Philip Mercer #07 - Havoc by Jack Du Brul

Author:Jack Du Brul [Brul, Jack Du]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers, Large Type Books, Action & Adventure, Terrorists, Geologists
ISBN: 9780451412430
Publisher: Onyx
Published: 2006-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

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 Wetherby and was fast approaching a series of rapids.

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 was an RPG-7, a venerable Russian-made tank killer. The rocket popped from the launcher a second later, its motor engaged, and it streaked across the barge. Mercer threw his hands over his head just as the rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the tug’s wheelhouse. The explosion shattered the big windscreen, allowing most of the blast to vent away from Mercer, but the overpressure wave was a crushing weight that seemed to suck the air from his lungs and left his ears ringing. He could no longer hear the roar of Niagara Falls only a mile or two downstream.

Mercer slowly sat upright. He hadn’t been hit by any debris, but the pilothouse was ruined. There was no way now to stop the barge from going over the falls and he had just minutes to get the crates into their protective bags. He looked down the river. There was a structure of some sort jutting into the water from the Canadian side. It was the water intakes for a massive hydroelectric power plant. The barge had drifted too close to the American side for it to be drawn toward the intakes.

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