pain,’ Chase wheezed, ‘you’ll love this! Jack,
Maximov’s eyes widened. He whirled, expecting to see Mitchell pointing his gun at him.
Instead, he found the American kneeling at his feet.
Chase sprang up and rammed his shoulder against Maximov’s backside, driving him forward. The huge Russian staggered, tripping over Mitchell - and toppled through the window. He fell past the first catwalk to bounce off the second level with such force that the walkway buckled, plunging into a nest of cables beneath it. He jerked to a stop, hanging upside down by one entangled leg, barely conscious.
Mitchell managed to stand, picking up his rifle. ‘What happened?’
Chase didn’t have the time or the inclination to explain. ‘Give me a gun!’ he snapped instead. Nina had just disappeared into a side corridor, Kruglov right behind her. Mitchell pulled the second XM-201 from his back. Chase grabbed it from him and ran painfully for the ladder.
‘Eddie!’ called Mitchell in a warning tone. Chase looked back to see him pointing at one of the large rings inside the still running generator. ‘Don’t damage the magnets!’
‘What’ll happen?’
‘Bad things!’
‘Good tip,’ Chase said with a crooked smile before dropping down the ladder.
Nina ran along the concrete corridor to find herself in a room - with no exit. It was a storage area, the striped red-and-yellow line on the floor indicating the limit of the generator’s magnetic field. Beyond it, at the far end of the room, was a rack of firefighting and other emergency equipment. Some of it appeared to be made of steel; presumably other, non-magnetic alternative metals were either unsuitable or too expensive.
She rushed to it and grabbed a fire axe. Kruglov’s running footsteps behind her changed from the clang of the walkway to the flat slap of concrete. He was in the passage—
Nina spun and hurled the heavy axe at the entrance. It arced down, falling short of Kruglov - then suddenly changed direction in defiance of gravity as it crossed the painted line, instantly picking up speed and shooting down the corridor. Kruglov dived sideways with a startled yelp, the axe barely missing him as the intense magnetic field snatched it into the generator chamber. It slammed against one of the rings of electromagnets with an echoing bang.
She shook off her momentary amazement, looking for another weapon, but Kruglov was already back on his feet, the matte-black knife in his outstretched hand as he ran at her. ‘
Nina doubted it was a compliment. She tried to back away, but had nowhere to go. Trapped, she brought up her hands to protect herself. Kruglov sneered, moving closer - and Nina swung at him, managing to land a glancing punch against his chin as he jerked away in surprise. ‘Yeah, fuck you too!’
Kruglov blew out an angry breath, then lunged again. She tried to twist his knife hand away from her, as Chase had taught her, but the Russian was ready. As Nina grabbed his wrist, he spun and drove his other elbow against her jaw. She cried out in pain, dazed. Kruglov wrenched his arm from her weakened grip, and cracked the haft of his knife down on the back of her head.
She staggered. Kruglov pulled her up in a choke-hold, pressing the knife against her ribs. He dragged her back down the corridor.
Chase stopped running and brought up his gun as Kruglov emerged from the passage, Nina held in front of him as a shield. He looked through the rifle’s sight, trying to line up the crosshairs on the Russian’s head. But Kruglov was a constantly shifting target behind his hostage - and Chase couldn’t see where he was holding his knife. Even if he hit him, Nina might still be fatally wounded.
Kruglov reached the catwalk and slowly backed away around it. Chase advanced on him. ‘Let her go, dickhead!’
‘We’ve done this before, haven’t we?’ Kruglov responded with a cold smirk. ‘You know I am willing to kill her. So drop the gun.’
Chase came to a standstill near the catwalk junction. He stood for a moment, the rifle still fixed on Kruglov . . . then tossed it to land at Nina’s feet. She stared in shock at his surrender.
Kruglov glanced at the high-tech weapon. ‘One of Mitchell’s toys? I look forward to killing him with it.’ He quickly slipped the knife back into its sheath and pulled Nina with him as he bent to pick up the gun. ‘But you first.’
He groped for the rifle, eyes flicking down - and in the split second he was looking away, Chase winked at Nina. She looked back, confused, but already preparing herself for whatever happened next.
Kruglov straightened, the gun in his hand. Smile widening, he pointed it at Chase and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. The trigger clicked faintly, but the rifle remained inert. His smugness changed to anger as he realised he’d been tricked.
Nina took advantage of his distraction to twist and ram the point of her left elbow into his stomach. Kruglov jerked back, losing his grip on her.
Chase ran to tackle him. Kruglov batted Nina aside with the rifle, slamming her against the catwalk railing. His free hand swept over the gun, hunting for a safety catch or some other release mechanism—
It found the firing button for the grenade launcher.
Chase was still several feet away. He had no idea if the grenade launcher also had a biometric lock - Mitchell certainly hadn’t programmed one with his handprint.
And the flash of uncertainty on his face was all Kruglov needed to know he still had a chance . . .
The Russian whipped up the XM-201 and fired just as Chase hurled himself on to the walkway leading to the storeroom. The grenade shot past him. It hit the main catwalk some fifteen feet away and exploded, ripping apart an entire section and sending it crashing down into the pit below.
The blast sent Chase reeling, almost flipping him over the safety railing. The grenade might have been small, but it was still powerful, enough to take down a wall. He looked back. Nina was pulling herself upright; Kruglov had an expression of almost maniacal glee on his face as he realised the full power of the weapon. ‘Nina! Get to Jack!’ Chase shouted, sprinting down the passage towards the storeroom entrance as the ex-KGB agent lined up a second shot—
Concrete shattered just behind him, knocking him off his feet. He hit the floor hard, bouncing over the painted line to end up sprawled before the equipment rack. Coughing, ears ringing, Chase looked round, and saw the room was a dead end.
A silhouette appeared in the entrance, shrouded in dust. Kruglov. And he knew Chase had no way out.
Chase stood to challenge him anyway. ‘Fight to the end,’ he told himself. He reached into the rack, hunting for a weapon, even if it was just a club.
He realised what some of the equipment was made from . . .
‘I like this gun,’ said Kruglov. ‘It even has a little screen telling me how many bullets I have left. And how many grenades. I see I have . . . one. That should be enough.’
Chase faced him as he emerged from the drifting cloud of concrete dust, watching his expression intently. ‘Well, you’d better use it, then. ’Cause if you don’t, I’m going to shove it up your arsehole and pull the trigger.’
Kruglov merely smiled his oily, frog-like smile one last time. ‘If you insist.’
His eyes narrowed in anticipation of the shot, finger tightening on the firing button—
Chase dived to one side.
The grenade barely missed him, streaking between the shelves to explode against the wall. The rack blew apart, equipment flying across the room—
Over the painted line.
The spinning pieces of steel all suddenly accelerated in mid-air, yanked inexorably towards the powerful magnets in the chamber outside - with Kruglov in their path.
The Russian screamed as the tools hit him, screwdrivers stabbing deep into his flesh, larger items smashing against him with bone-cracking force and sweeping him backwards down the passage. With a final cry he slammed against the generator - only for the cylindrical fire extinguisher that had buried its end in his abdomen to continue onwards and burst out of his back. Spewing blood, Kruglov slithered down the length of the cylinder impaling him, before gravity reclaimed its hold. He fell into the pit, smashing off the middle catwalk and spinning down to the bottom with a decisive crack of bones.
