Twister cr-5

by Chris Ryan

  As far as he could tell, the refinery was completely deserted now. He was glad he had taken the worker's uniform, however, because the yellow hard hat protected his head from the debris flying dangerously around in the terrifyingly strong winds. Even so, he had to keep his head down and his forearm across his eyes in order to move further into the metal jungle with any kind of safety.

  The noise of the wind seemed to bounce off the huge metal towers and canisters that surrounded him. It was as though there were sirens all around him, shrieking impossibly loudly, warning him not to go any further. 'Danger!' the gales seemed to shout. 'Danger!' The mercenary put that fanciful thought from his mind. He was here to do a job. It would have been a lot easier without the storm, but he wasn't going to let a freak of the weather get in his way. He'd only received half his money so far; the rest was payable when the refinery became a fireball. He had to make sure that happened; and he had to make sure he was a long way from there when it did. A long way away and a good deal richer — as soon as the tapes reached the media. He concentrated on that one thought as he pushed onwards.

  He was in a covered area now, its vaulted roof supported by huge metal girders. The wind still blew through it, but it was a little less severe. He didn't slow his pace, however. The whole structure was creaking ominously, as though its skeleton was being pushed to breaking point. It was almost a relief to get back out into the open air. Ahead of him, looming in the near-distance, was a large container tower, bigger than the rest, dominating this part of the immense refinery like a skyscraper in the middle of a village. He grunted in satisfaction: this was where he was headed. The first device needed to be placed against the shell of this tower to cause maximum devastation. He would be destroying others, too, but this was the important one.

  Minutes later he was at the base of the tower. A metal ladder stretched up to the top of it, but before he climbed that he needed to prepare the device. He sheltered as best he could from the wind behind the wall of a small Portakabin, then opened his bag and felt inside.

  He had five blocks of C-4 plastic explosive in his bag, each of them weighing 500 grams. They were small — not much bigger than a bar of soap — but it was a powerful variety and he knew it would be enough to rip through the shell of the oil container. Once that happened, of course, the thing would go up like a rocket. He pulled out one of the blocks, then fished around for one of the tiny fuses he had carefully constructed the previous day. The fuse itself was only a little bigger than the block of plastic explosive: a black metal box with two sharp prongs sticking out of it. Inside there was a powerful magnet and an electronic receiver — small, but with a long range. It needed to be, if he was going to get far enough away to activate the fuse remotely.

  Once the device was prepared, he clutched it firmly in his hand and approached the ladder.

  The mercenary didn't need to climb too high, but it was still a precarious business as he clutched the ladder with one hand, the device with the other and braved the powerful winds that almost seemed to be trying to knock him off. By the time he reached the bottom of the canister, he was sweating profusely and his muscles ached from the exertion. He held on tight as he stretched out the hand which held the bomb and clamped the device firmly to the metal of the massive canister. To his satisfaction, the device stuck fast. He clutched the ladder with both hands and slowly, carefully, climbed back down.

  One down. Four to go. Everything was proceeding according to plan. He turned his back on the main tower and went in search of the remaining locations.

  Danny and Ben travelled in silence. There wasn't much more to say.

  Night was beginning to fall and the pick-up's headlamps shone brightly. They illuminated the bits of vegetation and who knows what else that were swirling ahead of them, as well as lighting up the road. At one point, Ben was convinced he saw the huge cylindrical shape of a massive snake crawling over a fallen tree. A python? He shuddered. He vaguely wondered too what had happened to the cabin crew and other passengers from the plane. He had seen no sign of them as they drove towards the outside edges of the Everglades. He supposed they had found transport out, like themselves, but he didn't really dwell on the question. There were more pressing matters now, after all.

  Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder into the back of the truck. Angelo was still unconscious. Danny must have hit him pretty hard — Ben's Italian friend was going to know about it when he finally woke up. When that happened, Ben was going to need a plan. Angelo would find out soon enough what Danny had in store for him, but as the truck struggled through the winds Ben decided that it would be better to put off telling him for as long as possible. Angelo was a good guy, and brave in his way; but he had a tendency to panic and that was the last thing they needed if they were going to try and get out of this. No, Ben thought to himself. He would try to keep quiet about his friend's potential fate.

  After a little while — Ben couldn't have said how long — they reached the eastern entrance to the park. A huge billboard bore a cheerful greeting, but it had been knocked over in the wind and now lay on its back. There were a few low buildings here and there, but the whole area was deserted. Ben briefly considered trying to break out of the truck, but he soon put that thought from his mind. He was the only one who knew what Danny was planning to do to Angelo; and even if his friend's life hadn't been in danger, he had to stop this man from carrying out his threat to blow up the refinery. It would be devastating at the best of times; but in the middle of a hurricane, who could tell what sort of pandemonium it would cause. Ben didn't know where the oil refinery was, but he knew it could well be situated near a populated area. And if the fire spread…

  He shuddered as memories of Adelaide flickered through his brain. He had to do something to stop this. He had to.

  As if called into his field of vision by the thoughts that were going through Ben's head, a huge road sign approached. 'Florida City' it announced. '9 miles.' Ben blinked, then turned to Danny.

  'The refinery,' he asked. 'Is it far from Florida City?'

  Danny shook his head. 'Just south,' he replied. 'But we need to get into town to approach it.' He looked over at Ben. 'Don't try anything stupid, Ben. I've still got the shotgun by my side, remember.'

  As if I'm likely to forget, Ben felt like saying. And then his brow furrowed as a thought struck him. If Danny had the gun all along, and if he wanted Ben out of the way, why hadn't he just shot him back at the wardens' station? Why was he taking the risk of having to get Ben to the refinery when all it could do was make life more difficult for him. Could it be that Danny, despite all his hard words, did not have the stomach to kill Ben in cold blood? Could it be that there was a chink in his captor's armour? Ben stowed that possibility away in his mind, ready to use it should the opportunity arise.

  The wind was still screaming outside, causing the palm trees that lined the road to bend as though they were made of rubber. Signs of the devastation the wind had caused were everywhere: abandoned cars turned over onto their sides, broken-in windows of deserted houses, fences all but obliterated; trees felled. At first the road remained clear, but as they sped away from the Everglades towards Florida they started seeing more traffic. The cars were few and far between at first, but after a couple of miles they became increasingly numerous. Ben had half expected to see lines of traffic heading out in one particular direction, evacuating the area; but in fact the vehicles seemed to be taking all sorts of routes. He had the sense that the people driving them were in a panic. He didn't blame them.

  Somehow, however, he didn't share their panic, though he had enough reason to. He felt numb to it: numb to the wind and to the danger; numb to the horrific scenario that awaited him. For some reason he heard Alec's voice echoing in his head. You're a brave lad, Ben. But you can't go round the world saving everyone, you know.

  Ben clenched his jaw. Alec was probably right. But sometimes you didn't have a choice. Sometimes saving everyone and saving yourself went hand in hand, an
d there was no way Ben was going to sit back and let disaster come to him. He wasn't going down without a fight.

  'You can't do this, you know,' he told Danny, struggling to make his voice heard above the wind. 'It's madness. To set fire to an oil refinery on the edge of a populated area — think of the consequences. Think how many people could be killed, especially if the winds make the fire spread.'

  Danny said nothing.

  'Trust me,' Ben persisted urgently. 'I've been around one bad fire. It's not the sort of thing you'd want on your conscience.'

  Danny's face remained emotionless. 'My conscience is clear,' he said shortly. 'My conscience—'

  But he didn't finish his sentence, because at that moment there was a massive crashing sound as something flew directly into the windscreen. Ben tried to throw his arms over his face to protect himself, but all he managed to do was make the ropes dig in more; Danny did the same thing, and immediately he lost control of the truck.

  Everything was a blur: the darkness outside, the headlamps, the shattered glass. Ben could barely see what was happening, but he could feel it sure enough. The pick-up veered towards the side of the road, then suddenly stopped with a sickening crunch. Ben was thrown forward violently; he was only stopped from flying through the shattered windscreen by the seatbelt that locked him firmly in place. It hurt, though, as the whiplash cracked through his body, and he thought he could feel bits of glass prickling over his skin.

  The wind continued to howl, but between Ben and Danny there was a moment of silence. In front of them was a palm tree. They had driven into it and the front of the pick-up was completely crushed. Ben looked towards his captor. A shard of glass had sliced one side of the man's face, but Danny barely seemed to notice it. Instead he was looking round, as if trying to work out what he was going to do now.

  'Angelo!' Ben shouted suddenly. 'We need to check he's all right. He's not strapped in. He could have been really hurt.' He looked back over his shoulder into the rear of the vehicle, but it was too dark now to see his friend.

  Danny's face flickered as he undid his seatbelt and grabbed the shotgun. 'You,' he said shortly, his voice slightly less sure of itself than it had been during their car journey. 'Stay there. Any heroics…' He looked meaningfully at the gun. It was clear what he meant. Ben's captor jumped out of the truck and he heard him opening the rear doors of the pick-up.

  Ben's mind was doing somersaults as the wind roared through the windscreen. He half closed his eyes to protect them. This felt like a chance, but he didn't know what he could do. His hands were tied and Danny had a gun. Maybe his best bet was just to jump out and try and flag down a car. But who would stop for them in the middle of a hurricane?

  His silent question was immediately answered as his eyes were suddenly blinded by the headlamps of a vehicle approaching. He couldn't tell what sort of car it was, but as he vaguely made out the silhouette of a person coming towards him, he felt a massive wave of relief. Whoever it was had their coat pulled up over their head and was moving quickly, as though they didn't want to stay out in the open air too long. It was a man, Ben saw as he approached the passenger side window, with a beard — but that was all he could tell. He rapped on the glass. 'You OK in there?' he screamed. 'You need help?'

  Ben nodded his head furiously. 'Open the door!' he yelled over the wind. 'I'm tied up — I can't do it?'

  Ben's words obviously sounded strange to the man, because a look of confusion crossed his face. 'Tied up?' he asked. 'What do you mean, tied up?'

  Ben opened his mouth to answer, but the words never left him. Because just then he saw the tip of Danny's shotgun appear outside the passenger window and press against the side of the bearded man's skull.

  The man froze.

  'Very slowly, give me your car keys, and get on the floor,' Danny shouted, his hair blowing wildly in the wind.

  The man's eyes flickered between Danny and Ben, but he had no option other than to do as he was told. He slowly lowered the coat that was covering his head, handed over some keys and then hit the ground.

  Danny opened the door of the pick-up. 'Get out,' he told Ben curtly. Ben struggled from the truck, jumping over the terrified man, who was lying just by it, his hands on his head. He realized that Danny was now training the gun on him. 'He's awake,' he said shortly. 'Help him out of the back and take him to this guy's car.'

  'I can't do anything with my hands tied,' Ben shouted.

  Danny's eyes narrowed momentarily. 'Turn round,' he said. Ben did as he was told, and he felt his captor untying the knot that was binding him. It was an untold relief to have his hands free, but the sense of relief didn't last long because immediately Danny put the gun to his head. 'I mean what I say, Ben. Try anything and I'll shoot.' Danny was shouting, but that didn't stop his voice trembling slightly.

  Ben cast him an ugly look but nodded his head in obedience. Then he walked round to the back of the truck. The doors were open and Angelo was sitting with his legs dangling out of the back. The Italian boy was a mess. His hands were tied behind his back just like Ben's had been and he had obviously been thrown around a lot when the pick-up crashed. His face was bruised and bleeding and he had a distant, pained look in his eyes. He looked up at Ben and it seemed to take a moment for him to realize who he was.

  'Ben,' he croaked finally. 'Che succede? What's going on? Why am I tied up?'

  Ben took a deep breath before replying. 'It's Danny,' he said as quietly as he could while still being heard over the wind. 'He's, er… he's not quite who we thought he was.'

  Angelo's face screwed up in concentration as he tried to process that piece of information. 'What do you mean?'

  Ben chose his words carefully. 'You remember what Brad said? About there being a second terrorist on the plane? It's him.'

  Angelo shook his head groggily. 'That doesn't make sense. Danny's been—'

  He didn't finish, because suddenly Danny reappeared, holding the bearded man at gunpoint. 'Get in the truck,' he ordered his new hostage.

  As the man climbed into the back of the crashed pick-up, Danny pulled Angelo out. The Italian's knees buckled, but he just about managed to stand as the doors of the pick-up were slammed shut and locked, trapping the bearded man inside. Then Danny waved the gun in Ben's direction once more. 'The car,' he shouted. 'Now.'

  Ben took Angelo's arm and helped him walk, using his other arm to shield their faces. As they approached the vehicle, its headlights still glowing in the darkness, Ben saw it was another pick-up, though this time the rear of it was not covered with a canopy and was exposed to the elements. He directed Angelo round to the passenger side, opened the door and helped him in, all the while aware that Danny had his gun firmly pointed at his back.

  Once Angelo was safely in the new truck, Ben started to climb in. As he did, however, he felt Danny's hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

  'Not you,' Danny instructed.

  Ben turned round. Danny was still pointing the gun at him, but in his other hand he held the car keys up.

  'I can't keep an eye on you both if I'm driving,' he instructed. 'You'll have to do it. Take the keys.'

  'I don't know how to drive,' Ben lied.

  Danny raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'You can fly a plane, but you can't drive a car? I don't think so, Ben.' He nudged the gun against Ben's shoulder. 'Take the keys,' he repeated.

  Ben looked around him. The wind was worse than ever and he really didn't know if he was going to be able to keep control of the truck. Still, it didn't look like he had much choice. Reluctantly, he took the keys from Danny's fist and walked round to the other side of the truck. He opened the door and climbed in.

  By the time Ben was settled behind the wheel, Danny was sitting in the far-side passenger seat with Angelo, bruised and bleary and with his hands still tied behind his back, between them. Their captor had his body half twisted towards Ben; the shotgun, which he held firmly, stretched across Angelo's torso and was pointed directly at Ben. 'There are two rounds in
here, Ben,' Danny reminded him. 'It only takes one to kill you.'

  Again, the thought flashed through Ben's mind: if Danny was prepared to kill him, why hadn't he done so yet? Was he really up to it?

  It wasn't a question, though, that he really wanted to put to the test. Nor did Danny give him the chance to do so.

  'Drive,' he said curtly. 'Now.'

  Chapter Fourteen

  Controlling the truck was more difficult than Ben could have imagined.

  It took several false starts before he got going and started to grow used to the feel of the pedals. Once they were moving, it felt for all the world as if there were people outside trying to knock the vehicle over. It was just the wind, of course, but no less scary for that. The rain had started up again — huge, pellet-like drops that slammed against the windscreen causing a flood of water that the windscreen wipers barely had a chance to scrape away. He felt as if he would be unable to keep the truck going in a straight line for any period of time, but somehow, with all his effort, he managed it.

  They travelled the main highway into Florida City. None of the road lights were lit, and all the buildings they passed had also been plunged into darkness. Ben assumed the storm had caused some sort of power outage. The roads became busier and Ben found that sweat was dripping down his forehead as he concentrated on the road ahead. More than once he considered crashing the truck on purpose; but one look at the shotgun pointed in his direction soon put him off. It wouldn't take much for the loaded weapon to go off accidentally and the barrel was pointing straight at him. Occasionally Danny uttered a curt instruction, telling him which way to go. He seemed to know these streets well, and Ben really had no choice other than to do as his captor said.

  They had been going for about ten minutes when, seemingly on an impulse, Danny switched the car radio on. A blank crackle came from the truck's speakers as he twisted the dialling knob to try and find a station. It took a while — clearly many of the stations were down because of the storm — but after a minute or so a voice, indistinct but just about understandable, came over the airwaves. Ben struggled to hear what the urgent voice was saying over the noise of the car engine and the storm outside.