There was a pause, and then the broadcast started to repeat itself.
'You hear that?' Ben shouted accusingly at Danny. 'A tornado. This is madness, Danny. It can't happen.'
'Just keep driving,' Danny instructed. 'Turn right here. The road will take you out of Florida City and towards the refinery.'
His words were uncompromising, but the tone of his voice wasn't. He sounded unsure of himself. Unsettled. This was not, Ben sensed, going the way he thought it would. Maybe now was the time to act, to jump on Danny's insecurity. Ben started to speak, but he was interrupted by Angelo. Until now, the Italian boy had simply sat there in shocked silence, gazing expressionlessly out of the window. When he spoke, though, it was with a sudden passion. 'Does anybody want to tell me what's going on here?'
Ben shot a glance over at Danny and imperceptibly shook his head. The truth, he knew, was too much for Angelo to handle at the moment. If Ben was going to do anything to stop Danny, the last thing he needed was his Italian friend panicking. Much better for him to give his own version of the events to come.
'Danny's got a little plan,' he shouted without taking his eyes from the road. 'He still wants to make your father's oil refinery go bang. The fact that we managed to stop the plane from doing it hasn't really put him off.'
Angelo looked aghast at Danny. 'Non capisco,' he breathed. 'I don't understand why you would do such a thing.'
Danny's lip curled. 'Weren't you listening on the plane?' Then he shook his head, as though the question he had asked was a stupid one. 'Of course you don't understand,' he muttered. 'Nobody understands. What is the phrase you people have? Out of sight, out of mind. The island of my people is a long way from here. Why would you care what happens there?'
'You might find we care more than you think, Danny,' Ben yelled. 'Angelo, the little girl who died. It was Danny's sister.'
Angelo's eyes widened. He seemed lost for words.
'You know, Danny,' Ben continued, 'Angelo isn't his father. I think we can safely say he's as shocked as anyone else by what we've all learned today. You're right — your sister shouldn't have died. But this isn't the way to deal with it. It's not going to bring her back.'
'Shut up!' Danny screamed. 'Just shut up!'
A silence.
And then, as if he could not hold back the flood of emotions, 'I know it will not bring her back. That is not the purpose of what we are doing.'
'Then what is?' Ben demanded. 'Just what is the purpose, Danny?'
'To make the world understand that we cannot be treated like this. That there are more important things than your precious oil. And, yes, revenge. To make Angelo's father feel the pain that my own parents are suffering.'
Ben swerved the truck sharply to avoid something that was hurtling along the road towards them. As he straightened up again, Angelo spoke. 'So you mean to kill me,' he asked quietly. 'That is why you are taking me to the refinery.'
Danny nodded curtly, and Ben noticed that he avoided Angelo's eye. He took a deep breath, worried about what Angelo's reaction to this new information would be. Angelo, however, seemed to be taking it calmly. He nodded his head, as though accepting something he could not change. 'My father was always worried that something like this would happen,' he announced. 'I guess he always knew that his business interests harmed lots of people.' He turned to Danny and gave him a hard stare. 'But you don't know him,' he said. 'This will not stop him. It will just make him angry. It will be like the opening shot of a war — a war you cannot win.'
Danny scowled. 'Quiet,' he ordered. He shook the barrel of the gun at Ben who, as Angelo had been speaking, had gradually slowed the truck down. 'Keep driving,' he said. 'Faster.'
As Ben put his foot on the accelerator, there was a sound inside the truck — five short beeps, like an alarm clock going off. Ben took his eye off the road momentarily to see what it was: there was nothing on the dashboard and for a second he was perplexed. To his astonishment, however, he saw Danny start to unbutton his shirt with his free hand. Strapped to his chest was a leather pouch: when the beeping repeated itself, it was clear that this was where it was coming from. Danny opened the pouch and removed a small plastic case, which he opened. He pulled out what looked like a mobile phone, only bigger and slightly thicker. It beeped for a third time.
Ben snapped his attention back to the road. But at the same time he wondered how the little device could have survived Danny's spell in the water. The plastic case must have been waterproof, he decided. 'What's that?' he demanded.
'A telephone.'
'It won't work,' Ben said. 'We tried, remember? The phone lines are down.'
'It's a satellite phone,' Danny replied as he used the device's small keyboard to type a message with one hand, all the while keeping his gun firmly trained on Ben.
'You mean you had that all the time we were stranded in the Everglades?' Angelo asked acidly. He received no reply from Danny, who just continued to type his message. When he had finished, he carefully packaged the phone up, first into its plastic case and then back into its carrying pouch.
'We're not far,' he announced. 'We should see the refinery up ahead any time soon.'
And with that the three of them fell into a deep, uncomfortable silence.
It was the final explosive device that had given him trouble.
He was soaked now from the constant rain, but that was all right: everything had gone perfectly up until then. The first four devices were firmly attached to their targets, and as the refinery was deserted he hadn't come across anyone to hinder him in his plans. It was as he was climbing the ladder to the final tower, however, that the winds knocked him off. Even as he fell he cursed himself for not holding on more tightly, but with the bomb in one hand, climbing the ladder was always going to be a difficult business.
He fell about five metres. Well-trained, he managed to land in such a way that, while it certainly hurt, it didn't cause any serious injury. But it was with a sick feeling, however, that — just before he hit the ground — he realized he had let go of the bomb. The moment he was on the ground he closed his eyes, then covered his head with his hands.
As if that's going to do any good, he told himself. If the device accidentally detonated that close to him, he'd be a goner; and if it ignited any part of the refinery, he'd make Guy Fawkes look like a snowman.
He held his breath.
Nothing. Just the constant screaming of the winds. For the first time that day the storm began to rile the mercenary. It wasn't like him — normally he was so cool, so calm. But when would the storm be over? He didn't much relish having to escape from the area of the refinery under these conditions.
He looked up. The device was lying a few metres away. The plastic explosive had come away from the fuse and was lying in the rain, harmless for now. He pushed himself up to his feet and retrieved the two parts of the device, carefully drying the prongs of the fuse before reinserting them into the C-4. Then he looked up at the tower again, a determined look on his rain-soaked face. He wasn't going to let the wind get the better of him a second time, and without any further hesitation, he strode up to the ladder and started to climb again.
The rungs were slippery, and the wind was as strong as ever. But he held fast and within a minute the device had been attached. With a sense of relief — and with both hands now available to cling onto the ladder — he descended.
Job done.