Juggernaut

‘We’ve got serious issues. If Jabril’s battalion attack en masse, you’ll get overrun.’

Voss spat tobacco.

‘I can hold them off. And those fucks in the tunnels.’

‘That’s the least of our problems. There’s a Predator drone. It’s been watching us. Eye-in-the-sky. Watching us the whole time.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying we’ve got three or four hours to get out of this valley before it lights up and we get cooked like brisket.’

‘Christ.’

‘Let’s get aboard that train and get out of here. Let’s go get rich.’

Juggernaut

The mess hall. A wide, low cave.

Toppled tables. Broken chairs. Relics of that final night when drunken revelry turned to panic as sirens wailed, infected prisoners broke loose, and mine tunnels became bloody mayhem.

Voss walked between the upturned tables, pistol drawn. Empty vodka bottles rolled and clinked.

‘Come on out.’

Gaunt stepped from shadows.

‘Put your fucking hands where I can see them.’

‘We’re on the same team.’

‘Put down the bag and show me your fucking hands.’

Gaunt set down his backpack and stood, hands raised.

Voss jammed the Glock beneath Gaunt’s chin and patted him down. He checked jacket pockets. He confiscated the silenced Sig and a knife.

He lashed Gaunt’s wrists with plastic tuff-ties. He pushed him towards a chair.

‘Sit.’

‘We have a common interest,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help.’

Voss didn’t bother to respond. He pulled a table upright. He dumped the backpack on the table and searched inside.

Caulk explosive. A couple of flares. A sat phone.

‘Who’s on the other end of this phone? CIA?’

‘Give or take.’

‘How about you? Are you Agency?’

‘I’m a contractor.’

‘Lay it out for me. The whole thing.’

‘Covert ops,’ said Gaunt. ‘They spent a lot of time and money locating the Spektr crash site. Invested a shitload more cash to bring the virus to a weaponised form. Then all hell broke loose. Their team got wiped out.’

‘What about us?’

‘Guinea pigs. They sent you into the contamination zone to see if you would survive, to see if the virus could be retrieved.’

‘Don’t they have their own guys? Couldn’t they use Delta?’

‘Does this look like an officially sanctioned operation to you? Congressional oversight, all that shit? This is deep black. Strictly back-channel assets. A small bunch of ambitious guys. They’ve overreached themselves, and now they are trying to clean up.’

‘But they’ll pay?’ asked Voss. ‘If we deliver the virus, they’ll pay?’

‘Dollars or roubles. Langley, Russian intelligence, China. Who gives a shit? Someone will make us rich.’

‘So call him up. This guy.’

‘His name is Koell.’

‘Get him to send a chopper.’

‘He’s written us off. He’s pulled the plug. Right now, it’s sun-up, and aerial surveillance is showing him a fuck-ton of bodies and a couple of wrecked choppers.’

‘He’s going to call down some kind of airstrike? You’re sure?’

‘The plane is probably in the air right now. If we are going to ride that locomotive out of here, I suggest we get going.’

The battery compartment. A steel box bolted to the underskirt of the locomotive.

Lucy smashed the padlock with the butt of her rifle. She unclipped the dead battery. Amanda helped drag it from the compartment and dump it on the tunnel floor.

They pushed the fresh Exide battery into the vacant space and attached bulldog terminals.

They climbed in the cab. Lucy checked the driver’s console. Battery indicator lit green.

‘That’s it,’ said Lucy. ‘We’re in business. Let’s grab some water and ammo, and get the fuck out of here.’

They ran to the tunnel entrance. No sign of Voss.

Lucy hit the pressel switch on her radio.

‘Voss? Where the fuck are you?’

No response.

‘Voss. Come on, man. Time to go.’

No reply.

They filled a backpack with ammunition, water and a couple of MRE pouches.

Lucy slung the backpack. Amanda carried the SAW.

They headed back to the train. They climbed aboard one of the umber and cream carriages hitched to the locomotive.

Amanda checked out the interior of the coach.

‘Christ.’

Cobwebbed grandeur. Elegant Queen Anne furniture. Panelled walls inlaid with marquetry foliage. Brass fixtures.

Tunnel light shafted through the windows and lit swirling dust.

Amanda brushed sand from a heavy mahogany desk. She looked through a door into the adjoining carriage. A banquette table and chairs.

‘What is this?’ asked Amanda. ‘Some kind of palace on wheels?’

‘Pretty much.’

Voss climbed into the carriage.

‘Where’s Jabril?’ asked Amanda.

‘Haven’t seen him.’

‘Go look. We’re about to leave. See if he still wants to die in this fucking mine.’

‘I brought a gift.’

Voss hauled Gaunt up into the carriage.