The tower was an outpost of the tank farm. If he could make it there, he stood a damned good chance of evading pursuit and perhaps extricating himself to safety through the maze. These calculations were performed at lightning speed.
Vollard shifted left, running toward the tower. He serpentined, not proceeding in a direct straight line, but dodging, bobbing, weaving.
Jack saw him and took after him.
Some CTU agents armed with assault rifles emerged from the dump, through the hole in the fence and into the PRP grounds. One of them saw what looked like two figures fleeing south across an open field toward the tank farm.
He shouldered his rifle, drawing a bead on Jack's back — then saw the strip of white cloth hanging from his target's left arm, the CTU identifying tag.
He swung the rifle toward the other fugitive, the one in the lead. That one was too far away for the rifleman to make out whether he wore the white cloth strip.
Rain was falling so heavily that it brought down visibility to a minimum; the rifleman had barely, just barely, seen Jack's identifying strip of cloth in time.
Not knowing whether the man in the lead was CTU, the rifleman decided not to risk a shot.
Thanks to Jack's warning earlier via the satellite phone in Dooley and Buttrick's car, CTU had managed to forestall Vollard's planned onslaught in all three theaters: the suicide barge on the river, the hit try on Minister Fedallah in Riyadh, and the merc force's assault on the tank farm.
CTU had had two SWAT teams on the scene at the PRP, plus some mobile, auxiliary roving backup squads. Spotters were posted at selected vantage points, their sightlines covering 180 degrees on the landward side. Even with visibility reduced to a minimum by wind and rain, they had seen the three-vehicle convoy coming eastbound on River Road.
The invaders had chosen the stealth approach, one that would take them through the dump yard into the truck container lot.
Jack, seeing a bulldozer parked nearby, had the idea of herding Vollard's team right where CTU wanted them. He and Hathaway had climbed up into the dozer's open cab, mounting the machine gun to the left of the driver's seat.
A squad of CTU sharpshooters, ace marksmen all, climbed up on top of the container boxes that formed a corridor from the edge of the dumping grounds to the tank farm. It got pretty hairy up there at times when the wind gusted, threatening to blow them off the rooftops.
Vollard's force had cut a breach in the fence and filed across open ground to the near end formed by the corridor between two lines of parked trucks. It was a logical choice, providing as it did the best cover against being seen by observers and allowing a close approach to the tank farm.
As soon as the last merc bringing up the rear had followed the others into the corridor, Jack fired up the engine. Using both hands to work the floor-mounted gear switches, opening the throttle, he'd maneuvered the dozer behind Vollard's men, coming at them.
Hathaway had deliberately aimed the machine gun for the ground just short of the invaders, not wanting to risk tagging one of the bombs they were carrying and triggering an uncontrollable, unpredictable blast that might endanger defenders as well as attackers.
Bulldozer and machine-gun fire had herded the merc force deeper into the corridor.
The idea was to put them square in a crossfire of CTU sharpshooters, deadly marksmen who could pick their shots and neutralize the enemy with precise head and body shots that would avoid hitting the munitions they carried in their field packs. The corridor was a kill box.
CTU sharpshooters fired with deadly accuracy, decimating the enemy force. There was still a risk of a stray slug tagging a munitions pack and setting off a blast. A hot round would have no effect on the plastic explosives blocks; it was the detonators and mostly the thermite bombs that were the big threat.
Jack planned to cut off the snake's head, but he hadn't reckoned on the cat-quickness of Vollard. The merc man had gone up and over the bulldozer, getting clear of the chute and making his break.
Jack recovered quickly, taking off after him. The chase was on.
Vollard ran toward the tower, the outlying rampart of the tank farm; Jack following. Here in the open, beyond the shelter afforded by parked trucks and the solidity of the bulldozer cab, the full force of wind and rain made itself felt.
Winds blew in from the south, coming across the river and sweeping north, whipping driving rains before it. Some of its force was broken by the tank farm that stood between it and the running men. Wind funneled through the gaps between the oil storage tanks, creating a venturi effect that magnified their force.
As soon as Jack was in the open, the wind hit him like an invisible force field, fighting him. He leaned forward, almost double, charging head-down into the torrent.
He still wore the work gloves to protect his aching hands. Time enough to pull them off when the shooting started.
Vollard reached the first barrier, a bundle of waist-high, horizontal pipes that stretched across the field at right angles. It was supported on a stand that kept the bottom of it a foot or so above ground level; the space was too small to duck under, he had to go over the top.
He bellied across the uppermost pipe, flopping down on the other side. Rising, for the first time since beginning his flight he dared to look back. He saw a figure about a dozen yards away, closing on him.
He failed to recognize the newcomer, but the strip of white cloth tied to the other's upper arm was a sure cue that it wasn't one of his men. Behind the pursuer, a couple of dozen yards back, several more figures were making for the tank farm.
Vollard drew his pistol, holding it in a two-handed grip, bracing it against the top of the pipe to steady it. He blasted a couple of shots at the lead pursuer.
Windborne rain reduced visibility; even at these close quarters, his target was a blur. The figure fell forward, flattening facedown on the ground. Vollard exulted; he'd tagged his man!
Then the other fired from a prone position, a round angling past Vollard's head.
Jack had peeled off the gloves and pulled his gun. The time to start shooting was now. He'd placed his return fire very carefully, aiming it upward at a high angle that would pass harmlessly through the gaps between the storage tanks. He had no desire to accidentally put a bullet into a pipeline or tank and possibly trigger the very blast he'd labored body and soul to prevent.
The shot served its purpose, goosing Vollard into motion. The merc turned and ran; Jack jumped up, following.
Jack angled to the left instead of continuing straight-on, to avoid approaching from the direction in which Vollard had last seen him, using the element of surprise to avoid running into a bullet. He threw himself over the pipeline, coming down on the other side.
He saw Vollard climbing a metal stairway that led to the first level of platforms and catwalks. Appraising the situation, thinking quickly, Jack continued on his leftward tangent, closing on a second metal staircase about fifty feet left of the one Vollard was mounting.
Jack was winded, panting for breath. He was in good condition, but in the last few hours he'd been knocked unconscious and beaten. Merely making the dash from the dozer across open ground in the face of storm-force winds and rain to the tank farm had required a supreme physical effort.
Taking several deep breaths, he gripped the stairway's metal railing and started climbing. Rainwater cascaded over the stairs, trying to tear his feet out from under him and trip him up.
He reached the top of the stairs, where a platform stood, the hub of a network of catwalks radiating out in several directions. To his right, he saw Vollard come back into view; the merc leader was stymied, boxed in.
Jack's quick scan of the framework of platforms, stairs, and walkways had indicated that the tower platform was a dead end, off by itself and isolated from the rest of the framework. He'd guessed right. Vollard was cut off. Jack blocked his only access to the network of metal webwork binding and linking towers and tanks, pumping stations and pipeline hubs.
Vollard had hoped to lose himself and elude his pursuers in the intricate, multileveled tangle. To do so now,
