Poseidon's Arrow

A few minutes later, Johansson walked the length of the ball mill. For once, his hands were empty, the rawhide lash coiled to his belt. As he approached the feed piles, he spotted Giordino and the other worker seated on one of the mounds. Johansson’s face flushed, and his eyes bulged with rage.

“On your feet!” he screamed. “Why aren’t you working?”

“The ball mill is full up,” Giordino said, casually pointing to the spi

“I said, on your feet.”

Giordino tried rising, but his injured leg lost its footing, and he buckled to his knee. Johansson lunged forward, catching Giordino before he could recover. Grabbing a shovel wedged in the ore, the Swede swung it hard, aiming for the bum leg.

The blade co

Standing on the platform, Pitt had seen it coming but could not react in time. His own shovel in hand, he took a quick step across the platform and leaped off the edge. He fell toward Johansson but was too far away to land on him. Instead, he swung the shovel in a chopping motion as he fell, stretching his arms and aiming at Johansson’s head.

The shovel missed the overseer’s head but struck his left shoulder hard. Johansson winced and spun around as the shovel bounced away and Pitt landed hard at his feet. Still gripping his own shovel, Johansson took a swipe at Pitt. Trying to rise, Pitt was forced to fling himself backward, and he caught a glancing blow on his side as he rolled toward the ball mill.

Pursuing like a rabid animal, Johansson was above Pitt instantly, raising the shovel for a vertical blow to the head. Pitt rolled beneath the spi

The big Swede weighed seventy-five pounds more than Pitt and landed like a rock. The impact knocked the breath from Pitt’s lungs. Johansson managed to wedge the shovel handle beneath Pitt’s throat as he landed and applied his full strength to choke him.

Pitt struggled to push the handle clear, but he was pi

It was no use. Johansson didn’t budge, and he focused all of his energies on choking the life out of Pitt.

A pounding sensation exploded in his head as Pitt began gasping for air. A wave of desperation fell over him, and he let go of the handle with his right hand and reached up toward Johansson’s waist, groping for his sidearm.

But Johansson’s pistol was holstered on his opposite hip. Instead, Pitt felt the coiled bullwhip hooked to his belt. He grasped the whip, pulling it free, but he began to sag as spots blurred his vision.

Then a loud whack filled his ears, and the choking eased, if only for a moment.

Giordino had crawled within throwing range and was pelting Johansson with clumps of ore. A hard chunk, driven by Giordino with the velocity of a major league fastball, struck Johansson behind the ear. The Swede grunted and turned toward Giordino, ducking as another rock came flying by.

The distraction gave Pitt time to catch a breath of air, which cleared his vision. Seizing the moment, he whipped up his free arm and looped the bullwhip around Johansson’s head.

Johansson retaliated by releasing the shovel and throwing a right fist at Pitt’s head.

Pitt could do nothing to deflect the blow, as he was reaching up with the handle of the whip. As the blow struck his face, he jammed a lanyard ring on the handle into the gear teeth spi

The punch nearly knocked Pitt out, but he remained alert enough to see the coiled whip tighten around Johansson’s neck and jerk him upward. As he flailed to break free, the huge toothed wheel carried the Swede up onto its rotating surface. A hoarse scream passed from Johansson’s lips as he was dragged by the neck to the machine’s opposite side.

At its base, the external gear engaged with the flywheel from the ball mill’s 800-horsepower motor. Johansson fought to escape, but was pulled into the rotating gears. The meshing metal teeth chewing through the leather whip and then into the flesh of the overseer’s neck. His screaming ended, and the rotating gear spit a thin line of red across the room. The machine bucked and slowed a moment, then revved back up to speed. Beneath the gears, a pool of blood spread across the floor from Johansson’s decapitated body.

Pitt climbed to his feet. The guard at the other end of the mill had finally taken notice and began ru

“You really gunked up the works this time,” Giordino said, gri

“Thanks for the assist.” Pitt moved quickly toward him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but the leg’s leaking again. You better take a solo run.”

The guard was now yelling at Pitt while attempting to draw his weapon.

Pitt nodded at his friend. “I’ll be back.” He dove under the conveyor belt as a burst of gunfire echoed through the building. Giordino casually tossed some crushed ore across the floor when the guard rushed after Pitt. His eyes focused on his quarry, the guard slipped on the ore and fell halfway to the floor.

Pitt used the opportunity to spring from the opposite side of the conveyor and dash out the end of the building.

A late spray of gunfire followed him as he cut around the corner and ducked into some nearby foliage. Trapped on the five-acre island, he had no illusion about being able to remain concealed for long. The gunfire had already attracted the attention of several nearby guards.

Pitt needled his way through the brush, using its cover to move well clear of the millhouse. The pursuing guard exited the building too late to see him and was forced to sweep the area slowly as he called in support.

Pitt angled through the bush until he reached the cart path. Then he sprinted toward the dock as fast as his weakened legs would carry him. The path soon opened onto the dock and the remaining pile of ore. Plugrad and a few of his men were shoveling their way through the pile.

As he came off the path, Pitt held his breath, knowing he had only one means of escape. As he caught sight of the men, he saw what he was looking for. With renewed urgency, he stepped up his pace, pushing aside the thought that if his assumption was wrong, he would soon be dead.

58

PLUGRAD LOOKED UP FROM A SHOVELFUL OF ORE IN his hands when Pitt came charging down the path, pointing past him.

“I need one of those,” Pitt yelled.

Plugrad looked behind him and saw a trio of ore carts. The men around him stepped out of the way as Pitt approached. Without slowing, he ran to a lightly filled cart and shoved it toward the dock.

“The white lines!” Plugrad said, but Pitt shook him off, driving the cart forward with all the force he could muster.

On the dock, a lone guard assigned to Plugrad’s work detail had been on his radio and didn’t react until he saw Pitt thrusting the cart toward the electric lines. He swung his AK-47 toward Pitt and fired a burst.

The poorly aimed shot chewed up the dust by Pitt’s feet, inciting him to push harder. The cart’s front tires crossed the first white line, and he began to feel a tingle in his neck. The cart was now rolling freely. As the pain began to amplify around his throat, he leaped and dove inside.