The Midas Legacy (Wilde/Chase 12)

by Andy McDermott

  The echoing boom of a rifle from above and the piercing crack of a bullet splintering concrete just behind him came as one.

  Someone was in the crane, high up enough to have been obscured from Eddie’s hiding place. He cursed and changed direction. He was too far from the containers to retreat without giving the sniper a clear shot at his back. Instead he charged up one of the gangways. Another shot snapped past him, impacting against the ship’s hull. He reached the deck. There was a hatch not far away, but it was closed, and taking even a second to open it would leave him a sitting duck.

  But closer was a missing panel in the bulkhead. He leapt through it into the black void beyond—

  Discovering to his horror that it really was a void. There was no floor!

  He dropped—

  Something hit him like a baseball bat to the chest.

  A girder, one of the missing deck’s supports. He caught it with one arm, pain punching at his heart through bruised ribs. His gun fell and banged off unseen objects a worrying distance below.

  Eddie hung helplessly for a moment before finding the beam’s edge with his now-empty hand. He swung his legs, but no footholds presented themselves, forcing him to draw himself upwards by sheer muscle until he could hook a heel over the girder—

  A shrill hammerblow reverberated through the metal as another round hit a few feet away. The sniper had fired through the gap in the bulkhead. Even though he was clear of the point of impact, the clatter of ricocheting bullet fragments was stark warning that the Yorkshireman was not out of danger.

  He hauled himself on to the beam, finding just enough remaining deck on its far side to allow him to stand. Sufficient light was coming from outside to let him pick out his surroundings. Sidestepping to a doorway, he slipped through into a passage. Its aft end was open to the night. He cautiously made his way down it, realising that the superstructure had been removed to give access to the engines below. Heavy machinery was visible through the gaping hole.

  A gangway led from the deck to the quay between the dry docks. De Klerx’s ship was still approaching the open lock – and Eddie felt a flash of alarm as he saw two figures traversing the closed one ahead of him. Nina and Spencer were picking their way across the top of the huge gates. Too quickly. They must have thought the sniper had been firing at them, and were now rushing for solid ground. If either slipped and fell into the dock, they would be killed when they hit the concrete below.

  But they would also be killed if the sniper saw them. If Eddie made a run for the quay, he could draw the guard’s fire—

  He belatedly registered a new sound, a low mechanical moan. It was close by, but he couldn’t work out what it was – until he saw the shadows on the deck shift as something passed in front of the floodlights.

  Something large.

  Realisation struck – as the section of suspended superstructure hit the ship.

  30

  The lock gates were eighteen inches wide, thick wood reinforced with steel to withstand the sea’s immense pressure. They should have been straightforward to negotiate, but their tops were slimy with algae and splatterings of bird excrement, forcing Nina to take each step with great care.

  But now she was three quarters of the way across the dry dock’s entrance. Ahead, De Klerx’s ship was almost at the mouth of the second dock. She risked a brief look inland, for the first time seeing something of the ongoing gunfight. Some of the boatyard’s guards had blocked the road to the docks by dragging a section of mast across it. She couldn’t see the truck bearing the Crucible, but it sounded as if the Dutchman’s men had spread out to exchange fire. One of the defenders lay unmoving at the roadside, but she couldn’t tell if the intruders had taken casualties of their own.

  Movement to her side. She glanced at the crane, fearful that the man in it had spotted her – but instead saw the towering machine turning, swinging its suspended cargo at the berthed ship—

  The hanging block of decks and bulkheads smashed into the rest of the superstructure with a colossal cacophony of rending metal.

  The impact threw Eddie against a wall. Steel screamed around him, the ship warping and tearing as its two sections were crushed back together. Rivets burst loose and clanged off the bulkheads like bullets. He had to get outside—

  A spar six inches thick punched through the side of the passage and lanced at his stomach.

  He jerked sideways – not quite quickly enough. Its edge tore through his clothes and slashed his waist before burying itself in the wall behind him. The whole corridor twisted, turning into a demented funhouse as it closed in. He tried to duck under the beam, but more jagged spears ripped through the ruptured wall at him—

  A deep, monstrous boom like the tolling of a satanic bell . . . and everything stopped.

  The ship tipped sideways beneath him before slowly rolling back upright. Groans of tortured metal echoed through the vessel. Eddie gasped in relief and fear at the sight of a crooked knifepoint just inches from his chest. The swinging section was entangled in the rest of the superstructure. He had to make a break for it before the crane moved again.

  He turned – and stopped in sudden pain as something dug into his ankle.

  A deck plate had crumpled like paper, bending upwards over his foot. He tried to pull free, but another girder was wedged behind his heel.

  The vessel jolted again, a shrill whine rising over the ear-splitting scrape of steel against steel. He redoubled his efforts to twist his foot from its cage, but the gap was too small.

  Trapped – and suddenly he felt himself rise sickeningly as the crane ripped the whole of the mangled superstructure from the hull.

  The man in the crane looked down at the ship with both anger and an almost boyish glee at the destruction he was causing. All he knew was that someone had killed Mr Trakas, and armed intruders were on the loose in the boatyard. He had seen one go into the dry-docked ship, and was doing everything he could to ensure he never came out.

  The crane’s motors wailed as it hauled the wreckage upwards. Shredded debris rained back into the gaping hole in the deck. No sign of his target, though. The opening the bald man had gone through was now buried in a crumpled mass of metal. He had to make sure he didn’t find another exit . . .

  A derelict building on the far side of the other dock caught his eye – as did a ship slipping in through the open lock. His boss’s killers were trying to get away by sea! His anger returned, and he snatched up his rifle, before remembering his original target. He shoved a control lever forward to slide the hoist and the wreckage it was lifting to the far end of the jib, then worked another to set the crane into a turn.

  One that would smash its cargo into the old brick structure like a wrecking ball.

  Floodlights along the waterfront came into sight as the crane rotated, giving Eddie a clear look at the metal pinning his foot. He would never get free unless he could bend back the floor plate. But even he wasn’t strong enough to do so with his bare hands . . .

  A steel bar jutting through the wall rattled as the superstructure shook.

  He strained to reach across and grab it. The bar moved, but only a little, a rivet attaching it to a hefty metal plate.

  The approaching ship came into view through the passage’s twisted end. The crane would carry him across the second dry dock ahead of it. A sudden fear struck him – was the sniper going to drop the decks into the water, drowning him? He tugged harder at the length of metal. The rivet groaned in protest. He could feel it working loose, but now he was over the dock, running out of time—

  A crack – and the rivet sheared apart.

  He hurriedly jammed the bar into his foot’s prison. Not much space: it was pressed hard against his ankle. This was going to hurt . . .

  He gritted his teeth, then shoved with all his strength. The bar ground against bone, pain drilling t
hrough his lower leg. But he had no choice except to endure it and keep pushing.

  The dock’s far side came fully into sight. The crane wasn’t stopping, instead taking him back towards land . . .

  A memory of the view across the dry docks flashed into his mind. There was a building near the empty dock’s corner – and the wrecked superstructure was being swung right at it.

  A new fear gave him extra strength. He let out a roar as he drove the bar forward, the protruding bone of his ankle feeling as if it were about to be crushed—

  The deck plate cracked, and the crowbar suddenly jerked free. He threw it down and pulled out his aching foot, then ran as best he could for the open end of the corridor.

  The dark waters spread out before him. He jumped—

  A moment of freefall, giving him a glimpse of a man bearing a bulky weapon leaping ashore from the incoming ship – then he hit the sea.

  The shock of the temperature change blew all thoughts of the pain from his mind. Bubbles swirling around him, he fought through his disorientation and struggled to the surface—

  The superstructure smashed into the derelict building.

  Bricks disintegrated, rotten beams exploding into matchwood as several tons of twisted metal ploughed through the ruin. The wreckage slewed around, the section that had been ripped loose from the ship tearing free and dropping on its side with a cacophonous bang that shattered concrete and sent boulder-sized chunks of the dockside tumbling into the water. Waves pounded Eddie, washing over his head. Choking, he turned to swim clear—

  The fallen deck section teetered, then toppled into the dock.

  A wall of water hit the fleeing Yorkshireman like a tsunami, pounding him against the wall. He scraped painfully along it until the wavefront passed and he was able to right himself and resurface. Secondary ripples smacked his face. He grabbed one of the rusty metal pillars along the dock’s side, pulling himself above the waterline.

  The first thing he heard over the waves was the continuing crack of gunfire as the guards faced off against De Klerx’s team. But then he picked out something else, close by – a staccato chak-chak-chak—

  The realisation that it was a rotary grenade launcher came a split second before the first explosion.

  Five forty-millimetre high explosive rounds detonated in rapid succession, the blasts rippling across the makeshift roadblock and sending the guards and pieces thereof flying. The shooting stopped.

  The ship’s erstwhile pilot, Beel, regarded the devastation with satisfaction, keeping the Milkor and its last grenade at the ready in case any resistance remained.

  It did – but not where he was looking.

  A bullet from the crane tore through his shoulder.

  The sniper felt a surge of vengeance-fuelled exultation as he saw the man on the dockside fall. He stopped the crane’s turn. The hanging deck was buried inside the collapsed building, the other section sinking into the water beside it. From his elevated vantage point, he now had a view across the inshore part of the boatyard – and saw for the first time the attacking force.

  Several armed men in wetsuits were hurrying along the road to the docks. Behind them, a flatbed truck pulled out from behind the cover of a half-built boat. There was something large on its back; he couldn’t identify it, but he had seen it taken into the factory earlier. The invaders hadn’t just killed his boss, they were stealing from him too!

  The wetsuited men jogged to the mast blocking the road and dragged it clear. The truck headed for the dock.

  ‘You’re not getting away,’ growled the sniper, taking aim again.

  De Klerx leaned from the passenger-side window to shout instructions to his men. ‘Get to the ship and load the Crucible aboard! But watch out for whoever fired that shot. There’s still someone—’

  The windscreen shattered – and the driver’s lower jaw blew apart in a hideous shower of bone and shredded tissue as a rifle bullet ripped through it into his throat.

  Blood sprayed across Anastasia’s face. She sat frozen and stunned for a moment, then screamed. De Klerx threw open his door and hauled the blonde out as a second round smacked into the middle seat behind them. Now driverless, the truck veered off the road to crash into a stack of barrels. The Dutchman pulled Anastasia down behind the front wheel as the engine stalled. ‘Sniper!’ he yelled. ‘In the crane!’

  His men scattered as more shots came from on high.

  Eddie dragged himself up on to the dockside just in time to avoid being mown down by the now-unmanned ship as it ground along the concrete. He dropped behind the side of its hull, but the gunfire from the crane wasn’t aimed at him. The sniper had found new targets. He spotted the truck, and De Klerx and Anastasia hiding behind the stationary vehicle.

  Another shot. One of De Klerx’s men fell, the leg of his wetsuit flapping open as the round sliced through his thigh. Retaliatory fire lanced up at the crane, only to clang ineffectually off the heavy pivot plates beneath its cabin. The sniper had superior positioning, Eddie saw, protected by the metalwork around him, and a clear view of every foot of ground between the truck and the slowing ship. Even if he’d still had his gun, shooting the guard would be difficult . . .

  At least, if he shot a bullet.

  He turned, seeing the wounded pilot – and the distinctive six-barrelled shape of a Milkor MGL grenade launcher beside him. There had only been five explosions . . .

  Staying low, Eddie hurried to the downed man. ‘I’m with De Klerx!’ he said as Beel groped for a holstered pistol. ‘Just need to borrow this.’

  He scooped up the MGL, pulling a release hook beneath its stubby barrel to swing it open at the breech. As he’d thought, there was one unused round remaining. He snapped the weapon shut. He had fired similar launchers before, both during his military career and afterwards. They were reasonably accurate as such weapons went, but relied less on pinpoint targeting than blast and shrapnel to do damage.

  Now he would have to be dead-on first time.

  The launcher was fitted with a simple reflex sight, a red cross-hair glowing in the eyepiece. He fixed the reticle on the cabin’s open window, adjusted for elevation and windage – and fired.

  The shot made surprisingly little noise. A reflected flash as the grenade arced past a floodlight, then it was lost to sight—

  The cabin exploded. The burning torso and one remaining leg of the sniper somersaulted from the crane and smashed down inside a small boat, toppling it from its stands. ‘B3, hit,’ Eddie said, before calling out across the suddenly silent dockyard. ‘It’s clear! Come on!’

  ‘Eddie!’ Nina’s voice. He looked across the ship’s bow to see her and Spencer running down the quay between the two dry docks. They reached its end, passing the crane as Lonmore and Petra emerged hesitantly from behind a container.

  De Klerx’s men regrouped and headed for the ship, two of them carrying the wounded man. The Dutchman and Anastasia climbed back into the truck, restarting it. Nina hugged her husband as she reached him. ‘Thank God you’re okay! And, uh, wet.’

  ‘Good job you’re wearing a wetsuit,’ he replied. ‘Is everyone else all right? Apart from the obvious,’ he added, assessing the injured man’s leg wound; he would live.

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Lonmore, breathless from the short run. ‘Spencer, what about you? That explosion behind us – we thought you’d been caught in it!’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad.’ An awkward pause, then the two men embraced. ‘I’m glad you are too.’

  ‘We’re not out of here yet,’ cautioned Eddie. Over the truck, he heard a new sound: sirens. Distant, coming from the nearest town, but approaching quickly. ‘Everyone get on the boat.’ He tossed the MGL on to the bow, then ushered Nina and the Lonmores aboard.

  De Klerx’s men stayed on the dockside, waiting for their boss to arrive. The Dutchman pulled the truck
up alongside them and jumped out. ‘Load the Crucible!’ he ordered. They climbed up to release the chains holding the great sphere in place.

  ‘What about him?’ Eddie protested, pointing at Beel. The pilot had passed out, the pool of blood from his shoulder wound spreading across the concrete.

  ‘The Crucible is our top priority,’ said Anastasia, coming around from the other side of the cab. ‘But I’ll help you with him.’

  Nina recoiled at the sight of her blood-splattered face. ‘Jesus! Are you okay?’

  ‘Just shaken up,’ the blonde replied.

  Eddie joined them, and together they brought the unconscious pilot on to the ship. Behind them, De Klerx’s remaining men strained like pallbearers to carry the Crucible. ‘You should drop that fucking thing in the sea,’ muttered the Englishman, glaring over his shoulder at the glinting artefact.

  Anastasia didn’t reply, instead returning to De Klerx the moment the injured man had been laid on a bench inside the cabin. Annoyed, Eddie searched for a first-aid kit, then started to treat the bullet wound.

  By now, the Crucible had reached the ship, the raiding party lifting it on to the foredeck. The sirens drew nearer. ‘Come on, quickly,’ snapped De Klerx. The sphere was finally lowered into place. ‘Tie it down! You two, get Doyle’s body.’ A pair of men went back to the truck and lifted the driver’s corpse from its cab, returning to the ship with their grisly cargo. De Klerx went to the wheelhouse and put the engines into reverse, backing the vessel out of the dock. Once it was in open water, he swung about, then powered into the blackness of the Aegean.

  Anastasia stood beside him, looking through the front windows – not at the sea, but the Crucible on the deck before them. ‘We got it,’ she said, tiredness driven aside by triumph. ‘We got it!’

  ‘Was it worth it?’ Nina demanded from behind them. ‘All those people dead, including some of your own – and Trakas. Was it worth becoming a murderer?’