Andy McDermott - The Tomb Of Hercules

“Eddie,” she said, scowling as he climbed up and walked towards her, the gun never wavering. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You never could take a hint that you weren’t wanted.”

“Where’s the bomb, Sophia?” Chase demanded.

“Still in the cable car.” She smiled thinly. “It’s a little heavy for me to carry. Would you mind getting it out for me?”

“Shut up!” She was taken aback by his shout, her defiant expression faltering as she saw that he was deadly serious. Still keeping his gun locked on to her, Chase walked to the gondola and peered inside. The bomb rested in the center of the floor.

It was his first opportunity to take a proper look at the device. A truncated cone of shining steel acted as a base, three metal rails rising from a hole in its center to a squat, overhanging cylindrical cap of the same polished metal. A slot in the base looked as though it would house the arming system, but it was currently empty. Standing close to three feet tall, the bomb appeared to weigh at least a hundred pounds-but with its uranium core, it would be considerably more than that.

The design was unusual, but Chase knew enough about the basics of nuclear weapons to recognise the type. It was a “gun” device, the simplest and crudest kind of nuke-but also the easiest to build, transport and maintain. Other types of nuclear devices were precision instruments, engineered to minuscule tolerances and requiring every part to function perfectly in a sequence of events measured in microseconds to achieve a proper detonation.

Gun bombs, on the other hand, were blunt instruments needing little more than raw force to work. Take two pieces of enriched uranium-235 of a certain combined total mass. Smash them together, hard. Critical mass is reached, and a nuclear explosion results. The type’s name came from the first example of the kind, the bomb dropped on Hiroshima; it literally was a length of gun barrel, a uranium slug fired from one end into a larger piece at the other.

Yuen’s bomb was smaller and more refined, but the principle was exactly the same. Chase guessed that the slug was in the base-an explosive charge beneath it would fire it up the guide rails like a bullet and into the uranium target inside the steel cap. Simple, crude… but effective.

And deadly. If Yuen’s boast had been accurate, the bomb had a fifteen-kiloton yield-slightly more powerful than Hiroshima, and enough to level the heart of any city and cause a firestorm that would raze buildings for miles around, to say nothing of the radioactive fallout that would be produced.

He looked back at Sophia. “What do you want with a nuke, Sophia?”

She narrowed her eyes. “My dry cleaner ruined my Prada skirt, so I wanted to show my disapproval.”

He strode over to her, snapping the gun up almost against her forehead. “Tell me!”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said quietly. Chase just stared at her stonily. The gun didn’t waver by so much as a millimeter. Uncertainty crept into her eyes. “Eddie…”

“This is over, Sophia,” Chase told her. “Give me your phone. I’m going to contact the authorities, then-”

The gun was smashed out of his grip and spun away across the room. A moment later, the sound of a supersonic rifle shot reached him from outside the open end of the station.

Clutching his hand, Chase looked for the shooter. No sign of anyone, just the dam stretching away across the valley. He threw himself into a roll to make himself a more difficult target, diving for his fallen gun.

Even before he reached it, he saw that it was a pointless move. A hole had been blown straight through the Steyr just above the trigger, severing the linkage to the hammer and rendering the weapon completely useless. Whoever had shot the gun from his hand was either unbelievably lucky-or an almost supernaturally skilled sniper.

Chase changed tactics. He had no weapons-and there was only one thing in the station that could protect him from a high-velocity rifle bullet.

He leaped back the way he had come-and landed behind the kneeling Sophia. Right hand going numb from the shock of impact, he clamped his left around her throat. “Get up!” he snarled, pulling her to her feet.

“Eddie!” she shrieked, genuine fear in her voice.

“Whoever’s out there, tell him to stand down!” Chase ordered, dragging her around to act as a human shield. “I know he can see you-tell him!”

“If you hurt me, he’ll kill you!”

“If he doesn’t stand down, I’ll kill you!”

Neither of them moved, statue still for an eternal two seconds. Then: “You won’t,” said Sophia, voice choked but recovering her former arrogance. “You couldn’t. I know you too well-”

Chase squeezed her throat tighter, cutting her off. “You killed Mac. You killed Nina . Give me one good reason why I should let you live.”

“Didn’t-kill-Nina,” she rasped.

“What?” He eased his grip, very slightly.

“She’s not dead. Yet.”

His hand tightened again. “Nor are you. Yet .”

“Phone,” Sophia managed to whisper, reaching into a pocket. “Show-you…”

Chase’s right hand still had enough sensation left in it for him to tell that she was indeed taking out a phone rather than a knife or a gun. He eased the pressure on her throat a little. “Go on.”

She held up the phone and thumbed the touch screen, which lit up. Another couple of pushes, and she entered the photo album. There was only one stored image.

Even from the little thumbnail of the picture Chase knew who it was, but that didn’t stop a horrible chill of fear hitting him when Sophia zoomed it to fill the screen.

Nina .

Face grazed, mouth stuffed with a gag, eyes wide in fear. She was lying on her back, red hair strewn out across the floor like a splatter of blood.

“If anything happens to me,” Sophia hissed, “she dies. Don’t imagine for a moment that I won’t do it. I just killed my own husband -your parvenue ginger fuck-toy means nothing to me. Now, let go.” Chase didn’t move. “Let go , Eddie. You fought to the end-but this is the end. The fight’s over. You lost.”

With a snarl of fury and anguish, Chase pulled his hand from her neck. Sophia stepped away, giving him a sour sneer of triumph as she rubbed her throat. “Kneel down, Eddie. Hands behind your head. We don’t want to give my friend out there a reason to blow off a limb or two, do we?”

Chase reluctantly got to his knees, looking across the dam-and for the first time saw the sniper. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be impressed by his enemy’s shooting skills. The man, a silhouette against the pale gray of the dam, stood on a viewing platform halfway across the structure, at least four hundred yards away. Just scoring a hit on a person from that distance was an achievement in itself; hitting a pinpoint target on that person was the stuff of a world-class marksman.

Sophia dialed a number and raised her phone. “I have it,” she said. “I need someone to come and pick me up, though-there’s been a spot of bother with my ex-husband.” She listened to a surprised question from the other end of the line, then smiled. “No, the other one. Don’t worry, Joe’s got him covered. Just get the car here. Quick as you can, thank you.”

She disconnected, then walked to Chase, taking care not to cross the line of fire. “This actually works out rather well,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to make that whiny little Yank tart do what I need her to do, but now that I’ve got you, well…”

“I dunno,” said Chase, forcing himself to stay calm and not rise to her bait. “The way things were between us when I left her, she’ll probably be glad to see the back of me.”