Алистер Маклин - Death Train

He pointed to the brown attaché case on the back seat. ‘It contains the game I played with him on the train.’

‘So if Hendrique’s here–’

‘It’s fair to assume Werner’s with him.’

She opened the door fractionally but all she could see was several crates, each with the now familiar Werner logo stamped on the side, stacked neatly against the wall. She gripped the Beretta tightly in her hand and pushed the door open further. The shadowy warehouse was divided into three rows of stacked packing crates with two spacious passages left between them for easy vehicle and machine manoeuvrability. They slipped inside and Graham closed the door silently behind him.

‘We each take a passage,’ he whispered.

She shook her head. ‘I say we stick together. There are at least four of them plus who knows how many guards. All armed.’

He conceded with a shrug.

They reached the end of the passage and he was about to turn into the second section of the L-shaped building when she grabbed his arm and put a finger to her lips. They both listened but could hear nothing.

‘I heard voices,’ she whispered.

‘They’ve got to be around somewhere. Come on.’

He pressed his back against the crates, the Beretta held barrel upwards by his face, then peered carefully into the adjoining passage. It was deserted. The section was laid out like the one they were in, with three rows of crates spanning the two hundred metres to the far wall. He indicated the middle row and they darted into one of the narrow apertures between the crates where he was able to look out into the other passage.

Werner was seated at a table with his back to them in a glass panelled office at the end of the passage. He was playing cards with Kyle and Milchan. Hendrique was leaning against the wall, watching them. The Franchi SPAS shotgun lay on the filing cabinet beside him.

‘Remember what the boss said about shooting to kill,’ Graham said.

‘I know what he said. I was there, remember?’

He lapsed into silence. She placed the Spectre on the ground behind her, then crouched down to study the best angle for her intended shot. She rested her right wrist on her left forearm to steady her arm and lined up the back of Werner’s head in the rear and frontsight.

‘What’s that noise?’ she whispered.

‘What noise?’

‘It’s like a rustling sound.’

‘Rats probably,’ he said indifferently. ‘Yeah, there’s a hole in the bottom of the crate by your foot. They’ll be in there.’

An image of the crate teeming with bloated, scurrying rats filled her mind and she stumbled backwards out into the second passage, the Beretta clattering to the ground.

Hendrique already had the shotgun in his hand when he turned to investigate the noise.

Graham launched himself at her at the same instant Hendrique fired through the office window. He felled her with a low, brutal football tackle a split-second before the shotgun cartridge ripped a jagged hole in the crate directly behind them. Hendrique kept them covered while Kyle and Milchan collected the fallen weapons, which included the Beretta from Graham’s webbing belt.

As they were yanked to their feet both Sabrina and Graham noticed the contents of the damaged crates. AK47s.

Werner ignored them when they were brought into the office. He was glaring at Hendrique.

‘So much for your hand-picked guards. Or perhaps these two were beamed down into the warehouse by a spaceship.’

For once Hendrique had no reply to Werner’s sarcasm.

‘I had a feeling we’d meet again,’ Werner said to Sabrina. ‘Actually you’ve timed your arrival to perfection. I was about to leave. My seaplane’s in the hangar, refuelled and ready for takeoff.’

‘What about the Napoli ?’ she asked.

‘It’s got to make up for lost time so it won’t be docking in Dubrovnik after all. As for me, I’m going home. Hendrique’s now officially in charge.’

‘So the detonator goes to Hendrique?’

‘Come now, Mr Graham, I’d hardly have expected such an illogical question to come from someone as experienced as you.’ Werner gave Hendrique a contemptuous look. ‘He’s a mercenary, an arms and drug smuggler, he’s ruled by money. The Socialist cause has never meant anything to him. If he had the detonator he’d probably hold it to ransom.’

‘That’s enough,’ Hendrique snapped angrily.

‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ Werner challenged, then turned back to Graham. ‘The detonator stays with me. It’s quite simple really. If you hadn’t come along when you did I’d have flown out and nobody would have been any the wiser. My defection won’t be announced until the Napoli ’s cargo has reached its destination safely, so your superiors will naturally presume I’m still within detonating distance and give the freighter a wide berth. A point borne out by your presence here now. If you hadn’t taken my threat seriously you’d have already boarded the Napoli .’ He picked up a travelling bag from beside the table. ‘I wanted you alive on the train so you could pass on my instructions to your superiors. Now, I’m afraid, I want you dead. I’ll leave that in Hendrique’s capable hands.’

‘Radio through to the other guards, I’ll meet them round the front,’ Hendrique said to Kyle.

Hendrique strode briskly through the warehouse and out on to the wharf. The other two guards were already there, both kneeling down beside the third one. He hauled the dazed guard to his feet and shoved him up against the Land Rover. ‘You’ve humiliated me in front of Werner.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the guard mumbled, massaging his neck.

He withdrew his Desert Eagle and shot the guard at point-blank range, then swung round to face the other two guards. ‘I won’t tolerate failure. I want you both to stay here and for God’s sake keep your eyes open.’

He removed the attaché case from the Land Rover and disappeared back into the warehouse.

‘What was that shooting?’ Werner demanded when Hendrique entered the office.

‘A disciplinary matter,’ Hendrique replied, then removed the board from the attaché case.

Kyle cleared the cards and the coffee mugs from the table while Hendrique removed one of the overhead strip lights and attached the crocodile clips to the power source.

‘What are you going to do, play them off against each other?’ Kyle asked excitedly.

‘That’s not a bad idea now you come to mention it, but what I had in mind was letting Graham pit his skills against Milchan.’ Hendrique looked at Milchan.

‘It’s up to you.’

Milchan tapped his chest then drew his finger across his throat.

‘In case you didn’t understand that, Graham, you and Milchan will be playing to the death.’

‘And if I refuse?’ Graham said defiantly.

‘Then I’ll be forced to shoot your beautiful assistant,’ Kyle said.

‘Partner,’ Sabrina corrected automatically.

‘Tie her to the chair,’ Hendrique said to Milchan. ‘She can have a ringside seat.’

‘I’m sorry it had to end like this, Sabrina,’ Werner said softly, then turned to leave, his footsteps echoing into the distance.

‘I reckon he fancied you, darling. Not that I blame him,’ Kyle said with a twisted smile and reached out to touch her face.

She bit his hand.

‘Bitch,’ he snarled, raising the Spectre to strike her.

Graham shoved past Hendrique and punched Kyle to the ground.

Hendrique pressed the shotgun into Graham’s neck. ‘Tie his feet.’

Milchan grabbed Graham’s arm and led him to the nearest chair.

‘You’ll pay for that,’ Kyle snapped, aiming the Spectre at Graham.

Hendrique pushed the Spectre barrel towards the ground. ‘You’re beginning to get on my nerves, Eddie. Go and do something constructive, like starting up the helicopter.’