Muller’s chest puffed out and his eyes narrowed. Jack had read him right. The man’s ego wouldn’t let those words pass unchallenged. Especially not in front of his little sister.
Handing his machine pistol to Leah, he stomped toward Jack, tearing open the Velcro fasteners of his tactical vest as he walked. Jack wanted hand to hand and it looked like he was going to get it.
“You asked for a diversion, you got it,” he whispered.
“Geez, I said diversion, Jack. Not suicide.”
Chapter 53
Countdown to impact: 1.25 hours.
Chapter 54
The cold hard concrete floor rushed at Jack like a runaway freight train before it collided head on, jarring every bone in Jack’s already traumatized body.
All eyes were on the two men fighting dockside like a couple of ancient gladiators. None of them could see how Jack was going to be able to stop Muller tearing him apart. That hulk of a man seemed almost invincible.
Jack spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. The stark white of a broken tooth stood out in the sea of red. So far, it was all going perfectly Jack thought as he pushed himself to his knees and closed his eyes to plan his next move. As far as diversions went, he felt the audience was getting their money’s worth.
Years of unarmed combat training had taught him many things that he now tried to recall, because his life depended on it. Quarter of the bones in the human body are in the feet which are a fragile collection of bones, delicate muscles and a bundle of soft tissue and ligaments. Kicking someone in the head Chuck Norris style is more likely to break a dozen bones in the foot than a do the other guy’s head any significant damage. If you can’t stand, you can’t fight. Which is why Kickboxers kick with their shins — one big piece of near indestructible bone that could be swung like a club at an opponent’s thigh or ribcage.
Same deal with hands, Jack recalled. 27 delicate bones in each. Boxers wear boxing gloves to protect the bones in their hands from breaking, more than to protect the other guy’s face. And that was a reason nightclub bouncers stood with arms folded. At the first sign of trouble, they’d have elbows ready to land a knockout strike. Again, the elbow was a very solid piece of bone that could dish out and take a lot of punishment.
But Muller was setting a new benchmark, even for Jack. The man was built like a nuclear fallout shelter, absorbing blows to his face and gut from Jack’s elbows and seemingly unharmed by Jack’s most brutal roundhouse kicks to the giant man’s thigh. Those kicks should have damaged his sciatic nerve to the point where he shouldn’t still be standing.
Yet he was.
Towering above him, the herculean figure simply smiled at Jack’s feeble attempts to bring him down.
Tensing his muscles, Jack prepared to launch himself up off the ground. As he sprang, he dropped his shoulder and clenched his fist, ready to deliver a brutal uppercut. Not to Muller’s granite like jaw, though.
Thump!
Jack buried his fist, with all the power of his body channeled through his legs and into his arm, right into Muller’s balls. This was a street fight, there were no rules. Nothing was barred. It was life or death.
But when his knuckles hit something solid, Jack realized his mistake. The guy was prepared. He should have known that about him by now.
Muller was wearing a box. The cheating bastard had a groin guard in his pants.
Reaching down, Muller wrapped his thick arms around Jack’s torso. The muscles in his forearms bulged and rippled like steel cables as they lifted Jack off the ground like a doll and started to crush the life out of him.
Flashes of light passed across Jack’s eyes like dust motes. Oxygen deprivation. The man was suffocating him to death. Jack didn’t want this giant’s ugly face to be the last thing he saw before he died.
Think Jack. Think.
He’d never tried it before, but he remembered something he’d been taught long ago. His asphyxiated brain scratched away the edges of the memory… something about the arch being one of the strongest engineering structures. That was it!
With the last glimmer of strength, Jack stretched his neck and upper back, angling his head away from Muller’s face. Through his blurred vision, he tried to focus on the little vertical cleft on Muller’s top lip, just below his nose — the philtrum.
Then, like a whip, he cracked his head forward explosively, the arched crown of his skull colliding with the desired target — the sensitive cluster of nerves under Muller’s nose. The satisfying crunch as the nose shattered was a bonus, one Jack gladly accepted.
Muller bellowed like a wounded beast and released his grip enough for Jack to wriggle free and catch some much needed air.
Blood spurted from Muller’s broken nose and his eyes watered profusely, but the fight wasn’t anywhere near over.
As big and well-muscled as Muller was, Jack knew that there were a couple of places a man, no matter how many pounds he could bench press, would always be vulnerable. Now it was time to seize the advantage.
Jack slid his hand over Muller’s wrist and executed a perfect and very painful wrist lock. Even a man Muller’s size couldn’t handle the pain of having a joint twisted cruelly beyond its normal range of rotation and he quickly dropped to his knees to relieve the force on his wrist joint.
Jack applied more pressure.
Muller screamed.
But still he struggled. He wasn’t broken yet, but his wrist almost was.
Lining up for a strike to the wailing man’s throat, another area that remained vulnerable no matter how many hours spent in the gym, Jack prepared to finish him off once and for all. He’d choke on his own crushed larynx, slowly enough that Jack’s smiling face would be the last thing he’d see before the lights went out.
Schlick. Schlick.
The smooth metal on metal sound of an automatic weapon chambering a round rang out.
Leah didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
Jack lowered his hand and stepped back from Muller.
“Lucky you’ve got your sister to stand up for you in the playground, tough guy.”
Muller’s face was etched with pain and unbridled hatred as he began to stand, ready to launch himself at Coulson.
A booming voice from behind caught their attention, including Muller’s.
“I know this isn’t exactly a who’s-got-the-biggest-dick contest, but if it was, I think I’d win, don’t you?”
They all turned.
He’d done it.
Sam stood astride two of the old generators, looking almost like a statue of some kind of Roman war god. Over his massive shoulder rested a long metal pipe with, from what Jack could see, looked like an overinflated football stuck on the end of it. The football-like warhead was aimed directly at The Bell. At that distance, Sam couldn’t miss.
So that’s a Panzerfaust, Jack thought.
Chapter 55