The Spear of Atlantis (Wilde/Chase 14)

by Andy McDermott

  On the bridge, al-Asim had been watching the monitors, dividing his attention between the hunt for Wilde and Chase and Alula’s progress towards the helicopter – with, despite his best efforts, more spent on the latter. The Dhajani monarch finally reached the waiting aircraft, letting him concentrate on his enemies. To his alarm, he saw that they had managed to evade all his men and reach the forward section, just eight decks below.

  Wilde was carrying the spearhead, but her husband was the most immediate threat, entering one of the elevators. ‘Khadim! He’s coming up here!’ he shouted to the remaining man guarding the bridge crew. ‘Go into the lobby and kill him!’

  The agent ran to the exit. Al-Asim changed position to cover the officers. Beyond the bridge windows, Manama’s harbour entrance grew ever larger. In just a few minutes, the Pacifia would make its final turn for the American base.

  He glanced back at the screens. The pilot helped Alula into the idling helicopter before scurrying to release one of the cables securing the aircraft. Wilde was running down a hallway, Chase still ascending in the lift.

  It stopped. The bald Englishman peered through the doors, then ran out. Al-Asim waited for the sound of gunfire outside the bridge . . .

  None came.

  The other monitors revealed the reason: Chase had emerged on the deck above. What was he doing?

  Eddie was entering the landing on Deck 17. A relaxation spa was ahead; off to each side were cabins, the doors of some to port still open after their occupants had fled the collision with the Atlantia.

  He hurried to one of the two curving staircases flanking the lifts, then crept down it. The deck beneath came into view. He leaned over until he could see the bridge entrance. Was there a guard?

  Yes – a shadow against the white-painted bulkhead revealed the form of a man holding a gun.

  He retreated. Unarmed, he wouldn’t get more than a couple of steps into the lower landing before being gunned down. He needed a distraction. . . .

  There was a touchscreen panel near the lifts. He glanced at the ceiling, seeing several of the same features that had been present in the mall, then ran to the screen. ‘Now, what was that code again?’ he muttered.

  Khadim waited outside the bridge with impatience and rising concern, his gun sweeping between all the possible entrances to the landing. The Englishman had been on the way up; why hadn’t he arrived?

  He looked back at the elevators. The digital displays told him that one was now on the deck above. Still warily checking the other potential access points, he started towards the stairs, watching for movement above—

  An alarm shrilled, amber emergency lights flashing. Khadim recoiled as the nozzles in the ceiling blasted out a thick, soaking mist. He quickly withdrew to the bridge door as the fog grew thicker, reducing the staircases and elevators to vague shapes in the haze. His finger tightened on the Glock’s trigger . . .

  Movement on the stairs to his right.

  He whirled and fired, sending half his magazine into the shadowy form. It tumbled heavily down the steps. Exultant, he ran over to confirm his kill—

  It wasn’t the Englishman.

  Lying on the ground was a bullet-shredded mattress. A decoy! So where was—

  ‘Ay up,’ said a voice behind him.

  Eddie had taken the single-width mattress from a cabin, hurling it down the stairs into the fog he’d triggered with the Emir’s code before haring down the other flight. He slammed a fist into the startled man’s face as he turned, following it up with a brutal assault that left the Dhajani broken-nosed, bleeding and unconscious on the bedding. ‘Least you’ve got something to lie on,’ he said, taking the Glock.

  Clothing drenched, he went to the bridge door, about to use the code – then stopped. The ship hadn’t slowed or changed course, so there was still at least one of Alula’s people inside. And with this the only way in, he would be an easy target.

  Another plan formed. He liked it even less than the idea of simply walking through the door, but it was his only chance of entering the bridge without being cut down. ‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ he growled as he ran up the stairs.

  48

  Gun in one hand, the spearhead’s case in the other, Nina cautiously peered from the doorway to the bow deck.

  The helicopter was still idling on the pad. The pilot crouched beside the aircraft, releasing one of the taut steel cables holding it. Alula was in the co-pilot’s seat, a shadow behind the tinted windows.

  The man’s back was to her. She quickly advanced on him. A moment of alarm as the helicopter tilted, the edge of the rotor disc dropping a few feet towards the deck; with the Pacifia still ploughing through the waves at twenty-five knots, the wind was strong enough to affect its aerodynamics.

  She ducked lower, but the chopper tipped back upright. The pilot had paused, ready to jump clear; he now resumed his task, slackening the cable, then releasing the clasp. Even though it had been loosened, the metal line still twanged away across the pad.

  He sidestepped to the next cable. Nina readied the gun, then hurried towards him.

  Al-Asim raised his Glock, aiming at the bridge door as he watched the Englishman approach it on the monitors . . . but then the bald man rushed away, heading back up the stairs. Where was he going?

  All thoughts of Chase’s plan vanished as he saw a new danger on another screen. The helicopter was still on the pad, its pilot having just released the second of the cables holding it, but now a new figure had appeared.

  Nina Wilde.

  The American was moving quickly across the bow deck, the case containing the spearhead in one hand and a gun in the other. ‘No!’ Al-Asim instinctively cried out in warning, even though he knew the pilot couldn’t hear him.

  The pilot reached the penultimate cable and crouched to unfasten it—

  ‘Don’t move!’ Nina shouted.

  The pilot looked back at her, eyes widening – then clawed for his weapon.

  She fired. The bullet ripped bloodily through his thigh. He screamed, falling on to his back.

  Nina kicked his pistol away, then ran to the S-76’s door, yanking it open and thrusting her gun inside before Alula could draw hers. ‘Drop it!’ she snarled.

  Eddie reached the Pacifia’s uppermost deck. He headed forward into the glazed geodesic dome covering a bar and sun lounge. A stiff wind hit him; several panels had shattered when the ship collided with the Atlantia. Passengers were huddled around the room, crew members trying to maintain order and calm, but it evaporated when people saw his gun.

  He had no time to waste explaining the situation. Instead he ran to the front of the deck, angling to a broken pane large enough to fit through. To his alarm, he saw a warship powering towards the harbour entrance; the US Navy had indeed got a destroyer under way. It would be in a position to fire torpedoes in two minutes, or less. He had to stop the Pacifia before then.

  The superstructure sloped away towards the bow, the bridge marked by a line of greenish glass running its entire width four decks below. Nina was now on the pad beside the chopper, its pilot lying nearby as she aimed her gun into the aircraft.

  There was nothing he could do to help her from so far away. But he trusted her to take control of the situation while he dealt with his own.

  Alula gave Nina a poisonous glare, but eased out her pistol and tossed it over the back of her seat. ‘You are like a cockroach, Dr Wilde – I stamp on you again and again, but you do not die.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Nina scoffed, gesturing for her to climb out. ‘Lady, you’re not even in the top ten of people who’ve tried to kill me. And you’re not going to kill anyone else, either.’

  The Dhajani eyed the metal case. ‘You are mistaken. The spearhead will explode very soon, perhaps in thirty minutes . . . perhaps in thirty seconds.’

  ‘If it does, you’ll be right here to see it. Now move!’

  Alula reluctantly stepped down from the cockpit, her eyes not leaving Nina as she watched for any chance to fight back.r />
  Eddie held the broken window’s frame as he brought both legs through and perched on the lip of the deck. The bridge’s protruding central pulpit was about thirty feet to his left. He spread his feet apart, aiming the gun down the metal slope between them, then flicked the Glock’s fire selector to full auto. He would only have a split-second window of opportunity – in this case a literal window – and couldn’t afford to miss, even if he had to use up all his ammo in the process.

  He readied himself – then slipped over the edge.

  The white-painted metal was like a colossal playground slide. He picked up speed quickly – too quickly. Even with both heels jammed against the smooth surface, he couldn’t find enough grip to control his descent.

  Portholes flashed past. He slapped his free hand down flat. Rivet heads slashed at his skin, but he slowed, slightly.

  But not enough. And now he was swinging around, about to tumble out of control as he careered towards the bridge windows—

  He desperately took aim – and held the trigger.

  The Glock blazed, tearing through its remaining ammunition in less than a seond. The rounds clanged off steel – then the wild storm of fire reached the line of glass.

  One of the floor-to-ceiling windows burst apart, its fragments raining into the bridge. A split second later he followed them, plunging through to land with a bone-jarring bang.

  ‘So how are you going to take the spearhead out to sea, Dr Wilde?’ sneered Alula. She glanced at the pilot. ‘He is in no condition to fly the helicopter.’

  ‘Eddie can fly it,’ Nina said defiantly.

  ‘But he is not here.’

  ‘He will be. Now get away from—’

  Gunfire erupted behind her.

  Nina spun, fearing that one of Alula’s men had come to her rescue, but saw nothing – until she looked up. Eddie was sliding down the front of the superstructure, firing wildly. She gasped, horrified—

  Alula dived at her.

  The gun went off as Nina hit the deck, its slide locking back. She lashed the empty pistol at her opponent. Metal struck bone, Alula crying out, but then the princess threw herself on to the other woman.

  Nina’s head cracked painfully against the deck. She tasted blood, but recovered quickly—

  The case containing the spearhead was torn from her grasp.

  Eddie sat up. He had been left winded and battered by the fall, but knew he had to move. The crew were frozen in astonishment at their stations, but there was one person not wearing a white uniform.

  Al-Asim. Eddie snapped the gun up at him—

  Its slide was locked back. Empty.

  The Dhajani overcame his shock at the other man’s dramatic entrance and spun to bring his own weapon to bear. Eddie rolled against a console as he fired. Its screens blew apart under a hail of bullets.

  Al-Asim swore, then charged across the bridge. He leapt out into the front of the wide room, unleashing another searing burst of fire at the Englishman’s hiding place—

  He wasn’t there.

  The Arab glared at the smoking holes in the deck, then realised his target had squeezed through a footwell beneath the console. He darted around it to find Eddie getting to his feet, and pulled the trigger again.

  Nothing happened. His own gun was empty.

  He yanked out a replacement magazine – as Eddie leapt at him.

  Alula jumped up with the case. She looked about her, then started around the helicopter’s tail towards the prow.

  Nina knew what she planned: to drop the spearhead into the sea. It would be impossible to recover, but in the shallow waters this close to Bahrain, the antimatter explosion would be almost as destructive as if the Pacifia had sailed right into the harbour.

  Alula had given the helicopter’s whirling tail rotor a wide berth. Nina forced herself up and cut under its rear boom to charge after her. The Dhajani tried to dodge, but too late. Nina tackled her, both women falling at the edge of the pad.

  The case skidded towards the railings. Nina scrambled in pursuit, grabbing it just before it went over. She swung around, skidding it back towards the helicopter – then gasped as a kick caught her hard in the side.

  Alula hesitated, torn between continuing the fight and recovering the spearhead. She chose the latter, running after the case. Nina rose clumsily to follow.

  The S-76 shifted again as the Pacifia pitched over rough waves. The rotor dipped towards Alula, who retreated in fear – allowing Nina to catch up. She yanked the Dhajani back by her long hair and punched her in the face as she fell. Alula shrieked, only for her cry to be cut off by a harsh chop to her throat.

  Nina delivered one more punch to keep her down, then shakily stood and headed for the chopper. A hole was visible in the bridge windows eight decks above. Eddie’s insane stunt had gotten him inside the command centre, at least—

  A loud metallic thwack rang across the pad – and something struck her back so hard it threw her across the helipad.

  Eddie and al-Asim collided. The Dhajani was knocked back, dropping the new magazine. He smacked his weapon against Eddie’s head, drawing blood and a yell of pain – but the furious Yorkshireman immediately drove him against another console so hard he flipped backwards over it. The officer manning the station scrambled clear as al-Asim crashed down on his chair, his gun flying across the room.

  Eddie still had his Glock. He was about to dive at the Arab to pistol-whip him when he realised the full magazine was on the floor nearby. He rushed to it, ejecting the empty to make room for its replacement—

  Al-Asim sprang up, pulling his watch from its band and flinging the concealed weapon at his opponent. A snick of metal as the perdida’s blades extended – and the Yorkshireman cried out as it slammed against the side of his wrist, slashing open the skin. The blow knocked the magazine from his hand, sending it under a console.

  He gripped his wounded arm, blood flowing between his fingers. The cut was deep, but if it had hit him a moment earlier, it would have sliced through the arteries in his wrist.

  Al-Asim saw his enemy’s pain and launched the perdida again. Eddie jerked aside as it whistled past his head. He edged towards the magazine, but was forced to retreat as al-Asim pulled his weapon back into a spinning motion and whirled it at him again.

  Eddie backed away. Any possible avenue for a counterattack was blocked by the perdida. He changed tack and hurled the empty gun at al-Asim’s head.

  The Arab instinctively jerked up his raised arm to shield his face. The Glock was deflected by the whirling wire, but the perdida’s smooth orbit suddenly became a crazy wobble.

  The Englishman saw his chance. If he stopped the weapon from spinning, it would become useless. He lunged—

  The perdida whirled gyroscopically back into alignment as al-Asim straightened his arm. The weapon rushed at Eddie’s head. He ducked, but not fast enough. It clipped him above his temple, slashing an agonising line across his forehead.

  Nina tumbled to a stop near the helicopter, the pain across her back so intense she could barely think, never mind move. Her eyes struggled to focus, the bow finally congealing into a coherent image. Alula was on all fours on the opposite side of the helipad, something moving snake-like across the deck between them . . .

  Another cable.

  The lines securing the helicopter were attached to large eyelets set into the deck. Alula had released the clasp on one of them, sending the taut cable lashing across the helipad like a whip. It had torn Nina’s clothes, wind-blown salt in the air searing the exposed wound across her back. The only thing preventing a scream was her lack of breath.

  The Pacifia rolled again, and the helicopter slithered sidelong across the pad. There was now only one cable holding the Sikorsky – and it was acting like a pendulum, the aircraft reeling as the ship moved beneath it.

  Alula had started towards the spearhead case, only to beat a frantic retreat as the tail rotor scythed at her. The last cable strained as it took the aircraft’s full three-tonne weight.
Despite his wounded leg, the pilot managed to drag himself clear of the pad.

  Nina had no choice but to get closer. Despite the pain, she crawled for the case. The helicopter reached the end of its arc, then juddered back; even though its wheel brakes were on, the combination of the rotor’s gyro effect and the liner’s constant sway was enough to overcome them, the aircraft skipping terrifyingly over the deck with little shrieks of tortured rubber.

  Only a few feet between her and the spearhead – but the S-76 was coming at her. One wheel left the deck as it tipped, the rotor carving downwards.

  She grasped the case, twisting painfully to fling it clear, and dropped flat as the blades scythed towards her—

  The pain from his forehead was excruciating, but Eddie knew that was the least of his problems. He could already feel blood running down his face. He dashed it away, but it would keep flowing until the wound was covered. If it reached his eye, he would be temporarily blinded.

  A new, malevolent confidence came to al-Asim’s face. He advanced, spinning the perdida towards what would soon become the Englishman’s blind side.

  Eddie wiped at the blood again, but felt his eye sting as the first trickle reached it. Al-Asim whipped out his arm. The Yorkshireman jumped back, the bizarre weapon chopping a chunk from his lapel. He kept retreating, almost at the bridge’s centre. The crew looked on helplessly, nobody willing to risk injury or death by intervening.

  Another strike at Eddie’s face. He jerked away, the blades whisking so close to his nose that he felt a rush of displaced air – and stumbled against the helm console.

  Al-Asim rushed at him, whirling the small but deadly weapon straight at his head—

  The Yorkshireman whipped up his left arm to intercept it: not the heavy disc of the perdida itself, but the wire. It looped around his forearm, picking up speed as it wound in – to carve through his sleeve and embed a blade into his flesh with a wet thud.

  He let out a pained cry, but it was also fuelled by fury – and the knowledge that he had just disarmed his enemy.

  The Dhajani tried to yank the perdida back. The wire tightened around Eddie’s arm, but the weapon stayed put. He grabbed the steel line with his other hand, then pulled as hard as he could. Caught off guard, al-Asim staggered towards him—