Текст книги "Snow Wolf"

Автор книги: Glenn Meade

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Akashin smiled nervously. "I could very well ask the same. It would be interesting to know what you're up to. But I ought to tell you I'm an accredited diplomat with the UN Soviet Mission and as such immune from law."

"Wrong. It makes your situation all the more difficult, so cut the crap." Massey held up the gun in his hand and clicked back the hammer. "Five seconds and I'm counting."

Just then Stanski came back into the room supporting a dazed-looking Popov. When the big Ukrainian saw Akashin his eyes blazed.

"If you don't pull the trigger, Jake, I will."

Massey said to him, "Tell me what happened."

Popov wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and pointed to Akashin. "Our friend here's after the woman. They've been tailing her. After I left the cabin some of' his men fooled me into stopping my car and knocked me unconscious. Then they took me here and tried to get me to talk. His name's Akashin."

Stanski tossed a handful of maps and photographs on the table. "These were in the bedroom. It looks like Akashin's got a keen interest in photography. And in us."

Massey looked at the photographs. Some of them were of Anna alone, others of him and Anna and Stanski together coming out of a hotel and at the Boston railway station. The maps were of New Hampshire and he noticed the ducks that circled the lake.

Massey turned pale and looked over at Akashin. "Where's your friend Braun?" Akashin said gruffly, "I don't have to answer any Of Your questions."

Massey crossed to him and put the gun against his forehead and said, "That might be true or not, but if you don't so help me I'm going to punch a hole in you so big you could run a train through it."

"I really don't think that would be wise or necessary."

"I don't give two shits for your immunity, Akashin. And it doesn't matter. What you're involved in here is kidnapping. That's a serious federal offense. So talk before I lose my patience and this thing goes off."

Akashin sighed and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You understand, we couldn't let the woman get away just like that."

"Who's we?"

"The embassy had orders from Moscow."

Suddenly everything was clear to Massey and he stepped closer. "How did you know where to find her?"

"We tailed her from Helsinki. We've been following her since she arrived in this country." Massey was silent, then he said, "Why'? She's a nobody."

Akashin smiled faintly. "Where people like you and me are concerned, ours is not to reason why, Massey. We simply do what our masters tell us,"

"How do you know my name?"

"Your activities are well known to us. Finding out your identity from the photographs wasn't difficult."

Massey's face flushed angrily. "Where's Braun?"

When Akashin hesitated, Stanski pushed the silenced Tokaiev hard into his temple until the man's eyes opened wide in terror.

"Gone to get the woman."

"Alone?"

Akashin shrugged. "Does it matter now'? You won't be able to stop him."

"What's he going to do with her?"

"Put her on a Soviet boat in New York Harbor."

"How long has Braun been gone?"

When Akashin didn't reply, Stanski struck him hard across the face with the pistol, drawing blood.

Akashin staggered back. When he had recovered he wiped blood from his nose. "That wasn't necessary."

Stanski's face was white with rage and he gestured to Popov and said, "It'll get a lot worse if I let my friend here repay you for what you did to him. When did Braun leave?"

Akashin glanced nervously over at Popov. then said, "He left for Boston two hours ago by train." Stanski said to Popov, "Take him inside and tie him up. Good and tight. So he can't move or talk."

"With pleasure. And then I'm going to beat him to pulp."

Massey glared at the Russian. "After this you won't see daylight for a long time, Akashin. Assisting an illegal resident, intent to murder, kidnapping, cari-vin" an illegal weapon. And I'm sure there's more your immunity won't cover. You're finished."

Akashin turned noticeably pale.

As Popov went toward him, Arkashin grabbed for the Walther on the table. When Popov reached to wrench it from him he was too slow and the gun went off, hitting the Ukrainian in the face. As Popov was flung back, Stanski fired once, hitting Akashin in the heart.

Massey had turned white as he went to feel Popov's pulse. "Christ ... he's dead ..."

Stanski came back from Akashin's body sprawled on the floor, the Russian's clothes bloodied from the wound in his chest.

"Akashin too. Jake, this is getting muddier by the minute What now?"

"We get out of here fast. Leave everything as it is. I'll figure out what to do later."

Stanski said softly, "We're never going to get to the lake in time. It's six hours @ by car and Akashin's people have a head start."

"Then let's get going."

Massey was already moving toward the fire escape when Stanski gripped his arm and said, "Wait ... ! "

He crossed to the table and picked up one of the maps. There was sweat on his face as he looked back at Massey and said, "There may be a quicker way. But it's 'just a chance."

New Hampshire.

Carlo Lombardi watched the countryside. He wrinkled his nose as Vince rolled down the Packard's window and the blast of cold fresh air swept in, "Put the fucking thing up. What are you trying to do? Kill me?"

Vince did as he was told as Braun sat silently in the back. They had come off the highway ten minutes ago, Lombardi doing the driving after pickina up Braun from Boston station. The quaint New England wooden houses flashed past, but Lombardi wasn't impressed.

"What's the story with the hick with the beard?"

Braun flicked him a look. "He's Akashin's problem now. How much farther?"

"Another hour."

Lombardi turned to Vince. "You know the plan. Anybody gets in the way you blast them.

Vince climbed down and hefted up a canvas bag and removed three handguns, two sawed-off shotguns and a carbine, Lombardi said, "Jesus ... what the fuck are You expecting?" Vince shrugged. "You said there could be trouble. You never know."

Lombardi turned to Braun seated in the backseat and smiled. "I'll say this for– the kid. He comes prepared."

Vassily stepped out of the boat and helped Anna onto the wooden walkway.

They had spent an hour fishing on the lake and caught three large trout, and as they walked back up to the cabin, Anna said, "Tell me about the photograph in the cabin. Is it of Alex's family?"

"His father and mother, brother and sister. He told you about them?"

"Enough to make a guess about the photograph."

"Then he must like you, Anna."

"Why do you say that?" He looked at her knowingly for a moment, then said, "Alex never talks about them. I think you must have found a chink in his armor."

She smiled. "When I came up here the first day I have to admit I found him difficult."

Vassily laughed. "That's nothing compared to the first day he came here."

"What was he like?@'

"Like a wild little wolf cub. Impossible to tame. He'd refuse to eat or talk. Just wanted to be on his own, like he had a pain so deep in his heart no one could reach."

"But you reached it."

Vassily shook his head. "I don't think anyone's ever reached it, And I don't think anyone ever will."

"So why did you let him stay?"

They had reached the cabin and Vassily put down the fishing things and the trout and sat on the veranda.

"I knew he'd been through a bad time and didn't trust anyone but himself. He needed distraction and he needed a father. I did what I could and taught him about the woods and about hunting. I don't know of anyone who could survive better in those woods than Alex, even me. It took his mind off things and he gradually settled in. And after everything that had happened to him he needed space, not people around him."

"What happened to his parents?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

Vassily thought for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "Anna, some things a man is allowed to keep private. If Alex wanted to tell you, he would have. You'll have to let him tell you that story himself. Now, why don't you fetch some kindling for the stove and I'll cook these fish."

Anna stepped off the veranda. She looked back at him as she brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Vassily."

"What?"

"I like you. I like you very much."

Vassily smiled before she turned away. Then he stood up and went inside. At the window he hesitated and saw her disappear into the woods. Then he went into the kitchen to gut the fish.

An hour later Lombardi saw the sign on the road, TRESPASSERS KEEP OUT!, and turned the Packard onto the snow-covered dirt track.

Fifty yards further along they saw the lake in the distance. Lombardi pulled in and Vince and Braun were already climbing out as he switched off the engine.

Braun nodded down toward the cabin and looked at Lombardi. "That's it?"

"That's it. Uncle fucking Tom's cabin. Ready when you are.

Vince handed out the weapons, and Lombardi checked that he had the knife in his waistband, then said, "OK, let's get this fucking thing over with. And Vince, try not to sound like a' fucking bear coming through the woods, understand?" Braun said, "I'll take the back, way, you two take the front. And be careful."

Vassily saw the two men come out of the woods as he stood at the kitchen window.

They were fifty yards away and one carried a shotgun and the other a carbine as they moved toward the front of the cabin. He put down the gutting knife and wiped his hands before picking up the Winchester rifle.

He stepped out onto the veranda and said to the men, "Didn't you see the sign? You're on private property. Turn around and go back the way you came."

The fatter of the two strangers appeared to be in charge, the one with the thin mustache. The younger man beside him was nervously fingering his carbine.

The fat man smiled and went to move closer. "Hey, take it easy. We got lost. Maybe you can help us." Vassily raised the Winchester and said, "No closer, or I'll help you to the cemetery. I said you're on private property." The fat mail said boldly, "Put down the rifle, old man. That way you won't get hurt."

Vassily hesitated. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Just a friendly talk with the woman. Where is she?"

Vassily turned pale and cocked the Winchester's hammer with his thumb. "You step any closer, fat man, and I'll kill you."

"This is none of your business. Just bring out the woman and no one gets hurt. We just want to talk with her."

"Is that why you come here with guns?"

The fat man stepped closer.

Vassily aimed the Winchester. "Drop your weapons-now. Or I kill you."

"Fuck you," said Lombardi.

The shotgun in his hands came up and exploded and the shot hit Vassily in the right shoulder and he was flung back against the wall. As he fell back onto the veranda the men were already moving toward him, and when he grabbed for the Winchester one of them kicked it away and he saw the flash of the blade as the fat mail knelt over him. "Too slow, old man. Where's the woman'? Don't fuck with me. Where is she, or I cut your fucking heart out, you red-faced hick."

Halfway through the woods Anna heard the gunshot and her heart skipped.

As she turned she saw the man off to her right and froze. He held a shotgun in his hands and at first she thought he was a hunter, but the shot had come from the direction of the cabin and when she saw the look on the man's face she knew something wasn't right.

The man raised the weapon at her and grinned. He had a livid red scar on his face.

"Stay where you are."

Anna halted, and as she looked at the man, confused, he came toward her and she saw the grin widen.

"Nice and easy now. We're going to move back the way you came."

Her first instinct was to turn and run, but when she went to move the man came after her and grabbed her savagely by the hair. As she was spun around she lashed out with her foot. She kicked the man in the knee and he crumpled, dropping the shotgun, but when she tried to grab the weapon the man yanked her hair painfully hard and pulled her up.

"You little bitch!"

He struck her hard across the face, again and again, so hard she thought her jaw had broken, and then his fist struck her in the back of the neck and all she remembered after that was darkness.

The small harbor in the broad inlet sixty miles south of Boston known as Buzzards Bay was deserted. The man who walked across to the waterside hangar with Massey and Stanski was tall and thin, with sad eyes and a permanent six o'clock shadow. He had a dour face that suggested he found life an unpleasant experience, and his movements were heavy and unhurried.

"You know, it's really quite irregular, Mr. Stanski, especially in this weather. There ain't no cloud but that damned wind's pretty near sharp enough to skin a dog."

"I appreciate that, Abe."

"What's the big rush that you (yot to get up to the lake?"

"An emergency."

Abe Barton looked out doubtfully at the sea and scratched his jaw.

"Well, I ain't too keen about taking off in those waves and coming back in darkness, but I guess on account of it's an emergency I can oblige. I wouldn't do it normally, mind."

It had taken Stanski and Massey almost three hours to drive north to the bay and the tension on both their faces showed, The harbor town had no more than a dozen wooden houses built around it and the hangar was at the far end of the sea wall. There was a skid ramp for launching the flying boat into the water. The hangar doors were closed.

The flying boat worked out of the bay taking hunting and fishing parties up to northern New England in season, and Abe Barton was the pilot, mechanic and caretaker. He unlocked the padlock to the hangar and rolled back the doors, to reveal a bulbous-nosed Seebee single-engine flying boat inside. A tarpaulin covered the nose and Barton pulled it away.

He rubbed his stubby jaw. "She'll need to be refueled. There's just enough in the tanks to warm her up."

"How long will that take?"

Ten minutes should do it. There's fuel in the storeroom back up at the house." Stanski said impatiently, "Then I suggest we get moving, We'll leave the car here."

Barton sighed and crossed to the door. There were a Couple of small two-wheel upright trolleys by the handle bar for carryin– the fuel barrels and he dragged one out morosely, When he had gone Stanski said to Massey, "It's going to be dark in an hour. Landing on the lake in daylight is difficult enough if the water swell's bad. In near-darkness it's pretty near impossible."

Massey looked over at the flying boat. "You're sure Barton can fly this damned thing?"

"Judge for yourself. He knows the lake area pretty well."

Stanski nodded to another trolley in the corner. "We'd better give him a hand with the fuel or we'll be here all day."

Five minutes later they all came back, Barton dragging his trolley like a condemned man. Massey and Stanski quickly helped him load the fuel with the manual pump.

When they had finally winched the Seebee into the water, Barton climbed into the cockpit and started the Franklin engine. It throbbed into life first time.

Anna came awake with a throbbing headache.

She was lying on her back on the floor. Vassily was beside her, tied in a chair.

She looked at him in horror. His skin was white and his eyes half closed, an ugly wound in his right shoulder, blood oozing from it, his face badly cut where he had been beaten. His head was slumped to one side and a strange gurgling sound came from his lips.

Anna screamed.

"Shut the fuck up, lady."

When she looked over she saw two men. One was the man with the scarred face from the woods. He sat in a chair by the window, smoking a cigarette, a shotgun across his knees as he stared over at her silently.

The second man the one who had spoken, was short and fat and bid a thin black mustache. He sat on the table, a sharpe knife in his hand as he picked at his nails with it and grinned. "So, you're back in time of the land of the living?"

She ignored them both and struggled to her feet. There were tears in her eyes as she moved beside Vassily. His eyes flickered as he recognized her.

"Anna ..."

"No, don't speak, Vassily."

He was still losing blood and she felt his pulse. It was weak. She looked back at the men.

"He'll die if he doesn't get help. You have to do something ... Please!" The fat man said, "I'll fucking kill him if you don't get away from there."

He slid off the table and came over and grabbed Anna by the hair and threw her into a chair.

"Now you sit there and keep that mouth shut."

"He's dying ... !"

The scar-faced man stood and came over and slapped her hard across the face, then his hand gripped her jaw painfully and he stared into her face as he spoke in Russian.

"Massey and Stanski, where did they go' '

Anna felt the blood drain from her, a sudden overwhelming fear in her heart, and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came, a terrible truth dawning on her, The man slapped her hard again. "I asked you a question. Where are your friends?"

"I ... I don't know."

The man lifted his shotgun and aimed it at Vassily. "The truth, or I kill him."

"I ... I don't know ... they left ... this morning .

"To go where?"

"I don't know."

"When will they be back?"

"I don't ..."

The man eased back the hammers of the shotgun and aimed at Vassily's head. Anna said, "Tonight. They said they would be back tonight. I don't know when. I'm telling you the truth ... please.'@ For several seconds the man just stood there, aiming the weapon at Vassily, then he grinned and lifted Anna's face.

The grin vanished as he gripped her face hard, grinding his teeth as he said, "Don't lie to me. Lie to me again and I kill you, understand?"

There was a noise from behind and another man came into the room from the kitchen, young, heavily built, carrying a long wooden box.

"Guess what I found?"

He put the box down on the table and flipped open the lid. Anna saw it was the weapons they had used in training with Popov. The young man grinned. "They were in the back. There's a trapdoor under the kitchen floor, kind of like a storage room, full of food and stuff'."

The fat man with the mustache came over and looked through the box of' weapons, then whistled as he picked up a Tokarev inachine-pistol.

"Heavy Stuff. Looks like our friends here are going– to start a war." He looked at the man with the scar. "What the fuck's going on here, Braun?"

Braun thought for a moment, then flicked a look at Vassilv. He said to the younger man, "Take the woman outside. I'll deal with her later." When they had gone, Lombardi said to Braun, "What's the story here?"

Braun ignored the question, stepped over to Vassily and slapped his face hard. He was still conscious, but his eyes were barely focused. Braun said, "What else are Massey and Stanski hiding, old man?"

Vassily's eyes flicked up weikly at Braun, but he didn't speak. Braun slapped him savagely across the jaw. "I won't ask again. Next time I tell my friend outside to hurt the woman. Hurt her bad. This is your property. The weapons were here. Why?"

"Massey ... brought them. I ... don't know why," Vassily gurgled.

"What else did he bring?"

"I ... don't know." Braun said sharply to Lombardi, "Bring the woman back."

"No," Vassily pleaded hoarsely. "I told the truth."

@"What other hiding places have you got in the cabin?"

Vassily's head slumped onto his chest and Braun grabbed his hair and stared into his face. "You want to watch while the woman's raped'?

Because that's what's going to happen to the bitch if you don't talk. Then I kill her. Slowly."

Vassily's eyes came open drowsily. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing. "Don't ... don't hurt her." Braun grinned. "You help me, and I won't.' But before Vassily could speak again his eyes rolled and his head slumped to one side. Braun hit him across the face, again and again, in frustration. but Vassily didn't return to consciousness.

Lombardi said, "You're wasting your time, the hick's out of it, he's lost too much blood."

Braun picked up the shotgun and moved toward the stairs.

He said to Lombardi, "Search the storage room search downstairs thoroughly."

"Where you going?"

"To see what else I can find."

Fifteen minutes out from Buzzards Bay the clear air was turbuient and Barton had to increase altitude to five thousand feet to avoid the worst of it.

The takeoff had been bumpy to say the least, but Barton seemed to know exactly what he was doing. The Seebee had finally lifted off gracefully and climbed to two thousand feet before beginning northwest.

It was growing dark in the cabin @and they could see the vast speckle of lights that was Boston coming on in the dusk off to the right. Barton turned back and said above the engine noise, "Another ten minutes and we'll be over the state line into New Hampshire. I'll try to get as close to the cabin as I can, but I can't promise, mind. Depends on what the water's like." Stanski said, "Forget the cabin. I want you to land further away up the lake, a mile up the shore. And leave off the landing lights on the way in."

Barton looked puzzled and glanced from Stanski to Massey. "You folks said this was an emergency?"

"it is."

"Well, I need those lights to see what the water's like," Barton protested. "If I hit whitecaps too damned hard they can crack the prow or make me dip a wing into the water."

Stanski put a hand on Barton's shoulder. "Just do as I ask, Abe. And as soon as you touch down and we get away, do me a favor and wait half an hour in case we need you to take us back. No longer than that, or you'll have trouble landing back in Buzzards Bay."

I got trouble enough as it is doing what you ask. I need those damned lights."

"Please, Abe, just do as I say."

Barton frowned in puzzlement, then he shrugged and turned back to the Seebee's controls.

Brun went through the rooms upstairs one by one. Even though he knew the house was empty he moved cautiously, stepping into each bedroom with care, the shotgun ready in his hands.

He found the woman's room first and searched through her clothes and a small suitcase under the bed. There was nothing of interest, but when he found her underwear he fondled it and smiled.

The other rooms were bare and functional. The old man's had nothin– much besides tatty clothes, some tobacco and a couple of old books in Russian.

When he found Stanski's bedroom he went through it with much more care. He searched through the clothes in the wardrobe, emptying the pockets, and two leather suitcases full of old clothes, lying at the bottom. He turned over the mattress and looked underneath, but found nothing.

In frustration, Braun kicked over the bedside locker and it toppled onto the floor. He went to the window and idly lit a cigarette, and as he stood there something made him look down, The locker had rattled the wooden floorboards under the window and one of them felt loose as he stepped on it. He knelt and pried it with his nail. He saw the rusting biscuit tin in the recess and opened it. After several moments examining the contents he flung them away. Then he saw the file lying below. There were four pages inside the folder headed "Joseph Stalin," and he read them quickly.

For several moments he stood there, guessing the value of his discovery, then he smiled to himself. Moscow would pay for what he had just found, no question.

He folded the file and tucked it carefully down his trousers, then searched through the rest of the contents of the box before discarding them without interest. When he had finished checking the other rooms thoroughly he went back downstairs.

It was growing dark outside and Lombardi was trying to light an oil lamp. He burned his fingers in the process and said to the old man slumped unconscious in the chair, "Ain't you hicks ever heard of fucking electricity?"

Lombardi looked over at Braun. "There were only provisions downstairs, The rest of the place is clean. What did you find?"

"Nothing," Braun lied.

Lombardi said. "So what next?"

"We leave and take the woman with us."

"I thought we were going to wait for the broad's friends'."'

"There isn't time."

Lombardi frowned. "Whatever you say. What about the old man?"

"He's seen our faces. Kill him."

The Seebee circled the lake in a perfect arc, then Barton nosed her down to three hundred feet above the water.

Dusk was falling rapidly and the lake was in almost complete darkness, just a faint shimmering of silver light on the water. Barton insisted on flicking on the landing lights briefly to see what the water surface looked like below. It seemed calm enough but toward the shore there were choppy waves, and as Barton turned back he said to Stanski, "Better make sure you're strapped in and holding on, this could be a mite bumpy."

There was sweat on Barton's brow as he dropped down to a hundred feet and started gently to ease the flying boat down, They were headed toward a stretch of shore about a mile north from the cabin, coming in alongside the land, about a hundred feet from the bank.

At sixty feet the Seebee started to bump with the updraft over the water, a sudden gust hitting them and throwing them off to the left, closer to the land.

Barton said, "Jeez ... . and corrected, then continued to ease forward the control stick. At twenty feet he pulled back on the throttle and the Seebee hit the water hard, bumped, then settled, and it was down, skimming and bumping over the lake as the propeller idled and Barton let out a sigh, easing the boat closer to the shore before looking back over his shoulder.

"This is as close as it gets. You folks are going to have to get wet."

They were twenty feet from the shore, and Stanski was already tearing open the cabin door and climbing out, Massey behind him. Stanski jumped out into the waist-hbigh water and started to wade toward the bank.

Barton said to Massey, "I'm waiting no longer than half an hour, understand? What the hell kind of emergency is this, anyhow?"

Massey didn't even reply but plunged into the water after Stanski, who was already at the shore.

"You hear something?"

Lombardi had crossed to the open door, then he stepped toward the veranda and stood there, his head cocked to one side. He looked back in at Braun. "I heard a fucking engine."

Braun came and stood beside him, listening. Finally he said, "I hear nothing,"

"It sounded like a plane." Lombardi cocked his ear again. "But it's gone."

Braun shook his head. "Forget it."

He crossed to the table and picked up the oil lamp and said to Lombardi, "Untie the ropes on the old man."

"Why'? What you got in mind?"

Braun removed the glass cowl on the oil lamp. The flame guttered for a moment, then burned brightly again.

Lombardi frowned. "You going to set the place on fire?"

"As a lesson to our absent friends. The nearest town is five miles away. With this terrain no one will see the flames. First, go outside and shoot out the tires on the jeep and pickup."

Lombardi took the .38 from his pocket. "You're not going to plug the old man?"

Braun smiled coldly. "I thought that pleasure would be yours.

A mile into the woods and Massey was out of breath.

He saw Stanski racing ahead of him in the dusk, running like a man possessed as he scrambled through the forest. He was running fast and silently, but Massey had trouble keeping up, tripping over deadwood and fallen branches.

Five minutes on and he saw Stanski slow and look back, pointing to tell him he was going on ahead, and Massey waved back. He saw Stanski give a burst of speed and then he disappeared.

A hundred yards on Massey had to slow down to catch his breath, then suddenly, somewhere off in the distance back toward the lake, he heard the roar of an engine and recognized the sound of the flying boat.

Massey swore. Barton hadn't waited long.

Suddenly Massey heard another sound, a gunshot, then another, half a dozen shots one after another and then moments later a couple more.

When Lombardi came back he undid the ropes around Vassily. Braun lit a cigarette from the naked flame of the oil lamp, then said calmly, "Move back."

Lombardi stepped back and Braun tossed the lamp into a corner of the room and the fuel spread on the wooden floor and ignited.

As the flames started to lick the corner walls, Braun said to Lombardi, "I'll take the woman to the car. Finish the old man."

"A pleasure."

Braun stepped out. Vince came back in moments later and Stood at the door. "Mind if I watch?"

Lombardi handed him his shotgun and took out the pistol again and held it by his side as the knife flashed in his other hand.

"You might learn something, kid. I'll show you how to gut a shitkicker. Watch closely, this is going to be quick."

As Lombardi went toward Vassily, he sensed a presence behind him.

Lombardi looked around as an angry voice said, "Touch him and I kill you."

A blond man stood there in the kitchen door, his face covered in sweat. He had a pistol in his hand.

Lombardi said, "What the fuck ... ?"

The pistol in Lombardi's other hand came up and Stanski shot him in the eye. Lombardi screamed, then Stanski shot him again in the head, and as Lombardi was punched back out of the door, the second man fired both barrels of his shotgun in panic.

It went wide and the blast hit Vassily in the chest and flung him back into the flames.

Stanski screamed, "No!"

As the second man wrenched out a pistol and went to shoot again, Stanski fired, hitting him in the head, then the chest, then the head again, a terrible rage in him as he kept firing.

The flames rose and spread in the cabin and smoke filled the room, choking the air, and as Stanski tried to move frantically toward Vassily's limp and bloodied body engulfed in flames, he already knew there was nothing he could do.

Braun was hardly fifty yards from the cabin when he heard the shots and the scream, instinct telling him something was terribly wrong.

He looked back and saw the flames lick inside the cabin but no sign of Lombardi and his bodyguard. The woman suddenly tried to struggle free and Braun grabbed her and dragged her at a run toward the car, impulse telling him to get away.

"Move, you bitch! Move!"

He had gone another twenty yards when he looked back and saw the blond man come down the veranda dragging a body out of the burning cabin, then the man looked up and saw Braun and broke into a run toward him. Braun fired oft' two quick shots in his direction, then pulled the woman against him as a shield and shouted to the man, "Come any closer and I kill her!"