He cursed his stupidity.
The only thing making his plan to jump the car from the hold into the canal even remotely possible was the protection afforded by the multiple airbags. Without them the impact would be like hitting a concrete wall at forty miles per hour. He wouldn’t trust his life on the Bentley’s seat belt alone. The deploying of the bags meant he was stuck on the ship.
With an angry jerk he jammed the transmission into reverse and backed toward the stern ramp. Even as his own predicament became critical, he still had to think about the others. If he didn’t keep the Chinese occupied, they’d never get clear. He powered up the ramp, leaning on the horn to draw the attention of any of the roving soldiers.
Once he thought he saw one of the Chinese troops, but it turned out to be a member of the ship’s crew. He tried to shout to him to find cover but the Japanese crewman didn’t look like he understood. Mercer flashed his FAMAS and the man scampered away like a startled deer.
He was on level five when he came across a group of Chinese near the amidships ramps. There were four of them, perhaps all that remained on board, clustered around a Mercedes SUV like the one that had broken the fall of their dead comrade. Seeing one of them open the driver’s door, Mercer recalled this deck had been empty when they’d passed through a few minutes earlier.
The other soldiers scrambled into the SUV and suddenly the truck was in motion. The ML-320 accelerated with the suppleness that Mercedes is famous for and halved the distance before Mercer could react. He punched the gas and shot up another of the stern ramps, feeling the Bentley come airborne at the crest before smashing down on its suspension. In the rearview mirror he saw the SUV giving chase and he smiled grimly. He was getting what he wanted. The others would get away. But at what price?
Hitting forty miles an hour again, he raced for the midship ramp. He ignored the distraction of the pursuing Mercedes and motored up one more deck before turning back to the stern, launching the luxury car across the hold like a javelin. This time he didn’t care that his approach to the downward ramp was off and the car slid into a bulkhead, crumpling more metal.
For five minutes he taunted the Chinese as they raced through the ship, keeping them close enough to maintain the chase but staying far enough ahead that they couldn’t get an accurate shot. He knew that he’d never get enough of an advantage to reach the top deck. Not that the open deck would afford him any help. Because of the ship’s towering height, a leap over the side would be fatal. The most he could hope for was to buy Lauren time. He figured it would take her and the others ten minutes to launch the lifeboat and get clear of the auto carrier- maybe fifteen in total to reach Gamboa.
Mercer could have kept this up long enough except Sergeant Huai, driving the Mercedes, had other plans. When they sped down to the deck where the other SUVs were parked, he ordered two of his men to take vehicles and try to corner the Bentley by blocking off both sets of ramps several levels up. He lost only a few seconds in his pursuit and quickly reacquired the luxury sedan without its driver becoming aware that the noose was tightening.
Several more Japanese crewmen and a few officers in white uniforms had appeared in the holds, unsure about what they were seeing but feeling some compulsion to keep witness to the wanton destruction of so much of their cargo. When they reached Tokyo, they would have to explain to a great many people why dozens of cars had been totaled. Even they had a hard time believing a car chase had erupted within the confines of their ship between terrorists who’d arrived on helicopters. One officer even videotaped the battered Bentley being pursued by the ML- 320 with hopes of assuaging irate car owners. And perhaps selling the tape to a television show.
Tempted to throw a jaunty wave to the cameraman, Mercer instead showed his weapon in hopes the crewmen would take cover. Yet they remained rooted like slack-jawed statues. He checked his watch, noted it was barely eleven o’clock in the morning. He also saw he’d given Lauren her fifteen minutes. If he hoped to survive the chase, it was time to end it now and surrender, hoping that the Chinese would rather interrogate a live prisoner than dump overboard the body of a dead one.
He was amazed, after what he’d been through since last night, that he had lasted as long as he had. Driving an unfamiliar car through the steel confines of a cargo ship required a level of concentration that he was rapidly losing. Now that he was ready to give up, it seemed his body had anticipated it and was beginning to shut down. His eyes burned from fumes and exhaustion, and he felt as deflated as the airbags draped across his lap.
He planned to park the shot-up Bentley in the middle of one of the open levels and wait next to it with his hands raised. Just in case the Chinese weren’t accepting captives, he wanted to get clear of the Japanese sailors and steered toward the midship ramp. He was doing twenty miles per hour when he reached the gently sloping ramp, and for a split second his concentration wavered, focusing again on the sailors as they watched him drive away.
Refocusing on the ramp, he saw the black snout of a second Mercedes SUV barreling toward him. Mercer didn’t have time to even take his foot off the gas. Panicked, he cranked the steering wheel without looking where he was headed. The Bentley’s left wheels dropped off the ramp with a crash as the other two maintained traction for a second longer and the heavy car began to roll onto its side. There was enough speed for the car to drag across the deck in a painful rending of metal before it flipped onto its roof and halfway to its wheels again. It settled back onto its roof and lay with its wheels turning desultorily in the air.
The seat belt did its job keeping Mercer secure, so all he suffered was a moment of disorientation and a crack on the head from the door pillar. Gravity pulled him out of the seat and he crawled from the overturned vehicle. Before the two SUVs braked in front of him, he had his fingers laced on his head.
Three soldiers jumped from the trucks, two with assault rifles, the other covering him with an automatic pistol. Mercer saw he was older than the others and guessed he was in charge. Taking heart that they hadn’t already shot him, and not knowing what was coming next, he gave the man a tired smile. “Tell your sales manager that this car just wasn’t up to my standards. Maybe I’ll take the Rolls-Royce instead.”
The soldier’s glacial expression didn’t change as he motioned Mercer to his feet. Mercer stood, a little shakily, and waited. The Chinese leader was shorter than him, but with a heavier build. He looked nearly fifty, but that in no way detracted from his physical presence. Mercer could tell he was a professional, a veteran in his country’s service, and about the toughest looking son of a bitch he’d ever seen.
The vet moved past Mercer and peered into the overturned car. His expression was grim when he looked back at his captive. The two men sized each other up for what felt like a long time.
“Sorry, pal,” Mercer said. “One of us is as good as you’re going to get.”
“Where?” Sergeant Huai barked. He didn’t understand Mercer’s exact words but got the meaning-gone.
Mercer never saw the blow coming. Sweeping a leg between Mercer’s, the old soldier pounded the heel of his hand into his sternum and dropped him to the deck. By the time Mercer realized what had happened, Huai was kneeling by his side with his pistol jammed against his throat hard enough to make Mercer gag.
“Where?” Huai asked. He showed no trace of exertion.
It didn’t matter anymore. Lauren had to have realized Mercer wasn’t coming and by now she was safely at Gamboa. Bruneseau would be securing ground transportation even if they waited around to see if somehow he did escape. His reason for resisting was gone, but he hoped there’d be more to come.
Angering his captors any further would gain him nothing and would likely make any follow-up interrogation that much worse. Not that he believed there was such a thing as mild torture. Mercer studied the dark eyes boring into his. The soldier seemed to be searching for a reason to pull the trigger. Mercer wouldn’t give him the excuse.
“Lifeboat,” he croaked. “They took the lifeboat as soon as we landed. I stayed behind to distract you.”
The soldiers engaged in a quick conversation in Chinese, refining the translation of the answer. Huai turned back to Mercer without easing the pressure on his pistol. “Where they go?”
“Cruise ship,” Mercer replied without hesitation, feigning total defeat. “Unless you’re willing to slaughter three thousand people, they’re gone.”
Huai didn’t need to hear the rest of the explanation. He heard the words
