Twister by Chris Ryan Page A

disappear into the marsh despite the conditions. That must mean it was hungry enough to risk the dangers of the water in its search for food. And if it was food the gator wanted, Danny would be first choice from the menu.
     
Angelo stood up in the boat, steadied himself and hurled the ring overboard.
     
It landed close to Danny, but not quite close enough. The older man had to struggle through the water to grab it. 'Pull me in!' he shouted just as his fingers clutched the edge of the ring. There was panic in his voice. Angelo pulled, heaving on the rope like it was a tug o' war. It was obviously a struggle for him, so Ben left the steering wheel and went to help him. They stayed standing with difficulty, but gradually managed to pull him towards them.
     
Danny stretched out and grabbed the side of the boat. It wasn't a big vessel, and as he pulled himself up, it tilted sharply.
     
' Alligator! ' Ben screamed. Only metres behind Danny he had caught a glimpse of the reptile surging through the water. He and Angelo grabbed Danny's arms and pulled him on board.
     
Not a moment too soon.
     
The alligator emerged from the water with terrifying swiftness. Its jaws snapped in the air, but they caught nothing.
     
Danny was on board. Soaked, breathless and white with fear. But safe.
     
For now, at least.
     

Chapter Ten
At the South Miami Oil Refinery, it was panic stations.
     
Nobody there knew about the plane. Nobody knew how close they had come to disaster. And nobody cared. They had other things to worry about. The hurricane was on its way, and the whole place was being shut down. All non-essential staff had already been evacuated from the premises. The final hangers-on – a few management and some security guards – would be out of there within half an hour. They all knew that an oil refinery was the last place you wanted to be in conditions like this.
     
In the chaos and the confusion, however, one man had managed to slip in unobserved.
     
He was a good-looking person, tall and with chiselled features. He hadn't shaved for a day or two, but somehow that only made him look more distinguished. More trustworthy. And he liked it that way. His black jeans fitted him well, as did his black jacket; and as he approached the oil refinery he had a small but heavy black rucksack slung over his right shoulder.
     
The winds were already strong here – not as strong as they were going to get, he knew, but fierce enough to make the high, wire-mesh fences that cordoned off the boundary to the refinery rattle in the breeze.
     
He was approaching from the south side. His car had been dumped at a nearby parking lot, and he had crossed a highway to get here. The road had been full of traffic – everyone was fleeing the area – and as he crouched by the wire fence he knew that although people could see him from the highway, none of them would be paying him any attention.
     
The fence was shaking violently. He pulled a pair of wire-cutters from his bag, then held the rattling fence in one hand and started to snip away at the mesh. It was difficult, and he was glad of the black leather gloves he was wearing. But before long he had cut a hole big enough for him to crawl through.
     
He skirted round the edge of the boundary towards the western entrance. There was an entry checkpoint here, but now he was inside the oil refinery's boundary fence he didn't need to be bothered by that. Hidden by a long line of low, breeze-block buildings, he walked towards the edges of the refinery itself.
     
It was like a small city. Huge, metallic, industrial-looking towers stretched up into the sky. Some of them had flames coming out of the top that licked into the sky; others were billowing smoke that was hardly any different to the grey clouds scudding overhead. A number of the towers had metal ladders fixed to their sides, but of course no one was using them now. Hardly anybody was on the site, in any case. There were enormous containers the size