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.