One-Way Ticket to Nowhere Part 7

Ferrell turned toward his daughter.

"I've been pretty hard on my girl," he said. "But if she hadn't got out safely I'd have torn that place apart with my bare hands."

_He meant every word of it._ Blake's body tensed. The full shock of what Ferrell's words meant was sinking slowly into his brain. Suddenly he shot to his feet.

"I've been a fool," he said. "A d.a.m.ned, blind fool!"

"A fool?" There was no mistaking Walter Ferrell's bewilderment.

Blake was already at the car door.

"I'm going to take a long chance," he shouted back. "Ferrell, you crowd the pa.s.sengers into both halls at the ends of the car. Open the outer doors. If the train goes into the lake, try to get as many out as you can."

With the shouts of alarm still ringing in his ears, Blake went swiftly through the long empty cars toward the cab. The train was backing through the night now at a terrific speed, and the black forest flashed past him as he went to his appointment with Holly O'Toole.

Blake reached the head car, tried the door and stepped back in alarm. It was locked. He looked overhead and found the tiny emergency entrance to the catwalk above. Back inside, he dragged several chairs out quickly, climbed them and pushed upward. Luckily the door was open. Head and shoulders above the train, he stopped. The wind pushed him back, clutching at his breath. He climbed out on the catwalk slowly, crouching to the smoothness of the plastic, and wriggled ahead.

The diesel room was below him now. Its top door opened easy. He listened. All motors were purring smoothly. The hot smell of oil drifted up. Ahead, the cab was silent.

He pushed his feet down cautiously and dropped. His feet hit the oily floor and he fell flat. The door to the cab was open. He went toward it, saw lights over the dash and ran to the main control stick. It was lashed firmly in place with heavy chain.

The speed indicator was pointing to four hundred miles per hour. Swiftly he released the chain, and felt the control lever break loose, falling into neutral. Blake reached for the magnetic brake, and heard a footstep on the floor behind. He whirled swiftly. O'Toole was standing at the entrance of the diesel room, electro gun pointing at Blake's chest.

"You're a smart one," O'Toole said. He waved the gun meaningly. "I'm glad you cut the power. We'll coast from here to the lake."

Blake was silent.

"Thought Walter Ferrell was the chief of this outfit, did you?" O'Toole was enjoying himself. "Well, I didn't have any idea of jumping the train. We'll coast within a mile of the cut, shoot the coupling free between the cab and the coaches, and set our brakes. Walter Ferrell and his little party are going to taste cold water for the last time."

Blake said nothing. He started to walk deliberately toward the hulking Irishman. O'Toole snarled.

"Back," he warned. "I've got to kill you anyhow. It might as well be now." Blake grinned.

"I can't understand why you ever included me in this set-up to begin with," he said. "Things would have been easier if you hadn't sent for me."

"Listen Blake, when I sent for you, I figured you'd fit in here. I didn't know you'd fall for all this kid brother heroic stuff."

"You evidently knew something of my history," Blake said coolly. "Why did you play that sympathetic game?"

O'Toole seemed anxious to be understood.

"I knew you had been pirating every s.p.a.ce craft between here and Mars,"

he said. "I knew that you had a swell reputation and were clever as h.e.l.l. I knew that if you'd see things my way, I could get Walter Ferrell in bankruptcy within a month, and cut you in as a partner."

"Why change your mind?" Blake asked. He sat down in the pilot's chair and crossed his legs comfortably. "All we have to do is cut that coupling loose, ride back to the cave and collect all the dough we need by sitting tight."

O'Toole chuckled.

"Do you take me for a fool? I can handle things my own way, with Ferrell out of the way. I don't need you." His face softened a bit, and the gun dropped inches. "Besides, how do I know you won't turn yellow and give the whole thing away?"

Blake saw his chance to hit at O'Toole's one weakness.

"Wade is out of the way," he said swiftly. "I can return to South Station and a.s.sume control of the line with Ferrell out of the picture.

You'll get half of everything we make."

O'Toole was weakening. He glanced out of the cab, toward the wooded side of the valley.

"You're just crooked enough to be on the level," he pocketed the electro gun. "In ten minutes we'll reach Loon Lake. Better get to that coupling."

Blake followed him back through the power car.

O'Toole turned once, and grinned wickedly.

"We'll have a devil of a time, you and I," he said. "Now, for a nice swimming party to Ferrell and his gang."

He hunched down over the coupling that separated the power units from the line of coaches. The simple coupling adjustment was under his doubled fist. Blake's eyes narrowed as the coupling started to come loose under the Irishman's grip. He lifted his heavy boot, and silently brought it down on O'Toole's head.

The blow was executed coolly and without feeling. No quarter had been asked, and there was no pity in Blake's eyes as Holly O'Toole fell forward, face down. He lay still, arms outstretched over the slit between the cars. Blake pushed him forward, and saw the body drop quickly out of sight to the rail.

He turned toward the cab and with feverish haste jerked down all three magnetic brake levers. Mono 6 shuddered through its entire length and seemed to settle backward against the screaming, protesting track. The flyer halted slowly, skidding sickeningly. Then outside, with the shrieking brakes silenced, Jeff could hear the soft lapping of water.

He rushed to the open window and looked down. They were on a long wharf, extending out over dark water. He looked back along the line of cars, shining faintly in the moonlight. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Mono 6 was still on the rail. A scant three hundred feet beyond the last car was open water.

A shout of alarm came from somewhere back in the corridor of the car.

Blake turned away from the window and went toward the coaches. At the door to the power room he stopped. Dauna Ferrell, her face flushed with relief came to him. He took her in his arms and held her close. He kissed her roughly, trying to make up for the loneliness and heartbreak he had caused.

Walter Ferrell was behind them.

"I hate to intrude," his face was bathed in a happy smile, "but wherever Wade is, I'm sure he wouldn't approve of his brother making love to my daughter, even if Jeff is somewhat of a hero right now."

Dauna released her hold on Blake's neck, and turned to her father.

Blake's arms went around her waist and drew her close to him. She leaned her soft, curly head against his neck.

"Dad," she said, "brace yourself for an awful shock."

Ferrell laughed aloud.

"I know," he said. "You've given up Wade and are going to marry Jeff Blake instead."

Dauna half turned, and nuzzled her chin in Blake's brown neck.