9-10 - Novel Gun

His gun still drawn, McClane leaned over to take a quick look at the terrorist. Satisfied that the guy wouldn't be causing anyone any more trou­ble, he turned around to continue the manhunt. He caught a fast glimpse of someone standing on the container above. He recognized the face from the FBI pictures. Targo!

Targo leaped into a karate kick. McClane dodged, but he wasn't fast enough. The boot caught him square in the face and sent him flying. His gun skidded away behind one of the contain­ers. He grunted as Targo landed on top of him, wrestled his arms to the floor with one hand, and smashed his jaw with the other. The guy was a fucking animal. McClane had a strong hunch he was about to get the shit kicked out of him.

(...)

A whack to McClane's gut knocked the wind out of him. He went limp as a rag doll. Targo dropped him and went looking for McClane's gun.

McClane caught his breath. "No, I'm not gonna arrest you," he muttered.

He dragged himself to the far side of a huge container, where Targo couldn't see him. He stomped down on the cleat lock that kept the con­tainer anchored in place, snapping it free.

"I'm gonna fucking kill ya!" he said. He threw his weight behind the container. It went sliding along the rail on which it had been parked, rattling loudly as it gained momentum.

Targo whipped around as the container hurtled toward him. It was moving too fast for him to escape. It crashed against the wall with a resounding clang that reverberated through the hold, crushing Targo beneath its weight.

Battered and bloodied, McClane staggered over to Berndt and picked up his pistol. The mag­azine was full. Grateful for small favors, he limped through the door of the hold and up the stairs.


- Die Hard with a Vengeance, Chapters 9-10