Nick Carter - The Istanbul Decision

A bullet smacked against the windshield as he spoke, creating a spider web of cracks. "Guess I was wrong," Carter shouted. "Don't worry about it. Just hold it steady. It's me he wants, anyway."

Carter unstrapped himself and went below. A thick rope ladder hung in a coil from the bulkhead. He brought it down, moored it to the floor of the chopper, then slid open the big side door and threw it out. It landed on the train below, twisting back and forth in the chopper's wash.

He checked the Luger, took off the safety, and stuffed it in his pants. Then he pulled it out again quickly. He wanted to make sure it drew without a hitch. He'd been hampered before by as minuscule a thing as a loose thread, and he wanted to make damn sure it didn't happen again.

He climbed out on the ladder and hesitated for a split second, looking down at the swaying car. This was the dangerous part. From here until he lit on the car's roof, he was a sitting duck. There was no place to hide, and with only one usable arm he couldn't return fire.

Taking a deep breath, he started down as fast as he could.

Kobelev fired a steady barrage into the air, but the ladder whipped back and forth, making Carter a poor target. He was halfway down before Kobelev was able to hit anything, and then it was only sheer luck that a bullet tore through the side of the ladder, shredding most of its strands. It held for a second, then collapsed, leaving Carter dangling by one hand, his feet swinging wildly looking for rungs that were no longer there.

Kobelev increased the density of his fire pattern. He had an automatic and was splayed out on the top of the coal heap behind the engine.

A bullet split the sleeve of Carter's parka. Then Kobelev stopped and took careful aim. In spite of the noise and the constant freezing wind, Carter felt sweat under his arms as the gunsight zeroed in on him. This time Kobelev wouldn't miss. Carter glanced down. Fifteen feet to the train. He'd never make the jump without falling off.

Then suddenly the copter dipped forward. His first impression was that Roberta had made some sort of error, as he came hurtling toward the car roof. He landed hard but managed to stay aboard by clinging to the rope.

Then he realized Roberta's plan had been much more daring. Judging the distance between the copter's rotor and Kobelev, she had tried to dip the rotor enough to foul his shot. It was a brave move, but foolish. At that angle the rotor's blades were no longer able to work enough air to keep her aloft. The chopper came down on its nose with a crunch. The rotor blades whacked against the coal tender and sheered. It bounced its wheels on the ear's top just over Carter's head, then slipped oft the train altogether. It landed on its top and rolled alongside the track for several hundred feet, finally ending on its side with its tail pointed crazily toward the sun. Carter watched for several anxious seconds, but it lay there inert, no explosion, no flames.

Kobelev had started shooting again, this time with a vengeance; bullets filled the air over Carter's head. Carter rolled over, brought out the Luger, but remembering he had only a few cartridges left, he held his fire.

In a few seconds the stream of gunfire abruptly stopped. Carter heard the telltale clicking of a spent magazine. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. He pulled himself to his feet, swaying to keep his balance on the speeding train, and started forward.

Kobelev was thirty feet in front of him, his gun leveled as though it still held bullets. Behind him, Cynthia lay curled on the floor of the engine cabin, staring dumbly at the passing countryside, the events of the last few hours having reduced her to catatonia.

"Give it up, Kobelev!" Carter yelled.

"Where's my daughter?" Kobelev yelled back. "What have you done with Tatiana?"

"She tried to kill me."

"So you killed her instead. You're going to die for that, Carter." Kobelev pulled the trigger. The gun discharged, the bullet striking the Luger along the barrel and knocking it out of Carter's hand. It flew back off the train and Carter stared after it dumbfounded.

"You thought my gun was empty? Did you honestly think I'd be so foolish as to leave myself without a weapon?"

Kobelev took careful aim, this time at Carter's midsection. There was no time to jump aside, no time to do anything. He pulled the trigger. The gun failed to fire. He pulled again and again. It clicked harmlessly.

"I'd say you jammed it," said Carter.

Angrily Kobelev threw the weapon. "I'll tear you to pieces with my bare hands," Kobelev shouted, scrambling up the coal pile and jumping the short distance to the first car.

They now stood face to face, eye to eye, legs slightly bent and separated to keep themselves from falling.

"You're done," shouted Carter.

They took a few steps closer, like wary heavyweights feeling each other out, both wanting to inflict damage but neither wanting to sustain any.

Meanwhile, the train sped on. They were coming to a bridge. The timberwork overhead looked as though it would pass within a few feet of the car roofs, much less than the six or seven feet necessary to clear a standing man. Off to the left was the froth of a tumbling stream, not yet frozen in mid-October.

Carter watched the bridge drawing closer. Then he looked at Kobelev's face. Eyes narrowed, jaw set in grim determination to avenge his daughter's death.

Kobelev closed in, his hands circling in front of him like claws with which to grab Carter and throw him from the train. Behind him the bridge timbers rushed at them. At the very last moment, Carter dived onto the car top.

"You can't fool me, Carter…" Kobelev's words were cut off by the sickening thud of dull wood against bone. He was slammed facedown on the car, the back of his head little more than a raw flap of skin. Carter, who lay only a few feet away, reached out to hold the body, but before he could get a grip, the vibration of the train moved it to the edge, and it slipped out of his grasp. Kobelev hit the ties below and rolled into the icy froth of the river.

Then the river had its way, tumbling and smashing the body against rocks, burying it in torrents of foam. The train took a sharp curve around a bend of mountain and the river disappeared. The cars pitched far to the outside, and Carter realized the train was traveling too fast for the grade. The angle of the cars was so great that he had to hang on to the roof beam by his fingertips.

When it finally straightened out, he pulled himself back up and scrambled down the car to the engine. Cynthia was still sitting on the floor, unmoved and unmoving, oblivious to what was happening around her. When he approached she looked up, flinching as though she expected to be hit.

"Easy, girl," he said softly. He put a hand on her shoulder, and her face suddenly lit up with recognition.

"Nick!" She reached out for him, but he pulled away.

"I've got to slow us down first." He went to the control panel and pulled out the piece of wood Kobelev had used to jam the throttle. The engine slowed immediately, but the train's momentum and the grade were still pulling it along too fast.

He applied the brake. A horrible screeching filled the air, and sparks rose from the wheels as they fought the track. But she slowed, gradually but unmistakably. It took him all of fifteen minutes to get her stopped completely. By this time Cynthia was at his side, her face buried in the collar of his parka, weeping uncontrollably.

Difficult as it was for her to speak, she managed to squeeze out a few words: "There's a girl back on the track. Kobelev shot her, but she didn't die. She's lying there all alone."

"I know. We're going back to get her now." He put the engine in reverse and began to slowly push the fifteen empty cars back up the hill.