Totally expressionless, Ibn took a small transmitter from a coat pocket and held it out in front of him so the forward end pointed at the glacier.

"In the name of God, man," pleaded Senator Pitt. "Don't do it."

Ibn hesitated, staring at Ammar.

"There are hundreds of people on that ship," said President Hasan, shock showing in every line of his face. "You have no reason to murder them."

"I do not have to justify my actions to anyone here."

"Yazid will be punished for your atrocity," Hala murmured in a tone edged with fury.

"Thank you for making it easier," Ammar said, smiling at Hala, whose face became a study in bewildered incomprehension. "Enough of these maudlin delays. Quickly, Ibn. Get on with it."

Before the stunned hostages could utter further protests, fbn flicked the power switch of the transmitting unit to "on" and pressed the button that activated the detonators.

The explosion came like a curiously muffled clap of thunder. The forward mass of the glacier creaked and groaned ominously. Then nothing appeared to happen. The ice cliff remained firm and upright.

Detonations should have occurred at eight different locations inside the fracture, but Major Dillenger and his men had discovered and disarmed all but one charge before their search was cut off.

The distant thump came just as Pitt and Gunn were closing in on the two hijackers who were busily firing up the old mine locomotive. The hijackers paused, listening for a few moments, exchanging words in Arabic. Then they laughed between themselves and turned back to their work.

"Whatever caused the boom," whispered Gunn, "came as no surprise to those guys. They act as if they expected it."

"Sounded like a small explosion," Pitt replied sourily.

"Definitely not the glacier breaking away. We'd have felt tremors in the ground."

Pitt stared at the small narrow-gauge locomotive, which was coupled to a coal tender and five ore cars. It was a type used around plantations, industrial plants and mining operations. Quaint, stout and sturdy, with a tall stovepipe smokestack and round porthole windows in the cab, it looked like the Little Engine That Could, standing there puffing wisps of steam around its running gear.

A railroad man would have classed the wheel arrangement as an 00, indicating no leading truck wheels followed by four drive wheels with no trailing truck beneath the cab.

"Let's give the engineer and his fireman a warm sendoff," Pitt murmured wryly. "It's the friendly thing to do."

Gunn looked at Pitt queerly and shook his head in bewilderment before crouching and running toward the end of the train. They split up and approached from opposite sides, taking cover under the ore cars. The cab was brightly illuminated i by the open firebox, and Pitt gestured with an upturned palm, signaling Gunn to wait.

The Arab who acted as engineer was busy turning valves and watching the steam-pressure gauges. The other shoveled coal from the tender across the platform into the flames. He fed a load of the black lumps onto the fiercely burning firebox, paused to mop his sweating face, and then slammed the door to the firebox shut with his shovel, sending the cab into a state of semidarkness.

Pitt pointed at Gunn and then at the engineer. Gunn waved an acknowledgment, grasped the grab irons and leaped up the steps into the cab.

Pitt arrived first. He calmly approached the fireman head-on and said pleasantly, "Have a nice day."

Before the confused and astonished fireman could respond, Pitt had swiftly snatched the shovel out of the Arab's hands and beat him over the head with it.

The engineer was in the act of turning around when Gunn whipped him across the jaw with the heavy silencer joined to the Heckler & Koch's stubby muzzle. The Arab dropped like a bag of cement.

While Gunn guarded against intruders, Pitt propped both hijackers so they hung half out of the cab's side windows. Next he thoughtfully studied the maze of pipes, levers and valves.

"You'll never do it," Gunn said shaking his head.

"I know how to start and drive a Stanley Steamer," Pitt said indignantly.

"A what?"

"An antique automobile," Pitt answered. "Pull open the door to the firebox. I need some light to read the gauges."

Gunn did as he was asked and held out his hands to warm them from the flames leaping through the opening. "You better figure it out quick,"

he said impatiently. "We're lit up like a Las Vegas chorus line."

Pitt pulled down a long lever and the little engine slipped forward a scant centimeter. "Okay, that's the brake. I think I've figured what handle does what. Now, when we roll past the crushing mill, jump and hustle inside."

"What about the train?"

"The Cannonball Express," Pitt replied with a wide grin, "does not make stops."

Pitt released the ratchet on the forward-reverse lever and pushed it away from him. Next he squeezed the ratchet on the throttle bar and eased it open. The locomotive crept slowly ahead, accompanied by the clanging jerk of the coupled ore cars. He shoved the throttle to its stop. The drive wheels whirled full circle several times before they bit the rusty rails. The train lurched forward and got underway.

The labored puffing came in faster spurts as the little engine picked up speed and chugged by the front of the dining hall. The door opened and a hijacker leaned out and raised a hand as if to wave. He snapped it back down when he saw the two bodies leaning from the cab's side windows. He disappeared into the building as if jerked by an immense nibber band, wildly shouting a warning.

Pitt and Gunn both unleashed a blast of gunfire through the windows and door of the building. Then the engine was past and heading toward the crushing mill. Pitt glanced at the ground and judged the speed to be somewhere between fifteen and twenty kilometers.

Pitt pulled the overhead whistle lever and tied it down with a drawstring from inside his ski jacket. The spurt of steam through the brass whistle cut the air like a razor "Get ready to jump," he yelled at Gunn above the ear-splitting scream.

Gunn didn't reply. He stared at the rough gravel flashing past as though it were hurtling by at jet speed a thousand meters below.

"Now!" shouted Pitt.

They hit the ground on the run, skidding and sliding but somehow managing to keep their footing, There was no hesitation, no pause to catch their breath. They ran alongside the train and straight up the steps of the crushing-mill's stairs, and didn't stop until they both stumbled, then tripped over the threshold and crashed to the floor inside.

The first thing Pitt saw was Giordino standing above him, unconcernedly holding his machine gun in a muzzle-up position.

"I've seen you kicked out of some pretty raunchy pubs," Giordino said in a dour voice, "but this is the first time I've ever seen YOU tossed off a train."

"No great loss," said Pitt, coming to his feet. "It didn't have a club car."

The gunfire. Yours or theirs?"

"Ours.

"Company on the way?"

"Like mad hornets out of a vandalized nest," replied pitt. "We don't have much time to prepare for a siege."

"They'd better be careful where they aim or their helicopter might get broken."

"An advantage we'll play to the hilt."

Findley had finished tying the guard and the two mechanics together in the center of the floor, and he stood up. "where do you want them?"