitlock hurried across to where she was crouched and followed her gaze. His radio suddenly crackled into life. “Whitlock here. Over.”

“C.W., get everybody off the boat now!” Eastman yelled. “Use the police launch on your starboard side. Do it now!”

Sabrina hurried across to the stairs and began ushering the terrified guests up onto the deck.

“Sabrina’s already moving them out as quickly as possible. What’s going on out there?”

“All I know at the moment is that two figures have been spotted aboard a barge a couple of hundred yards away from the bridge. And it looks as if one of them’s assembling what could be a rocket launcher. I’ve already instructed the chopper pilot and two police launches to close in on the barge. Hopefully it’ll distract them long enough for you to evacuate the Merry Dancer .”

“Understood. Call Fabio, tell him to get over there as well. He’s no use to us hovering over the boat.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Whitlock clipped the radio back onto his belt then hurried up the stairs and onto the deck where Sabrina was busy helping the last of the women onto the launch. The men had yet to be transferred. Whitlock looked anxiously behind him. He still couldn’t see beyond the police launch which was protecting the boat’s exposed flank. And he knew time was running out fast …

“For God’s sake, hurry up!” Fiona snarled at Mullen.

“Almost finished,” Mullen retorted as he attached the tail section to the high-explosive round.

Fiona had unwrapped the two Ingram MAC II machine-pistols as soon as they had boarded the barge and she held one in each hand, waiting for the police helicopter to come within range. Mullen slotted the round into the barrel of the RPG-7 launcher and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

“Can you get in a clear shot?” she asked, glancing at Mullen.

Mullen squinted through the sights. “No, but if I take out the police launch in front of the boat, the force of the blast should be enough to take out the Merry Dancer as well. These are high-explosive rounds, remember?”

“Then do it,” she snapped.

The helicopter buzzed low over the barge. Forced to duck, Mullen tried to concentrate again on the target. Fiona fired a burst upward as it wheeled away. When the helicopter dived low again Fiona opened fire with both machine-pistols but could make no impression on the bullet-proof fuselage. Again Mullen had to take evasive action. Cursing loudly, he lined up the retreating helicopter in the sights of the launcher, then squeezed the trigger. The stabilizing fins snapped open the moment the missile left the barrel, giving it a slow roll as it homed in on its target. The warhead automatically armed itself after five meters and the helicopter was still trying desperately to turn out of the path of the grenade when it struck the side of the fuselage. The helicopter partially disintegrated in a hail of searing debris that rained down onto the water. The twisted remains of the fuselage spiraled grotesquely downward into the river, sinking within seconds in a bubbling hiss of molten metal.

Mullen punched the air triumphantly then reached for the second grenade, screwed the tail onto the missile, then slotted it into the breech. Fiona looked around as two police launches were closing in on them fast.

Suddenly the unmarked helicopter wheeled away from the Merry Dancer and arced in front of the barge, forcing Mullen to jerk his finger off the trigger. For a second his anger got the better of him and he lined up the helicopter in his sights. But he quickly checked himself. He only had one round left. He had to use it on the boat. As the helicopter came back into range, Fiona sprayed it with both machine-pistols. The clips ran out and she hurriedly replaced them with fresh ones but before she could shoot, a burst of machine-gun fire raked the barge. She flung herself to the floor as the bullets peppered the side of the boat. Fiona watched in horror as a bullet caught Mullen in the arm and the launcher slid from his hands, disappearing into the water. Mullen looked around at her, his expression a mixture of pain and disbelief. She immediately strapped on her self-breathing apparatus again and slipped the mask back over her face.

Mullen stumbled over to where his kit lay, crying out in agony as he tried to use his injured arm to pick it up. He turned to Fiona for help and his eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of the Ingram levelled at his chest. “What are you doing?” he stammered.

“You’re no use to me anymore,” she replied contemptuously.

“Fiona … please,” he said desperately. “It’s only a flesh wound. 1 can manage. I won’t hold you up. We can still get Scoby.”

“I don’t need you for the next stage of the operation.”

“You don’t know that until you’ve opened the envelope.”

“I don’t need to open it. I’ve known the details of all three operations from the start. The envelopes were only for your benefit. I’d have killed you irrespective of what happened here today.”

Mullen met her eyes. There was no recognition. No remorse. Only disdain. What a fool he’d been …

She fired. The bullet ripped across his chest, knocking him back against the side of the barge. He dropped to his knees, the disbelief still mirrored in his eyes, then toppled face forward onto the tarpaulin in front of him. She fired another burst at the approaching helicopter then discarded the machine-pistol and disappeared into the water. Police divers,who were already closing in on the barge, immediately made for the spot where she’d disappeared.

“She just gunned him down in cold blood,” Graham said, still fanning the water with the Uzi he had withdrawn from Scotland Yard that morning.

Paluzzi didn’t reply.

Graham looked at Paluzzi and realized something was wrong. He was sweating and his face was twisted in pain. “Fabio, what is it?”

“He’s not the only one she shot,” Paluzzi hissed through clenched teeth.

“Where are you hit?” Graham asked anxiously.

“My side. It feels like the bullet’s smashed through my rib cage. Christ, it hurts.” Paluzzi looked at Graham. “I’m going to try and put down on that abandoned wharf further down river. I don’t know if I’ll make it though. I’ll take the chopper down close to the water so you can bail out. OK?”

“Like hell I will,” Graham retorted sharply. “We’re both going to make it to the docks.”

Paluzzi shook his head and lowered the helicopter toward the water. “OK, jump.”

“Quit wasting time and get the hell over to those docks,” Graham snapped.

Suddenly Paluzzi reached over and unbuckled Graham’s safety belt. Graham was still fumbling with the belt when Paluzzi tilted the helicopter sharply to the side. Losing his grip, Graham tumbled headlong through the open doorway and into the water.

Paluzzi levelled out the helicopter and headed toward the abandoned docks. He knew there were other areas closer where he could try and put down, but if the helicopter were to crash it might endanger innocent people. No, he had to keep to the river and make for the docks. He gritted his teeth as the pain seared through his body with every move he made. The sweat stung his eyes but he made no attempt to wipe it away. He needed both hands for the controls.