The startled driver stared at Pitt with wide eyes before the pain from two broken toes registered in his brain. Pitt raised the hammer as a first cry of agony trickled from the man's lips.
"Sorry, pal, but I need to borrow your rig," Pitt said.
The stunned operator flew out the opposite side of the open cab as if he had wings, disappearing into the darkness before Pitt could wield another blow. Pitt dropped the hammer and slid into the seat, quickly backing the forklift away from the railcar. He had driven a forklift decades before while working at a car parts distributor in high school and the controls quickly came back to mind. He whipped the forklift around on its lone rear wheel and stomped on the accelerator, aiming the twin prongs in the direction of Giordino.
Pitt's partner had streaked toward the maze of stacked pipes until he saw one of the armed security guards emerge from the nearest piling. The jeep was descending from the center of the yard with the two other guards while a trio of dockworkers was chasing him from behind. Despite the odds, Giordino quickly figured his best chance was against the unarmed workers trailing him. Grinding to a stop in his tracks, he turned and charged directly at the first man in pursuit. The startled worker hesitated in surprise as Giordino suddenly bore into him, driving his shoulder into the man's stomach. It might as well have been a bull charging a rag doll. A gasp of air wheezed from the man's lips, then his face turned blue as he fell limp across Giordino's shoulders. The tough Italian didn't miss a step, bulling forward with the dead weight into the second worker, who was following only a step behind. The three bodies collided with a sickening thud, Giordino using the body over his shoulder to soften the blow from the second man. In a tumble of arms and legs, the three bodies fell to the ground in a heap, Giordino somehow landing on top.
In an instant, he was on his feet, wheeling to face the next pursuer. But the third dockworker, a wiry man with long sideburns, had deftly sidestepped the mass of bodies and whirled behind Giordino. As Giordino rose, sideburns sprang onto his back and cupped an elbow around his throat. A simultaneous fusion of forces converged on him, as the jeep screeched to a halt just inches away while the guard on foot approached yelling with his gun drawn. Realizing he could no longer fight his way out, Giordino relaxed under the grip of the headlock, thinking that this was not quite the end of the diversion that he had in mind.
Staring through the windshield, he noticed the driver of the jeep glare triumphantly as if he had just bagged a trophy caribou. The smug guard, obviously head of the security force, started to climb out of the jeep, then hesitated with a quizzical look on his face. The look turned to horror as he turned toward a bright yellow blur flashing out of the darkness.
Blazing across the yard, Pitt had the forklift floored and aimed for the driver's side of the jeep. A warning cry erupted from the jeep's passenger, who tried to scramble clear, but there was nothing the driver could do. The twin forks sliced into the jeep like it was made of cheese, penetrating just fore and aft of the driver's seat. The nose of the forklift then bashed into the doorsill, mashing the jeep sideways for several feet and sending its occupants airborne out the opposite side. The two guards tumbled to the ground as the jeep skidded to a halt beside them. Pitt quickly jammed the forklift in reverse and backed away from the mangled car.
With the shock of the collision just in front of them, Giordino felt sideburns's grip around his neck loosen a fraction and he reacted immediately. Shoving the man's wrist up, Giordino flung his free elbow into the worker's ribs. It was enough to stun the man and allow Giordino to slip his grasp. Giordino turned and ducked as sideburns threw a roundhouse punch, which he countered with a hard jab below the man's ear. The smaller man quickly dropped to his knees, gazing at Giordino with a dazed look in his eyes.
That still left the security guard on foot. Giordino glanced at the armed man a few feet away and was relieved to see that he was no longer pointing the gun in his direction. The guard had instead turned his attention toward the forklift, which was now racing directly toward him. The guard fired two panicked shots in the general direction of the cab, then leaped out of the path of the charging vehicle. Ducking low in the cab, Pitt heard the shots whistle over his head, then yanked hard on the steering wheel as he passed by the guard. The nimble forklift quickly spun around and in an instant Pitt was back on the heels of the man. The surprised guard stumbled as he now tried to flee the rabid forklift and fell facedown in its oncoming path. Pitt quickly lowered the front prongs and moved in for the kill.
The guard should have rolled to the side but instead tried to stand up and run. As he rose, one of the prongs struck him along the backside and rode up his coat. Pitt jammed the lift lever and elevated the twin prongs above the cab, hauling the guard up into the air with them. Kicking and flailing, the guard dropped his gun as he desperately grabbed at the prong to keep from falling to the ground.
"You know, you could hurt someone with this thing, if you're not careful," Giordino said, jumping into the cab and grabbing an overhead roll bar for support.
"Safety first, I always say. Or is it second?" Pitt replied.
He had already spun the forklift around and was accelerating alongside the railroad tracks toward the gate. As he was passing by the loading dock, several workers stepped forward, then jumped back as the forklift raced by, the security guard dangling from the elevated prong and shouting out for help.
Pitt spied a high stack of oil drums ahead and veered the forklift toward the pile.
"End of the line for our first-class passengers," he muttered.
Driving straight for the drums, he slammed on the brakes when just a few yards away. The forklift screeched and skidded, banging to a jolting stop against the lower wall of drums. Dangling from the elevated prong, the sudden stop jerked the security guard forward, sending him flailing like a bird into the upper stack of oil drums. As he backed the forklift away, Pitt heard mumbled curses from the stack that told him the guard was still alive.
Pitt turned the forklift back toward the railroad tracks and mashed the round accelerator to the floorboard. Shouts could be heard from the scene of the wrecked jeep, and Pitt glanced over his shoulder to see that two of the men were on their feet and chasing after them. The popping sound of gunfire echoed from behind, and a few of the rounds found the body of the forklift with a metallic thud.
But the humming electric forklift buzzed quietly along, spreading the distance between itself and the angry pursuers.
Nearing the gate, Pitt inched the forklift closer to the railroad tracks until the right wheel was bouncing over the wooden ties.
"Ramming speed," Giordino said, eyeing Pitt's move and bracing himself for impact.
Pitt steered for the left edge of the gate and gripped the steering wheel tight. The left prong struck the gate support post dead-on, severing through the lower metal hinge, as the right prong sliced through the metal fencing. The nose of the forklift then rammed into the gate with the full force of its momentum. The impact drove the forklift into the air momentarily before it mashed the gate off its hinges and sent it flying off to the side.
Pitt had to fight the controls to keep the forklift from flipping as it burst out of the facility. The battered forklift bounded over the tracks and onto the gravel track that sided the rail line before settling onto its three wheels. Pitt steered down the gravel path, never lifting his foot off the accelerator.
"I hope our taxi driver is early," Pitt yelled.
"He better be. We're not going to outrun anybody much longer." Peering back toward the facility, Giordino spotted the headlights of another vehicle skirting the railroad tracks toward the battered gate.
Pitt muscled the forklift's controls as it bounced wildly over unseen ruts and rocks in the starlit darkness.
Not wanting to give any pursuing shooters an exact target, he had flicked off the headlights when they broke clear of the facility. The darkened shadow of the burned-out bakery atop the hill finally appeared ahead and Pitt skidded the forklift
to a stop.
"Everybody off," he said, holding the brake down until they came to a complete stop. Jumping down, he searched the ground around him until finding a large flat rock. Turning the steering wheel of the forklift so it aimed down the gravel track, he dropped the rock on the accelerator and jumped back. The yellow forklift sprung down the path, humming quietly as it disappeared into the night.
"A shame. I was starting to get attached to that machine," Giordino muttered as they quickly scrambled up the hill.
"Hopefully, a camel herder in the Gobi Desert will put it to good use."
Cresting the ravine, they ducked behind a crumbling wall of the bakery and peered around the front lot.
Corsov's car was nowhere to be seen.
"Remind me to bad-mouth the KGB next time we're in public," Giordino said.
A half mile down the road, they suddenly eyed the red flash of a pair of taillights, illuminated from a tap on the brakes.
"Let's hope that's our boy," Pitt said.
The duo took off from the building and ran down the road at a sprint. Approaching the crunching sound of tires on gravel, they jumped to the side of the road and hesitated as a car with its headlights off crept out of the darkness. It was the gray Toyota.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Corsov grinned as Pitt and Giordino climbed into the car. His breath filled the interior with the odor of vodka. "A successful tour?"
"Yes," Pitt replied, "but our hosts wish to follow us home."
Behind the bakery, they could see the flash of a bouncing headlight beam from down the hill. Without a word, Corsov whipped the car around and sped off down the road. In minutes, he was barreling down a mix of back-road city streets before suddenly appearing at the rear of their hotel.
"Good night, gentlemen," Corsov slurred. "We shall reconvene tomorrow, when you can give me a full report."
"Thanks, Ivan," Pitt said. "Drive safe."
"But of course."
As Pitt slammed the door shut, the Toyota burst off down the street disappearing around a corner with its tires squealing. Walking to the hotel, Giordino suddenly stopped and pointed. Across the street, music and laughter wafted from the little cafe, still bustling at the late hour.
Giordino turned to Pitt and smiled. "I believe, boss, that you owe me a diversion."
-19-
Theresa sat in the study, looking through a seismic report with a thousand-mile stare. A melancholy depression, tinged with anger, had gradually replaced her shock at Roy's brutal killing. He had been like a brother to her and his murder the night before was painful to accept. It had been made worse by the appearance of Tatiana in the courtyard shortly after Roy expired. With glaring eyes that spit fire, she'd hissed at Theresa.
"Do not obey and the same fate will befall you!"
The guard who had killed Roy was summoned to crudely drag Theresa back to her room and keep her under armed guard.
Since that moment, she and Wofford had been under constant surveillance. She gazed across the study to the entryway, where two stone-faced guards stood staring back at her. Their brightly colored silk dels, or tunics, softened their appearance, but she knew from the night before that they were highly trained killers.
Alongside her, Wofford sat with his bum leg propped on a chair, deeply engrossed in a geological report. He had been shocked by Roy's death but seemed to have shaken it off quickly. More likely, he was using the task at hand to conceal his emotions, Theresa decided.
"We might as well give them the work they asked for," he had told her. "It might be the only thing that keeps us alive."
Maybe he was right, she thought, trying to regain focus on the report in her hands. It was a geological assessment of a basin area in an unidentified plain. Sandstone and limestone rifts were identified as being overlaid with clay and shale stretched across the basin. It was just the type of stratigraphy that was conducive to subsurface petroleum reserves.
"The geology seems promising, wherever it is," she said to Wofford.
"Take a look at this," he replied, unrolling a computer printout across the table. Known as a seismic section, the printout showed a computer-enhanced image of several layered levels of sediment for a confined location. The chart was created by a seismic survey team that sent man-made shocks into the ground and recorded the sound reflections. Theresa stood up to get a better look, examining the chart with fresh interest. It was unlike any seismic image she had seen before. Most subsurface profiles were opaque and smudgy, resembling a Rorschach inkblot left out in a rainstorm. The profile before her was a crisp image, with clearly delineated subsurface layers.
"Amazing image," she remarked. "Must be made with some cutting-edge technology. I've never seen anything this precise."
"It definitely beats anything we've ever used in the field. But that's not the amazing aspect," he added.
Reaching over, he pointed to a bulbous shape near the bottom of the page that extended off the edge.
Theresa leaned over and studied it carefully.
"That looks like a classic, not to mention nicely sized, anticlinal trap," she said, referring to the dome-shaped layer of sediments. The cusp of a sedimentary dome like the one before her was a flashing red light for geophysicists, as it is a prime spot for petroleum deposits to accumulate.
"Nicely sized, indeed," Wofford replied. Pulling over a stack of similar profiles, he spread several on the table. "That particular trap stretches nearly forty kilometers. There's six other smaller ones I've found in the same region."
"It certainly looks like the right conditions for a deposit."
"You never know until the drill gets wet, but from these images, it looks pretty promising."
"And there's six more? That's a tremendous reserve potential."
"At least six more. I haven't digested all the reports yet, but it is mind-boggling. Taking a stone's throw from the image, there might be two billion barrels potentially sitting in that one trap alone. Add in the others and you could have over ten billion barrels. And that's just for one field. No telling how much is in the entire region."
"Incredible. Where is the field located?"
"That's the hitch. Someone has carefully removed all geographic references from the data. I can only tell that it is subterranean, and that the surface topography is flat with a predominant sandstone base."
"You mean we might be looking at the next North Sea oil fields and you don't know where they are located?"
"I haven't a clue."
***
Sarghov laughed between sips from a cup of tea, his big belly jiggling with each guffaw.
"Charging through the night on a forklift, toting an Avarga security guard through the air," he chuckled.
"You Americans always have such a flair for dramatics."
"It wasn't the understated exit I would have preferred," Pitt replied from across the cafe table, "but Al insisted we ride, not walk."
"And we still nearly missed last call." Giordino smirked before sipping his morning coffee.
"I'm sure management is scratching their heads, wondering why a pair of Westerners were waltzing around their facility. A shame you didn't find any evidence that our oil survey friends had been there."
"No, the only item of interest was the tunnel-boring machine. And it was concealed under a canvas tarp similar to the object that was removed from the freighter at Baikal."
"It is possible the machine was stolen and brought into the country surreptitiously. Mongolia does not have easy access to high technology. Perhaps the company does not want the government to be aware of its technological equipment."
"Yes, that could be true," Pitt replied. "I would still like to know what it was that they hauled away from Baikal under wraps."
"Alexander, have there been any developments in the abduction investigation?" Giordino asked before biting into a buttered roll.
Sarghov looked up to see Corsov enter the busy cafe situated across from Sukhbaatar Square. "I shall let our local expert address tha
t question," he said, standing and greeting his embassy friend. Corsov smiled his toothy grin and pulled a chair up to the table.
"I trust everyone had a comfortable night?" he said to Pitt and Giordino.
"Just until the vodka wore off," Pitt grinned, cognizant that Giordino was nursing a mild hangover.
"Ivan, we were just discussing the investigation. Has there been any news on the official front?" Sarghov asked.
"Nyet," Corsov said, his jovial face turning solemn. "The National Police have still not been assigned the case. The investigative request is being held up in the Justice Ministry. My apologies, I misspoke when I said that Avarga Oil has no influence within the government. It is clear that a bribe is in effect at some level."
"Every hour might count for Theresa and the others," Giordino said.
"Our embassy is doing everything they can through official channels. And I am, of course, pursuing leads through unofficial means. Do not worry, my friend, we will find them."
Sarghov drained the rest of his tea and set down the empty cup. "I'm afraid there is little more that we can ask of Ivan. The Mongol authorities often work on their own time frame. They will ultimately respond to the continued inquisitions from our embassy, despite whatever bribes are impeding the investigation. It may be best if we step back and wait for the bureaucratic hurdles to be cleared before any further action.
As it is, I must return to Irkutsk to file a report on the damage to the Vereshchagin. I have gone ahead and booked airline tickets for the three of us this afternoon."
Pitt and Giordino looked knowingly at Corsov, then turned to Sarghov.
"Actually, we have already made alternate travel plans, Alexander," Pitt said.
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