His initial plan if they were attacked was to wait until he and Sykes could take out all the gunmen in a surprise counter ambush, but the sheer numbers made that option untenable. Another gunman raised himself over the low flank of the bass boat. His classic Middle Eastern features told Mercer two things. One was that the gunmen had probably received training in some terrorist camp in Iraq, Syria, or Saudi Arabia. The second thing he knew was that they were here to fight to the death.
The Arab was exposed for only a fraction of a second but it was enough time for Mercer to bring the Schmeisser to bear. The old submachine gun bucked in his hand like a living thing as he fired off a five-round burst. Four of the rounds went wide but the fifth blew the gunman off the barge in a spray of blood.
The counterfire from the other three terrorists was swift and sustained. The sound of bullets striking the chain locker was horrific. It felt like the noise would shake Mercer’s teeth loose from his jaw. But even over this racket he heard Sykes and his team engage the second bass boat, their assault carbines adding to the gun battle raging across the width of the river.
Mercer waited until the firing stopped to blindly fire a few rounds over the chain locker and scamper to better cover near the crane. He nearly tripped over the prone form of Brian Crenna. He was huddled partially under the crane with one of his deckhands.
“What the hell is going on?” Crenna shouted over the roar of automatic weapons.
Mercer ignored the pointless question. “Where are your other two men?”
“Billy jumped over the side.” He pointed out over the water. Mercer could see a man swimming toward Grand Island. “He’s a good swimmer. He’ll make it. I don’t know about Tom.”
The second bass boat raced around to their side of the barge, Sykes’s big Bertram trying to keep up with the faster and more nimble craft. While one of the gunmen fired at the Bertram, two more raked the cabin cruiser. Several shots went wide and slammed into the crane’s turret, forcing the three men to cower further, as if trying to burrow into the steel decking.
“Listen,” Mercer said when the outboard faded. “I’m going to cover you. Get to the cabin cruiser and get out of here.”
He changed out the half-depleted magazine for a fresh one, waited a moment for Crenna and the deckhand to get ready, then ducked under the extended boom and cut loose with the Schmeisser. He raked the far side of the barge in a continuous sweep from stem to stern. The gunmen were out of sight so he nodded to Crenna. The two men took off in a loping run, covering the thirty feet to the side of the barge in seconds. Both vaulted over the rail and onto the cabin cruiser’s deck.
Even as he concentrated on finding a target, Mercer noticed that the far bank of the river was moving ever so slightly. When the last round had cycled through the gun, Mercer ducked back under the crane, and as he changed out the magazine he looked at the near bank. Intellect overcame the adrenaline surging though his veins and he realized the land wasn’t moving at all. The hydraulic anchors had failed completely and the barge was at the mercy of the Niagara River. And in the few seconds it took to reload the Schmeisser he realized the barge was accelerating. The wind had picked up again and he estimated they were going six knots.
Mercer was certain the cabin cruiser didn’t have the power to tow the barge against the current. He needed to get to the tug moored to the far side of the craft if he was going to prevent them all from plummeting down the falls. Failing that, he had to get the crates of plutonium ore into the special bags so they wouldn’t smash open when the barge went over.
“Cali,” he shouted. “We’re adrift. Cast off and get out of here.”
“What about you?” she shouted back without revealing herself.
“Sykes can pick me up.” For the moment, though, Mercer didn’t know where his friend was. The Bertram and the second bass boat had gone upriver. He would just have to trust that Booker Sykes would take out the second group of terrorists and return before it was too late.
Cali and Crenna spoke for a second and she covered him as he inched his way to the controls of the cabin cruiser. Cali wanted Crenna to use the cruiser to push the barge to shore so he opened the throttles and put the rudder hard over. The ropes securing the cruiser to the barge strained as the tired motor roared. To Mercer’s surprise and delight it seemed like her plan was working. The nine-hundred-ton barge slowly rotated and seemed to be heading for the Canadian side of the river. The gunmen on the bass boat hadn’t expected such fierce resistance so it was taking them a few seconds to regroup, but when they heard the cruiser they opened fire again. The windshield and side windows exploded, covering Crenna in a shower of glass, while chunks were ripped from the cruiser’s upperworks. It was a fluke shot that hit the cleat securing the cruiser’s bow to the barge. The boat slewed away from the metal side of the barge before Crenna could bring the wheel over or throttle down the engine. The tension on the rear cleat was too much and it gave way, tearing a large section of the transom in the process.
The gunmen continued to fire as the two craft separated. The rear deck was chewed up by the barrage, forcing Cali to dive into the cabin. Greasy smoke began to boil from the engine cowling and the motor started to sputter. As soon as Crenna drove them out of range, Cali mounted the four steps to the cockpit. “We have to go back.”
“Forget it, lady. You ain’t paying me enough for this. I’m going to pick up Billy and call the Coast Guard.”
“Mercer will be dead by the time they get here.”
“That’s his problem.”
Cali cursed herself for emptying the Beretta. She wouldn’t have shot Crenna but she certainly would have threatened him. “Okay, I’ll drop you off at the dock but I’m going back.”
“Not on my boat you’re not. Bad enough I might lose my tug and the crane if she don’t ground.”
Cali exploded in rage. “Those crates we raised are filled with plutonium,” she shouted. “If they fall into the hands of a bunch of terrorists I’ll make sure you’re charged with treason and shot.”
He looked at her. Cali’s eyes blazed with fury and her breath came in heaving gasps. Just as he was about to agree, a wave of heat washed over them. They turned in unison. The rear of the boat was a wall of flame. A bullet had severed the fuel line and the raw gasoline had ignited. “Jesus,” Crenna yelled. “Everyone off the boat. Now!”
Stan, Jesse, and Crenna’s third mate scrambled from the cabin. More familiar with watercraft, the mate knew instantly that the boat was going to burn to the water line, so he threw himself over the side. Stan and Jesse saw that Cali and the captain were crawling out through the shattered windshield and they jumped into the swift-flowing river.
Cali grabbed a pair of flotation rings that hung just below the windscreen and jumped into the water with Crenna right behind her. The shore of Grand Island was only a hundred yards away, and once everyone was together and holding on to one of the rings, they struck out. The boat drifted past. The fire had already spread to the cabin and flames shot from the cockpit. Tears of frustration stung Cali’s eyes. By the time she reached shore and found another boat it would be too late.
Mercer needed to cross twenty feet of open deck to reach the little towboat. The gunmen were well covered and fired at him from the protection of their boat. Their only exposed flank was from the water, and since Sykes and his team were still upriver fighting the other boat, they could afford to be patient. Mercer was effectively pinned. He had yet to figure out their plan or spot the last member of Crenna’s crew, and time was quickly running out. The barge had drifted at least a mile from where it had anchored over the
He couldn’t wait for Sykes any longer. He had to end the standoff and get to the tug. He checked his ammo. The magazine in the Schmeisser was fresh and he had two more in his pockets. He fired a quick burst to keep the terrorists’ heads down and sprinted for the forty-foot tugboat. As he ran he watched for movement and as soon as one of the gunmen looked over the side of the barge he triggered another three-round burst. The bullets went wide but the terrorist ducked from sight.
Mercer had just another couple of paces to go when the barge struck a rock as the river began to shoal. He was thrown flat and the barge spun on its axis, grinding across the hidden boulder until water pressure shoved it free. The crates of ore still suspended over the deck on the end of the crane pendulumed dangerously but didn’t fall.
Mercer scrambled up just as the three terrorists recovered and let loose with their Kalashnikovs. He fell from the barge and onto the deck of the small tug, bullets exploding all around him. He lay flat for a moment and glanced back toward the gunmen when the firing stopped. One of them stood upright, a long tube resting on his shoulder. It
