Алистер Маклин: Death Train

‘But I want to watch,’ Kyle whined, pointing to the board on the table.

‘We’re not staying, we’ve got work to do. Now get the helicopter started.’

Kyle reluctantly handed the Spectre to Hendrique and left the office.

Hendrique crossed to the board and placed both hands on the pads, raising one and then the other. The shock on both occasions passed harmlessly through the bracelets. He took a key from the pouch inside the attaché case and turned it through one revolution in a lock on the side of the board. A red light came on beside the lock.

‘I’ve dispensed with the first two games. Put on the bracelets.’

Both men snapped the bracelets around their wrists, locked them, then put the keys in the centre of the board.

‘I’ve activated the death shock. Even your wetsuit won’t save you, Graham.’

‘You’re assuming I’ll pull off first,’ Graham said.

‘I know you’ll pull off first. Milchan only ever plays when the death shock’s in operation. He’s still alive.’ Hendrique touched the shotgun against Sabrina’s neck. ‘If you don’t push down simultaneously with Milchan I’ll kill her.’

Graham glanced at her. She smiled weakly.

‘Your call, Graham,’ Hendrique said, tightening his grip on the shotgun.

Milchan rested his hand lightly on the pad, his eyes never leaving Graham’s face. Graham exhaled deeply then placed his palm on the other pad.

‘Now,’ Graham commanded.

They both pressed their hands down on to the pads.

‘Sorry I can’t stay to watch you die, Graham, but we’re already well behind schedule.’ With that Hendrique walked out into the warehouse.

Sabrina tried to loosen her tethered hands as soon as he was out of sight but Milchan had knotted the cloth over her wrists, out of reach of her fingers. She then used her momentum to shift the chair round until she was sitting with her back to the shattered windowpane.

‘Mike–?’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’m okay,’ he replied without taking his eyes off Milchan’s face.

She glanced over her shoulder. The chair was a foot away from the window. She would have to tilt the chair back against the transom but knew in doing so she could easily impale her hands or wrists on the jagged glass protruding from it. It was a risk she had to take. She rocked the chair by propelling her body backwards and forwards, building up enough of a rhythm to topple it back against the transom. Her first thought was one of relief at not having cut herself, but the moment she moved her hand she nicked her thumb and felt blood trickle down across her palm. By carefully tapping with her forefinger she discovered she had cut her thumb on a splinter of glass about five inches long. She pressed the cloth against the splinter’s serrated edge and moved her wrists up and down, using the glass as a saw. Within seconds it had shredded and she was able to reach down and untie her feet.

‘What must I do, Mike? Disconnect the clips?’

The indicator read six.

‘Unlock my bracelet,’ he replied tersely.

‘Why not disconnect it at the mains?’

‘Unlock my bracelet, Sabrina!’

She picked up the two keys, then another thought came to mind. ‘What if it’s booby-trapped?’

‘It’s not, trust me,’ he replied, his face showing the first signs of pain.

She unlocked the bracelet. With his free hand he reached across and snapped the bracelet around Milchan’s wrist inches below the other one.

The indicator read eight.

Beads of sweat were running down Milchan’s scarred face as he stared in terror at Graham’s hand on the pressure pad.

‘Maybe I should prove Hendrique right and pull off first. It’s not as though I’ve got anything to lose. What do you think, Milchan?’ Graham managed a smile despite the increasing level of current passing through his body.

‘Mike, don’t!’ Sabrina shouted. ‘You can’t murder him in cold blood.’

The indicator read nine.

‘He would have murdered you in cold blood if he’d won and you were still tied to the chair. You know what they say about what’s good for the goose–’

She took a hesitant step towards the mains cable leading to the light socket.

‘Don’t touch it! This one’s personal.’

‘Killing him won’t bring Carrie and Mikey back,’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.

The indicator read ten.

He stared at her and the pain seemed to disappear from his eyes even though his arm was shuddering from the amount of current surging through it. Then, without warning, he yanked hard on the cable, disconnecting the clips from the overhead socket.

Milchan slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving as he sucked in deep mouthfuls of air.

Graham and Sabrina had their backs to the glass panel and consequently neither of them saw the guard until he confronted them in the doorway.

‘Mr Hendrique told me to come back here and see if you needed a hand,’ the guard said to Milchan who was busy unlocking the bracelets from his wrist. ‘Looks like I got here just in time.’

Milchan nodded in agreement then crossed to where the guard was standing.

‘Mr Hendrique said I was to kill them if they were still alive,’ the guard said, then trained his machine-pistol on them.

Milchan clamped his spade-like hands on either side of the guard’s face and twisted his head violently, snapping the bones in his neck as though they were brittle twigs. He dumped the dead man in the corner of the office then tapped his own chest and pointed to each of them in turn, his mouth moving silently as he tried to express himself.

‘He says now we’re even,’ Sabrina said, reading his lips.

Graham caught him on the side of the chin with a haymaker. Milchan was unconscious before he hit the floor.

‘Now we’re even.’

She gave Graham a quizzical look then retrieved the Berettas from the top of the filing cabinet and tossed one to him. ‘We might still be able to stop Stefan.’

He grabbed her arm. ‘We’re going to have a little chat once this is over. About rats.’

She nodded then picked up the Spectre.

They split up once they were in the warehouse, meeting up again at the entrance where they had to step over the guard killed by Hendrique to get on to the wharf.

Day was dawning.

They heard the sound of an aircraft engine roaring into life within the confines of a dome-shaped corrugated-iron structure jutting out into the sea at the end of Wharf Eight and sprinted the two hundred metres to its wooden door where they pressed themselves against the wall on either side of it, Berettas drawn. She turned the handle slowly then jerked the door open. He dived low through the doorway, rolling twice across the concrete floor before getting in a shot at the startled guard. The bullet hit him in the neck, knocking him backwards into the water. The distraction gave Werner the few valuable seconds he needed to open the throttle and head the seaplane out on to the open water. There were half a dozen speedboats moored in the hangar. Graham was half a second behind her as Sabrina ran to a seventeen-foot 170 GTS and climbed inside.

‘You know how to pilot one of these things?’

‘Are you kidding?’ She replied with a grin. ‘My father’s got a forty-footer moored off Miami. I spend most of my time zooming around in it whenever I’m down there.’

She waited for him to cast off then started up the 90-hp Yamaha motor and sped out of the hangar after the fleeing seaplane.

The more she thought about it the more guilty she felt about having squandered her chance back at the warehouse. Werner had been the perfect target. All she would have needed was another couple of seconds–

When the speedboat drew abreast of the seaplane they caught a glimpse of Werner’s face through the cockpit door window, his lips moving rapidly as he shouted into the radio. She arced the speedboat across in front of the seaplane, forcing Werner to reduce speed and change direction. He was playing into her hands. The narrow extension of the harbour wall lay directly in front of the seaplane, its unmanned lighthouse flashing ineffectually as the first rays of sun glistened across the cold, uninviting water. Her plan was to shepherd the seaplane towards the harbour wall, knowing he was already too close to clear it, by hemming him in on the other three sides in ever decreasing circles. Graham held the Spectre, waiting for Werner’s first mistake.