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She nodded. "It's all right. At least we are moving.
Anything is better than sitting in one place, waiting like
a mouse for the cat to pounce."
They would lose a precious half day at the Sverdlovsk
factory, but the stop had to be made. Periodic checks
would be made on the two Italian arms buyers. The
Sverdlovsk stop would give them at least another
twenty-four hours before their nonarrival in Moscow
would raise questions.
At dawn they transferred Dasha to the trunk. The
timing turned out to be perfect. At Ufa, on the main
highway, they were stopped at a roadblock. With the
KGB insignia, Yurlie Timofey was able to bypass the
long line of cars and trucks and go in the lane for of-
ficial vehicles.
"Yurlie," Carter said.
"Stop past the checkpoint and walk back, get
chummy with one of them. This doesn't look normal."
Other than careful scrutinization of the foreign pas-
sengers' papers, the car was passed right through.
Yurlie Timofey did as Carter asked. Through the rear
window Carter could see him chatting up one of the
greatcoated KGB men running the checkpoint.
Five minutes later he was back in the car.
"They are looking for her," he said, moving back
into the lane of traffic.
"You're sure?" Carter asked.
"Very sure. The bastard wouldn't say why she was
wanted. They never do. But they have made her, all
right. He showed me a photograph."
Carter and Sabat exchanged knowing looks. The
timetable would have to be speeded up.
"I hope your woman in Kopysk has everything
ready. "
Sabat smiled and shrugged. "If she doesn't, we can
still make the trip worthwhile before they get us.
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"Return to the Sverdlovsk factory and blow it up."
The house was large by Russian standards, at least six
rooms. It was located about three miles north of Kopysk
and about a mile off the Sverdlovsk road. The grounds,
in the center of a small forest, were well kept and the im-
mediate area around the house was enclosed by a stone
wall with barbed wire on top of it.
"A typical politician's retreat," Sabat said. "Stop
here, Yurlie."
"Who lives here?" Dasha asked, somewhat wide-
eyed.
"It is the house of the district commissioner," Sabat
chuckled as he exited the car and disappeared into the
trees.
C'Oh, my God."
"Not to worry," Yurlie Timofey murmured from the
front seat, C'Madame Morkhkin has been with us for a
long time. "
While they waited, Timofey related the woman's
background, giving them the reasons she was betraying
her husband and country.
"Her marriage was forced by her father, who was a
rabid Stalinist. It has never been happy. When her hus-
band started climbing the political ladder, she saw less
and less of him. Then the KGB wooed her son away,
with her husband's blessing.
"The son became an organizer in Afghanistan. He
was killed by rebels. I suppose 'that is what finally
turned her against them, the stupidity of the 'Russian
Vietnam.' That's how it all started. They began to really
hate each other, and the more they quarreled, the more
she hit back at him in her own way."
"And you think you can trust her on the basis of
that?" Carter asked.
"She has proved herself many times," Timofey re-
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plied with a shrug. "Oh, when she first came to us we
were highly suspicious. At first she gave us just idle bits
of information. But when her husband was promoted to
this post, she became invaluable. She takes great risks
sometimes, but she seems to revel in it. Believe me, she
is trustworthy."
Lev Sabat was huffing back toward the car. "Her car
is parked in front. That is the sign. Drive in, Yurlie, and
pull around to the rear. "
Yurlie Timofey took off like a shot. Just inside the
gates he stopped long enough for Carter and Sabat to
jump out and close them.
Then they were in a small, rear courtyard and a tall
woman in a plain woolen dress and black shawl was mo-
tioning them hurriedly into the house.
"We must be careful. There are a group of Young
Pioneers camped nearby. They have passed the house
several times already today," she said in a hushed whis-
per.
They passed into a large kitchen. It was well ordered
and spotlessly clean. The table in its center was set with
a tea service, and nearby a huge nineteenth-century
samovar was steaming.
"Madame Mordhkin," Yurlie Timofey said with a
low chuckle, "tea?"
"Of course," the woman replied. "There is no need
not to be civilized."
"Madame, I want to thank you for your kindness and
your assistance. "
"You are Sabat?"
g 'I have read some of your work. You are slightly
hysterical, but you write extremely well."
"Thank you. This is—" He gestured toward Carter
and Dasha Koneva, but the woman whirled on them and
spoke, silencing him.
"l don't want to know who you are. What I do, I do
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for my own reasons. I assume you do the same. You will
spend the night here. I have arranged transportation for
you in the morning. Sit, we will have tea. "
She moved in long, graceful strides toward the samo-
var and began drawing the tea.
They sat, mute, as the woman served them tea and
small sugar buns. It was as if they were neighbors just
dropping by.
Carter watched her go through the silent ritual with
the tea. She was a handsome woman, probably around
sixty. Her short hair was black with gray streaks, and
her face was strong and made craggy more by the out-
doors than age.
Only when she sat at last did she speak again.
"You still must go to the factory this afternoon?"
"Yes," Sabat replied. "Yurlie will drop us back here
and then head for Moscow."
"I have a place of concealment for the car near
Kazan, about halfway to Moscow. It should be twenty-
four hours, probably more, before it is found," Timo-
fey explained.
"The truck will be here to pick you up at seven, just
after dawn," Madame Mordhkin said. "He makes the
trip twice a month to Astrakhan on the lower Volga."
Here she paused and faced Sabat directly. "I assume
you have already arranged for everything you will need
there to take you on?"
Sabat nodded.
"Good. The dacha is small, as you can see. There are
two bedrooms and a cot in the study. The rooms can be
divided among you as you see fit. "
"Madame • • e"
$ 'I hesitate to ask, but since this part of our journey is
the most susceptible to capture g"
"Servants?"
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"l have two. My maid is on holiday. The gardener is
faithful to me. When it is necessary, he is blind and deaf
as to what goes on here. It is his son who will drive you
to Astrakhan."
"And your husband? Is there any chance that he
might be returning to the dacha before we depart? "
"None. He has a state flat in Sverdlovsk. He only
comes home on weekends. I don't even expect him this
weekend. He has a new mistress, quite young and
pretty."
"I'm sorry I asked."
"Don't be. It doesn't bother me. Will you be back
from the factory by six?"
"That should be no problem," Yurlie Timofey of-
fered.
"Good. Dinner will be at seven."
Back in the Ziv, Carter turned to Sabat. "To the
point, isn't she?"
"Quite," he replied, producing a small bottle of
vodka. "To our journey."
The routine at Sverdlovsk went much the same as it
had at the Czech factory. Their credentials were not
questioned and they were allowed to inspect and witness
a demonstration of everything on their list.
Even though Carter was anxious to get it over with
and back to the safety of the countryside and the dacha,
he played the game to the hilt.
Even Sabat joined in to a greater degree with his
Italian gibberish.
By the time the inspection was over and the ritual
toasts were under way, it was as though they were all
one big happy family.
It was during this toasting period that Carter dropped
his little bombs concerning Don Giovanni Marcosi. He
was careful in the way he worded his accusations against
the aging Italian mobster, but he could see that the KGB
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representative was taking it all in and evaluating it.
By the time they returned to the car, the Killmaster
was pretty sure the Russians would think twice about
dealing with Marcosi again. That, plus CIA leaks to
their people in Italy concerning the old man's shaky
foundations, should just about put the Marcosi family
out of business.
"What was that all about?" Sabat asked in the Ziv.
"I thought it was Marcosi who got us in. "
' 'He did," Carter replied. "But that doesn't mean he
isn't scum and we want him out of business."
Sabat asked no more.
Madame Mordhkin was true to her word. A warm
peat fire was going strong in the combination kitchen/
dining room when they returned, and dinner was ready
to be served.
It was good, nourishing Russian fare. There was
delicious dark bread, a platter of roast chicken and
potatoes, and a borscht that was so thick it could be
eaten with a fork. In fact the cabbage soup passed the
fork test when Carter sank the utensil into his bowl and
it stood upright without wavering.
The meal was barely finished when Yurlie Timofey
bid them good-bye. Carter walked him out to the car.
"Your help has been invaluable."
He shrugged. "Such things have become a game. I
hope you make it. "
The two men embraced and Carter waited until he
could no longer see the taillights before going back in-
side.
Madame Mordhkin was being domestic in the
kitchen. Dasha had already withdrawn for a bath. Sabat
had poured brandy and now sat before a low table in the
sitting room.
On the table he had spread a map of the lower Volga
valley and the tip of eastern Turkey.
"It is time to clarify."
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Carter grunted in agreement and lit a cigarette.
"Madame Mordhkin's man will take us here, just
outside Astrakhan, in the morning. There is a fisher-
man, Grechko, who has a house here, near the Cas-
pian."
' 'We stay there?"
"Yes, it should be very safe. The KGB is not as strict
as they are here, closer to the Turkish frontier."
Carter smiled. "So getting to the frontier will be the
problem. "
"The big problem," Sabat said, nodding. "That is
where the heart of my previous escape took place. Just
north of the city is the east-west, north-south railroad
terminus. There is a train that leaves every morning at
six sharp for Tbilisi. "
' 'On the frontier."
"Yes. Twice a week there are three sealed cars
equipped with double sets of wheels. At the frontier
those wheels are changed to accommodate the wider
Turkish rail gauge. "
Carter nodded his understanding. It was part of the
Russian paranoia about invasion. Years before, they
had changed all the rails in the Soviet Union to a nar-
rower gauge so they couldn't be invaded by rail.
"And the three cars?" Carter asked.
"Filled with medical and military supplies and some
foodstuffs. They are part of the Russian aid to Syria. "
"I see," Carter said. "They go directly from Astra-
khan across Turkey to Damascus."
"Exactly," the old man said, beaming. "With tools
and torches we cut into the bottom of one of the cars.
We hide inside with the piece back in place until we are
sure we are over the frontier and in Turkey. The cars
won't be checked because after they are loaded in Astra-
khan they are sealed and run into a warehouse until they
leave."
Carter toasted him with his glass. "It is a good plan,
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and one that should work. "
145
Sabat chuckled with glee. "It worked before. "
Until then, Madame Mordhkin had remained in the
kitchen. Carter guessed it was because she didn't want
to be able to overhear their conversation. She did not
want to know their plans or the route of escape beyond
the dacha.
Now she entered and started turning down the lights.
' 'It is time for bed. I am known tohe an early riser. It
would look odd if too many lights were burning late."
"Of course, " Sabat said, folding his map.
The woman had already disappeared down the hall.
Carter followed Sabat. At the study door he started to
follow the man inside but was stopped by a hand on the
chest.
"No, my friend, the study is mine."
"But . . e"
' 'You are in the guest bedroom, there."
"Who decided ... But the door was already clos-
ing, and beyond it Carter could hear the old man's low
laughter.
Carter could guess what he would find awaiting him
in the guest room.
He lifted his hand to knock, then tried the door. It
opened with a gentle shove. Light from a pair of tall
tapers streamed toward him from the bed.
Dasha Peshkova Koneva, wearing a filmy negligee
over equally sheer underwear, was sitting in an easy
chair near the bed reading a magazine.
"I wondered if you were ever coming to bed."
"Was this your idea?" he murmured.
"Yes," she said, an impish smile playing around her
full lips. "Do you mind?"
' 'You know I don't. "
Carter stood, watching her, fascinated. He had al-
most forgotten how really beautiful she was. Every shin-
ing hair was in place. Her extraordinary blue eyes
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sparkled in the candlelight. Her full breasts strained at
the flimsy material covering them. Her strong legs were
long and white.
She was everything a man might want.
When he reached her she stood and seemed to melt
into his arms. Gently he ran his hands over her body.
The material of the negligee was silky and it did things
to his senses.
"ls this standard equipment for defecting Soviet fe-
male agents? "
She smiled mischievously. "It is a loan from Madame
Mordhkin."
"I'll thank her in the morning."
They undressed each other with a calculated slowness,
each taking time to kiss and caress in the process. Then
together they eased down into the softness of the heavily
quilted bed.
Carter found himself on his back. Dasha moved over
him and placed his hands at her breasts. At the same
time, she began to move her hips.
He covered her breasts with his hands and fondled
them in time with his kissing. The points erected, thrusE
ing hard against his palms. After a minute or so, she
began to moan low in her throat.
She leaned back and stared down at him. Her eyes
were tender and beseeching. Then she leaned forward
and Carter could sense the hunger in her lips.
Reaching down, he caught both of her thighs and
raised her. She put her arms around his neck, and when
she felt his probing shaft, caught her breath sharply.
Carter lunged upward, too hard and too fast.
But she didn't try to break away. Instead she buried
her face in his shoulder and clung to him as though will-
ing him to do what he would with her body.
The passion within him now was beyond containing.
When he felt the resisting muscles of her thighs slacken,
he took a smooth buttock in each hand and pressed
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them down. She locked her legs behind his and he low-
ered her still further.
Whether it was the dark, romantic evening with its
undertone of danger or the sensual moment itself, Car-
ter didn't know. But never before had he felt so com-
pletely the possession of her body. It was as though
everything were big and soft and voluptuous. Even her
breasts rubbing against his chest felt as though they too
had swollen.
He tried to find her mouth with his; she avoided it
and pressed her face closer into his shoulder. And then a
shudder ran through her, her legs stiffened and she tried
to rise up as though no longer able to support the driv-
ing pressure of his loins.
The shudder passed and she sank down. The move-
ment brought on an orgasm that practically lifted the
top of his head off.
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TWELVE
Oblomov, head of Kuybyshev security, was a thin
little man with squinty eyes and a very nervous disposi-
tion.
Delenin had never liked him, but then he often found
himself disliking the people he worked with. At least
Oblomov met them at the helicopter with a thermos of
hot .tea and two clean cups. Piotr Nikolsky poured the
moment they were in the car and handed one cup to his
superior.
"What is the man's name, Oblomov?"
"Aleksei Malonovitch Polevet, Comrade Colonel. He
works in the rail dispatch office."
' 'A dissident?"
"There is nothing that would prove him a dissident in
his file."
"What made you arrest him for interrogation?"
"An old woman, Comrade Colonel. She claims she
saw him out very late last night, after midnight, and he
looked suspicious. He was in Petrov Lane, but she
couldn't see which cottage he went to. When he came
back, two men—strangers—appeared. They also went
into Petrov Lane."
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"Did she see them go out?"
"No," Oblomov replied, and then averted his eyes.
"But by that time the old woman could have fallen
asleep. "
"Or she could have been seeing things in the first
place," Delenin muttered. "Who is this old woman?"
"A pensioner. She often informs on her neighbors for
a few extra rubles. "
Delenin sipped his tea in disgust and stared out the
window at the bleakness Of the village they were ap-
proaching across the lake.
They drove in silence through the near deserted
streets. Six in the morning, still dark. Most of the in-
habitants were still asleep or passed out.
What would the peasants do without their vodka?
Oblomov had commandeered a two-room cottage on
the edge of the village. Aleksei Malonovitch was in the
second room. Delenin raced him alone. He had barely
stepped through the door when the man spoke.
"l know nothing."
"l haven't asked you anything."
"You are KGB. You'll ask."
Delenin went to work on him mentally and physically.
At the end of a half hour he knew he would get nothing
out of the man without drugs, and there wasn't time for
that.
He returned to the front of the cottage. "0blon}ov,
where is the old woman—the one who noticed him?'
"There, Comrade Colonel."
The bundle of rags in a dark corner turned out to be a
crouching old crone. When Oblomov barked her name,
the babushka-clad head came up, revealing an ancient,
wrinkled face and watery, vacant eyes.
Delenin crouched before her. "Old woman, tell me
again exactly what you saw."
In a cracked voice, her veined hands fluttering for
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emphasis, she related the story much the same as she
had told it to Oblomov.
' 'But you didn't see the two men come out of Petrov
"No."
"Were you too full of vodka, old woman?"
"NO, I saw what I saw."
'SAIeksei Malonovitch tells me he couldn't sleep. He
went for a walk."
' 'No one in the village goes for a walk at that hour.
He is lying. I saw what I saw."
Oblomov jumped in, angry now, and afraid that he
had brought Delenin and his aide all the way to Kuyby-
Shev on a wild-goose chase.
"It will go hard with you, old woman, if you are
lying. "
"I do not lie!" she snapped. ' 'Malonovitch went into
the lane just before the car parked down by the lake."
c 'A car . . .
in Obersk?" Delenin said, incredulous.
' 'What kind of car?"
' 'A big black car, a sedan with four doors. It
was . . ." She paused.
"It was what, old woman?" Delenin asked, his voice
tight.
"It It was a KGB car," she whispered.
"You never said anything about a KGB car before!"
he hissed.
She seemed to shrivel back into her rags. "One does
not talk about the KGB."
"All right," Delenin said in exasperation. "Could the
two strangers have come from the car?"
' 'They could have," she replied, shivering with fear
now.
"And others? Were there any others in the car?"
"I couldn't see ... too dark."
Delenin grasped Oblomov's elbow and piloted him
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across the room. thought you said you hadn't sent
anyone into Obersk until our specific order came
down!"
"I didn't, Comrade Colonel! I swear it!"
"l don't think the old woman is lying. It sounds like a
KGB Ziv."
swear it did not come from Kuybyshev Center. "
"AII right. Nikolsky?"
'SDa, Comrade Colonel?"
"Stoke up that fire. You know what to do. We must
take some sterner measures with Comrade Aleksei Ma-
Ionovitch Polevet. "
Through a crack in the door, Ivan Tollpetzka
watched them come. Oblomov and his driver he knew.
They were leading. The two in dark greatcoats and fur
hats behind them he didn't know. But they had KGB
stamped all over them.
Quickly he fashioned a sling over his right arm. Inside
it he hid the ancient German Mauser pistol his father
had brought home years before as a souvenir.
It would be ironic to kill them with a German pistol.
He left the latch off the door and climbed into bed'
He had barely arranged himself when the pounding
began.
"Yes, yes."
"Ivan Ivanovitch Tollpetzka?"
"Yes, what is it?"
'SKGB, we want to talk to you. Open the door."
"I am sick. I broke my arm. I have been off work for
three days."
' 'Open up, Ivan Ivanovitch."
"The door is open. Come in."
Tollpetzka's first shot caught the driver in the center
of the chest, driving him back into the others.
His second and third shots tore away much of
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Oblomov's stomach and sent what was left of him back
through the open door to sprawl in the muddy street.
Delenin and Nikolsky, forewarned, were able to
react. They were also saved from death by the bodies of
the other two men.
One rolled to the right, the other to the left. Nikolsky,
younger and in better shape, came up on one knee firing
first.
Tollpetzka's fourth slug narrowly missed the younger
KGB man's head, slamming into the wall behind him.
Nikolsky didn't miss. He pumped a full magazine
into Ivan Tollpetzka, making the body dance in the bed
long after life had left it.
Delenin was on him in an instant. "He's dead.
Thern
' 'Both dead. Oblomov is almöt cut in half. "
"Damn. Well, we have the rest of our answer. Now
let's find that goddamned car!"
The sharp, penetrating smell of the restoked peat fire
awakened Carter. He opened his eyes just as Dasha
emerged from the bathroom.
Even with her hair pulled back severely and tied in a
bun, wearing a loose peasant blouse and tight-fitting
blue jeans, she looked elegant. Carter admired her for a
few seconds before speaking.
' 'Good morning."
She nodded. There was very little of the sensuous
warmth of the previous night in her manner. Carter had
not expected any. This morning it was back to business.
"The others are in the kitchen. Madame Mordhkin
has instructed us to leave the bags and everything else
we can't carry in this room. She will have them disposed
of yet today. "
"I'll be ready in a few minutes."
In the bath Carter splashed water on his face and
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brushed his teeth. He didn't bother to shave. Five min-
utes later he was entering the kitchen.
Sabat and Dasha were at the table sipping from
steaming mugs. Madame Mordhkin was at the stove.
The smell of cooking food hovered around her.
Near the door, mug in hand, was a tall,
thin young man. His angular body, with his sharp nose
supporting steel-rimmed glasses, caused Carter to think
of a praying mantis.
He wore a loose, high-collared shirt sash-belted over
baggy peasant trousers tugged into ankle boots.
"Good morning," Carter said.
There was a general chorus of replies, and Madame
Mordhkin nodded toward the young man.
"Maxim Davidovitch. He will drive the lorry."
Carter shook hands. Behind the round spectacles the
young man's eyes were vague. But when he spoke the
voice was strong and full of command.
' 'Do not take too long. We must be off before first
light. "
With that he left and Carter took his place at the
table.
"I'll just have coffee."
"No," the woman said, soundly setting a heaping
plate of food before him. "It may be late in the day
before Maxim can get food to you in the back of the
lorry. Eat! 't
Carter ate.
It was midafternoon and they had stopped only
briefly for a few moments in a heavily wooded area at
about noon.
Maxim Davidovitch had given them only five minutes
to stretch and relieve themselves before they were hus-
tled back into the rear of the truck.
"Where are we?" Carter had asked.
"Akt'ubinsk. It is about halfway, but the worst part
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is yet to come, over the mountains. The roads are very
bad."
He hadn't been kidding. Their tiny cubbyhole under
the massive load of constantly shifting furniture had
proved precarious if not downright dangerous as the
truck rocked and jolted.
For the last two hours all three of them had spent
nearly every minute making sure they were not crushed.
Carter's legs felt as though they would never
straighten out again, and he was dying for a cigarette.
Even though he could not see their faces, he could sense
that the other two felt the same way.
Finally they rocked and bucked to a stop, and seconds
later there was a light rap on the thin metal siding of the
truck's body.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes," Carter replied.
"We are in Sagiz. I will get food and tea here. About
six kilometers out of the town there is a rest area. I will
stop there. Have you found the clothes?"
"Yes," Carter said. Three bundles of peasant cloth-
ing, the kind normally worn in the lower Volga area,
had been deposited in their cubbyhole earlier. "But
there is not enough room to change."
"Then you can do it in the trees when I stop. Be very
They were conscious of each other's breathing in the
small space. Eventually the truck's engine roared to life
and they were on their way again.
In the darkness each of them gripped a bundle and
waited.
Even before the truck stopped, Carter was leading
them through the narrow crawl space toward the rear
doors. When they opened, it took several seconds for
their eyes to adjust to the light even though it was a
gloomy, gray day.
They were in a small clearing. Carter could see the
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narrow lane Maxim Davidovitch had taken from the
highway. Now and then he could hear a car or truck
hum past.
"We can't take time to eat in the open. Just stretch
and dress. You'll have to eat in the truck while we
move. "
"No problem, " Carter said, already getting out of his
clothes.
"Madame, there is a rest hut over there if you want
privacy."
"It isn't necessary," Dasha replied, pulling her peas-
ant blouse over her head.
They were still changing, Carter just pulling up the
baggy peasant trousers and tying a sash for a belt, when
a man appeared on a bicycle from a tiny lane in the
trees.
They all froze. The man wore a heavy brown uniform
with red army epaulets on the shoulders.
"Area patrol," Maxim hissed. "Keep dressing. .1'11
handle it. "
Maxim waved at the man and smiled broadly as he
walked across the clearing.
"Good afternoon, comrade. My family and I are tak-
ing furniture south. Do you know the weather around
Baku . . ?"
Carter could sense that the soldier wasn't buying it.
His knuckles grew white on the handlebars and his eyes
narrowed as they darted from Maxim to the three half-
dressed people and back again.
Carter could almost see the question arise in those
eyes: Why do these fools ride in the back of a stuffy
truck with furniture that could crush them at any mo-
ment?
Maxim guessed also that his jovialness wasn't getting
across. Just as the soldier pulled his service pistol from
its holster, the praying mantis leaped.
He grabbed the man's wrist and brought it down hard
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across the handlebars. The soldier yelped in pain and
the pistol fell to the ground.
It sounded as if the wrist were broken, but that didn't
take the fight from him. As Maxim reached for his
throat, the man parried with the bicycle and darted to-
ward the path.
Carter was sprinting across the clearing as Maxim
grabbed the pistol and came up on one knee.
"No, Maxim, no!" Carter cried. "Don't fire! There
is liable to be someone else close by!"
The Russian agreed by shoving the pistol into his coat
pocket and darting after the man, Carter crashing
through the trees close behind him.
Maxim hit the path first, but Carter wasn't far
behind. The soldier didn't look back but kept running
straight away, running as if possessed, running as if he
could get away from himself.
They ran, Maxim all out, Carter pacing himself. If
Maxim caught him right away, fine. If not, if it went
into a long run, Carter would take him.
It did not go long.
Because of his long legs, Maxim ran in great bounds,
almost leaps. He was gaining two yards for every one of
the soldier's.
And then he was there. Maxim dropped him by
throwing his body across the fleeing man's knees.
But if he thought merely bringing the man down was
enough, he was mistaken.
With a strangled scream, an animal sound from his
throat, he counterattacked Maxim. Biting, hitting,
clawing, and kicking, the soldier was savage and over-
whelming.
They were up, then down and rolling. So much so
that Car'ter could not get a clear blow. And Maxim was
getting the worst of it.
Suddenly the soldier came up with a wild and lucky
punch that caught Maxim off guard. The blow landed
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dead-center gut, and Maxim went down gasping for air.
To Carter's surprise, the soldier didn't bolt and run.
It was one-on-one now, and the man obviously felt he
had more than an even chance.
He whirled and rushed, head low, both forearms hor-
izontal, fists only six inches or so apart.
There was no opening for a chop, and Carter knew he
would break a few of his own knuckles if he went for the
jaw or head. Consequently, he took the rush like a
wrestler, turning his body to the side as the other man
charged.
His left fist was shooting into a punch as Carter
turned and grabbed the wrist with his left hand. At the
same time, he threw his right shoulder into the side of
the man's head. The soldier stumbled but hung on like a
leech, dragging Carter with him as he went down.
Both of them fell into a patch of ground cover. It was
thistle weed, and the pain was immediate as Carter felt
the needlelike thorns rip at his face, head, and shoul-
ders.
The soldier, his left wrist still locked in Carter's left
hand, tried a high, wild right directed at the Killmaster's
face. Carter crashed into him with his shoulder again,
and they rolled farther into the needles. Carter was on
the bottom, and the pain of the stinging barbs was so in-
tense that for a moment it broke his concentration.
The soldier broke the hold and knocked Carter off
him with a short, solid right that hammered into his
already painfully aching face.
The Russian didn't know it, but it was that punch that
lost him the fight.
The knuckles of his one good hand broke.
Carter went backward, shoulders flat, knees high.
The Russian was on his feet, jumping for the Killmaster,
both heels aiming for his chest.
As the heavy boots came down, Carter was twisting.
One missed completely and the other scraped across his
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ribs, throwing the man off-balance. Carter grabbed the
ankle and twisted sharply as he rolled his body to the
side with the ankle beneath him. The Killmaster's shoul-
der came down hard on the man's shin.
It cracked, and there was a howl of pain.
To Carter's amazement, as they both came up the
man crouched, still ready to do battle with a broken
right ankle and two useless hands.
But still he came in, hard and fast, one hand grabbing
Carter's hair. He tried to bring the heel of his other
hand up under Carter's chin.
It was futile.
Carter smashed him away with rights and lefts to the
body, the man's fingers vainly trying to pull hair as he
fell back.
With a cry of pain and anger, he charged in again. As
they closed, his right knee came up hard and Carter fell
back, bringing his left knee up and catching the man's
right leg between shin and kneecap.
Carter could see his beet-red face in front of him.
And then his head went back like a football at the end of
a dropkick as Carter's knee forced his right leg high
against his body. As he went over, Carter brought his
left foot up hard but missed the killing kick.
But in midair, Carter managed to change direction.
He came down with both of his boots firmly in the
man's midsection. Finishing the fall, he curled his right
arm around the man's neck. The Russian continued to
struggle, but the movement only aided the Killmaster's
intent.
He curled and tucked the inner part of his right arm
over the man's windpipe, ground his knee into the small
of his back, and used the fulcrum of his left arm with his
left palm against the back of the man's head.
He strained, twisted, and then yanked.
The crack of the man's spine was like an echoing rifle
shot in the forest's stillness.
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Carter dropped the body and staggered to a tree. He
leaned against the rough bark and wiped blood from his
face. When his eyes focused, he saw Maxim lurching
toward him.
"Hurry!" the man said. "We must go!"
"Can't " Carter panted. "Not yet ."
"We must. Where there is one, there are always
two."
"No, dammit," Carter growled. "We've got to bury
him."
They argued for another few minutes, until Carter
staggered overt picked the man's legs from the ground,
and began dragging the lifeless form into the trees.
Eventually, with a groan, Maxim followed.
They had no tools. After five minutes Carter knew
that Maxim had been right. The ground was frozen,
hard as a rock.
Finally, the best they could do was a very shallow hole
and a mound of leaves over the body.
Jogging back to the truck, every bone in his body
aching, his face still bleeding profusely, Carter hoped
that it would be at least a few hours before they found
the body.
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Yurlie Timofey had already passed two roadblocks by
the time he approached another just before the city of
Kazan.
So easily had he been passed through the first two, the
KGB barely looking at the papers of one of their own,
that he was lulled into a sense of false security.
With a hearty ' 'Good afternoon," he passed his iden-
tification and traveling papers over to the uniformed
guard.
The man was dour-faced, which was usual. But he
was also curt and gruff. That was .unusual, since Timo-
fey's identification marked him obviously as the guard's
superior in rank by some degrees.
"One moment, comrade. You will wait in the car,
please."
Yurlie Timofey's antennae signaling danger went up
at once. The man had moved into the tiny guardhouse.
He was talking over the papers with two other men,
both in civilian clothes, both obviously KGB.
Every few seconds one of the men would look up at
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Timofey with a questioning scowl.
He was blown. He was almost sure of it.
Without registering anything in his manner or on his
face, he let his eyes dart around the roadblock.
Before him were two wooden barriers. A single guard
stood at one end of the barriers ready to raise or lower
them by hand. Three more guards idled at the other
side, their AK-47s slung carelessly over their shoulders.
About forty yards beyond the barriers were two
vehicles, a dull gray sedan and a personnel carrier with a
large-caliber machine gun mounted on the roof of the
cab.
Yurlie Timofey had just the 7.62 Tokarev for fire-
power, but he had the Ziv. If he crashed through with-
out being riddled, neither of the two vehicles could
come close to the big Ziv for speed.
The three men emerged from the guardhouse and
started toward the Ziv. Timofey slid the Tokarev from
its holster under his armpit and transferred it to his left
hand. At his side beneath the level of the door and by
his leg it could not be seen.
One of the two KGB men broke off and headed
around to the other side of the car.
Timofey spoke when the guard and the other KGB
man were still more than ten feet away.
"Something wrong? "
the guard replied.
"It's nothing, just routine,"
"Would you step from the car, comrade?"
Timofey kept his left foot on the brake, tight, and
tickled the accelerator with the toe of his right shoe as he
pulled the gear lever down into drive.
"Should I pull the car to the side?"
"That won't be necessary e"
The first KGB man was directly in front of the right
fender.
Yurlie Timofey went into every motion at once. He
brought the Tokarev up firing. Two slugs slammed into
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the guard, sending him reeling. At the same instant, he
floored the accelerator.
The right fender and bumper struck the first KGB
man and sent him flying. The car caught up with him
and pinned his body between it and the barriers as the
big front of the Ziv splintered them.
As he smashed through, Timofey continued to fire
out the window. Two of the three soldiers fell and the
third dropped by instinct. That soldier was already roll-
ing his rifle around to fire when he hit the ground.
Yurlie Timofey was through the barriers, but a burst
from the AK-47 shattered the Ziv's rear window. The
slugs whined past his head and exited through the wind-
shield.
Normally such a burst would have blown out the win-
dow. But because some of their force was blunted by the
thick rear glass, the windshield was only shattered, mak-
ing it impossible for Timofey to see.
For a brief second he lost control, but he kept his foot
on the floor. The heavy car rocked and began to slide.
Too late he saw the sedan coming up.
He tried but couldn't avoid the car completely. The
side of the Ziv collided with the gray sedan in a scream-
ing, ear-splitting crunch of metal.
Timofey pulled the gear lever into low-drive, and
again floored the gas pedal.
The rear tires burned rubber until smoke from them
formed a halo around the car.
He was moving, but very slowly ...
And then he realized that the left rear of the Ziv was
still connected to the sedan. He was moving down the
road, but he was dragging the other car with him.
And then he saw it. The personnel carrier was coming
up on his right. There were two men, the driver and a
second man in the catbird seat behind the machine gun.
Yurlie Timofey did everything but pray as he jammed
harder with his foot and urged the big car to go faster.
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Another forty yards and he saw that it was useless. He
couldn't unhinge the sedan and he couldn't outdistance
the personnel carrier.
He shifted the Tokarev to his right, took the wheel
with his left, and slowed slightly.
It took the driver of the personnel carrier only a
second to draw abreast. When he did, Timofey fired
wildly, directing his shots at the image in the side win-
dow.
When he saw the man's head explode and then disap-
pear, he hit the brakes hard.
The personnel carrier careened wildly on down the
road, and Timofey went out the passenger side of the
Ziv.
It was a hundred yards to the trees.
He had taken only a few steps when AK-47 slugs
began chipping asphalt around his flying feet.
Fifty yards ... only fifty more yards to the trees.
But he didn't make it. Somehow he knew he
wouldn't.
The first slug caught him in the side, spinning him.
Then he caught two more, one high in the left shoulder
and one in the leg.
Like a wounded crane, he stood on one leg and
brought the Tokarev up in both hands. He aimed and
fired at the crouching soldiers by the guardhouse.
The hammer clicked on empty.
Another volley ended it.
The helicopter came down gently in the parking lot of
the Sverdlovsk arms factory. Before the rotors even
stopped turning, Delenin was on the ground running
toward the waiting men.
He was bone-tired and bleary, but this, the first solid
break they had found, had served to send new adren-
aline surging through his body.
By the time he reached the men he had already tugged
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his KGB identification from his wallet. "l am Alek-
sandr Delenin, Moscow Center. "
"Yes, Comrade Colonel, we got your message. "
"A few hours ago, just outside of Kazan, a man was
discovered with forged papers in a KGB limousine. He
was shot before he could be interrogated. From his trav-
eling papers we think he was here sometime yesterday."
The two officials looked quizzically at each other for
a moment, and then one of them clapped his hands to-
gether.
"The two Italians were in a black Ziv limousine with
KGB plates!"
"Italians? What Italians?"
"Two arms buyers, Comrade Colonel," the man re-
plied, consulting his ever-present note pad. ' 'Names,
Antonio Carpesi and Rico Andelli. "
"I assure you, Comrade Colonel," offered the sec-
ond official, "their papers were genuine and completely
in order."
"l am sure they were," Delenin replied dryly. "Did
you see a woman?"
"Woman? No, there was no woman with them. Just
the two Italians and the driver. We didn't speak to the
driver. "
"Were your monitors on?"
"0f course. As you know, we tape all meetings, espe-
cially those with foreigners."
"I want that tape at once, and I'll need a car and
driver to take me to Sverdlovsk KGB. "
"Da, Comrade Colonel. "
The two men scurried away and Delenin stalked back
to the helicopter.
"Get me Nikolsky on the radio!"
Two minutes later he was handed the hand micro-
phone.
"Nikolsky? Delenin. Have you found anything else in
the
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"Not a thing, but we have an identification on the
driver. His name was Yurlie Timofey. He was a truck-
driver working out of Kiev. What about you?"
' 'He was driving two Italians. Supposedly they were
arms buyers. "
"And the woman?"
' 'She wasn't with them."
"We found several blankets in the trunk. Perhaps she
was hiding in there."
"l don't think so," Delenin replied. "They were at
the factory for over five hours. That would have been a
long time without coming up for air."
"Are you coming back to Kuybyshev?"
"Not just yet. I'm going to the KGB offices here. I'll
get back to you." He handed the microphone back to
the pilot. "Don't stray far from the machine. When I go
I'll want to go fast."
Delenin turned and walked back to the car. The two
officials were waiting anxiously beside it, one holding a
cassette.
"Here is the tape, Comrade Colonel. "
"Thank you. Call Sverdlovsk Center and alert them I
am coming. "
"Da, Comrade Colonel. "
It took nearly an hour, even in the privileged center
lanes, to get into and across the city to KGB head-
quarters.
He was met practically at the front door by a tall,
heavyset man with dark circles under his eyes and
rumpled saltand pepper hair. He wore a shapeless gray
suit, and the collar of his shirt was smudged.
It was, Delenin thought, the uniform of anonymity.
' 'I am Captain Dmitri Chertoff, Comrade Colonel. I
am at your service. "
"I'll need an office with both phone and radio that I
can use. "
"Right this way, Comrade Colonel."
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"Have this tape transmitted immediately to Moscow
Center. I want identification on everyone on that tape.
And I want emergency priority on it. Anyone there gives
you any shit, call me."
"Da, Comrade Colonel. Right in here."
"Also, I want your registry lists of all hostels, hotels,
and inns in the area for the last two days."
"Da," the man said, nodding vigorously. ' 'Would
the colonel care for some vodka?"
"No, coffee, black . . . and lots of it. Get moving,
Captain!"
Maxim Davidovitch dropped them off between two
villages on a deserted section of the beach. Darkness
had fallen shortly before their arrival, and it had
clouded over even more. By the time they had walked a
short distance, it started to rain.
"Ah, this is good," Lev Sabat murmured. "Fewer
fools will be venturing out."
"Where are we?" Dasha asked.
"About a mile from the Caspian Sea," Sabat replied.
"Soon you will smell it. About four miles back there is
Astrakhan. Over there is the Black Sea and Turkey.
Watch your step—there are bogs here that will swallow
you whole. "
The old man was like a sure-footed cat even though
the darkness was like an inky blanket. Carter com-
mented on it.
"l took my holiday for many years right here. That's
how I met old Grechko. And you must remember," he
added with a cackle, "l came this way once before to
Turkey. "
Another fifteen minutes and he held up his arms to
halt them.
They were on the edge of a grove of scrub trees.
Carter couldn't see the water, but he could smell it.
"What is it?"
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"We're there," Sabat said, pointing.
And then Carter saw it, in the sand about eighty yards
from where they stood.
It was a dilapidated one-story shack. It looked more
like a stable than a house. From its general appearance
it looked as if it had been deserted for many years. The
roof was intact but didn't appear as though it would
stay that way for long, and marsh grass was growing up
through the boards of a rickety porch.
"There are no lights," Carter said.
s 'No matter. He is there, somewhere in the darkness,
watching and waiting."
"For us?" Dasha asked.
' 'Yes, for us. Or for the KGB, if we had been caught
already and interrogated. "
Sabat put his fingers to his 'lips and emitted a low
whistle. There were a few seconds of silence, and then a
whistle in reply.
"Come along!"
They were about ten yards from the house when a
voice speaking in the harsh Georgian dialect halted them
from behind.
"Stop right there! Keep your hands away from your
sides and turn slowly around!"
They did as they were told. A penlight played over
Carter and Dasha, and then came to rest on Lev Sabat's
face.
"We meet again, old friend."
"Grechko! " Sabat cried.
The two men embraced and kissed, then they em-
braced again.
"Come quickly, inside. I have some zakuski ready
with vodka. You must put something in your bellies be-
fore you start the long night's work."
The Georgian led the way across the porch and into
the house. Carter heard a bar drop into place and then
the room came alive with candlelight.
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On a low table, strips of vegetables, cheese, and meat
ere laid out along with a bottle of vodka.
"Welcome to my home. "
Grechko was huge, -filling the room and dwarfing the
hree of them. His white, damply curling hair was wildly
isheveled and his heavy jowls were bristling with
everal days' growth of beard. He was dressed in a well-
orn leather jacket, a grimy T-shirt, and faded wool
ants stuffed into rubber boots.
The bear embraced each of them, and all four fell to
heir knees beside the table.
"Forgive me if everything smells of fish. After so
any years it gets on everything I touch. "
"Tell us, Grechko, my dear friend. Were you able to
ake the arrangements?"
"The torch and all the other tools you need are in my
iSh wagon. It is parked near the boathouse nearby."
"Wonderful."
S'I have made arrangements to deliver a batch of free
iSh as a sample of my quality to a small restaurant near
he yards tonight. If we are stopped, that is my excuse.
"And most importantly," Sabat said, "the cars. Are
there?
"They are there, as always," Grechko replied, and
hen roared with laughter. "I have brought a certain rail
uard many glasses of vodka to make sure. They were
nspected and sealed at three o'clock this afternoon.
hey will be on their way to Damascus at six o'clock in
he morning."
"And we," Carter said, raising his glass, ' 'will be on
he way to Turkey. Na zdorov'e. "
It took an hour for the reports to come back from
oscow. When they did,' Aleksandr Delenin had to read
hem twice before they sank in.
' 'Unbelievable. My God, it is unbelievable!"
"What is it, Comrade Colonel?"
Delenin ignored the captain and barked into the radio
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for Nikolsky, who had set up a command post on the
Moscow highway.
"Da, I am here, Comrade Colonel."
"The two Italians .. g"
"One is a defector, Lev Sabat. He is the man Balis-
tronov lost his life going after. "
"Yes."
"That would make a connection perhaps with Dasha
Koneva. "
don't think there is any 'perhaps' about it. The
other so-called Italian's real identity is unbelievable."
"Yes, Comrade Colonel?"
"It is an American agent by the name of Carter."
"Shit."
"Yes, Piotr Illyich, there is an American agent run-
ning around the Soviet Union as if he owned it with a
Ukrainian defector and a Russian spy! "
The silence that fell between the two of them was
pregnant with meaning. They didn't have to voice it.
If they let an American get in and out of Russia, and
lost Dasha Peshkova Koneva in the bargain, it would be
their collective asses.
After a long moment Delenin spoke again.
"They didn't stay in any public place here. That
means they had help, a private home or apartment.
Keep filling me in with reports, Nikolsky. I am going to
search this area for anyone who might have seen that car
in the last few days. It is all we have left now."
"Da. Comrade Colonel, it is all .. e"
"Comrade Colonel .. e"
"In a moment, Captain. "
"Colonel, I think this may be important. It is very
odd."
"Damn. One moment, Nikolsky. What is it, Cap-
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A piece of paper was slipped into Delenin's hand. The
meaning of it hit him at once.
Murder is an almost unheard-of occurrence in the
Soviet Union. The murder of a soldier an impossibility.
"In what sector did they find the body?"
"I have marked the coordinates here on this map,
Comrade Colonel.
Delenin took one look and began barking into the
phone.
"Nikolsky, they are heading south, toward Turkey.
Commandeer a helicopter and meet me as soon as you
can in Tbilisi. "
"Da, right away, Colonel. "
Delenin slammed the microphone down and grabbed
his coat. His last order to the captain as he stormed
toward the door was shouted over his shoulder.
"Get through to Moscow Center.r want everything
they have and every suspicion they ever had about Lev
Sabat sent to me in Tbilisi, and I want it there by the
time I arrive!"
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The Astrakhan rail center was divided into two huge
sections on each side of the main switching yard. On one
side were the loading docks and short tracks with cars
waiting to be loaded. On the other were the huge, cav-
ernous maintenance shops and steel warehouse sheds.
It was the warehouse side they wanted.
They were passing around the switching yard now.
Through the stained rear windows of the van Carter
could see the immense yard crisscrossed by lines of
bright lights. Two switching engines were noisily gather-
ing cars from the loading docks as a mother hen gathers
her chicks.
"Bless them," Sabat murmured at his shoulder.
"That will be our train they are putting together. "
"Not long now," Grechko said from the front.
"Remember, the soldiers inside the fence make their
rounds every half hour, so you've only got eighteen
minutes to get into warehouse number three."
Sabat looked at Carter.
"Don't worry," the Killmaster said, grinning. "I
haven't seen a lock yet, even Russian, that I can't pick
in thirty seconds."
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"Here we go!"
Suddenly the van veered to the left and halted. The
gears ground slightly and then they were in reverse. Just
as quickly they halted again.
Carter and Dasha had been ready, crouched at the
rear doors, their hands clutching the handles. The mo-
ment the van stopped they jumped out, tugging a ladder
behind them. As they pulled, Sabat withdrew the exten-
sion.
When it was free of the van, the woman went up, with
Carter and the old man right behind her. Lithely she
swung over the top and curled her fingers and the toes
of her boots into the chain link.
Half sliding, half falling, they hit the ground on the
other side. Grechko had already slid the ladder back
together and into the vane When the doors were secured,
he turned.
"I go now to deliver my fish. Good luck, old friend."
"And to yout Grechko."
They were off, running in a low crouch over the rails
and ties. It was about fifty yards across an open
switching space to the first warehouse. They made it,
with the old man falling only once with the weight of the
equipment strapped to his back.
"Are you all right?"
"'A scraped knee," Sabat replied. "What is a scraped
Carter checked his watch. They had used up four
minutes.
"Come on!"
They moved in the shadows of the huge domed
warehouses. Every now and then Carter leaned outward
to look up and check a number designation above the
tall, wide doors.
' 'There it is," he said at last. "Number three."
"The workers' entrance is in the rear. This way!"
They moved down the center of a pair of tracks,
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carefully stepping on each tie rather than between them
and risk popping an ankle.
At the corner they all came to an abrupt halt. Just a
few feet away, at the rear of the warehouse, they heard
voices.
Carter, motioning them to silence, dropped onto his
belly and inched to the edge Of the building. With his
cheek practically scraping the ground he moved his head
far enough out to see.
Four soldiers lounged against the wall, talking and
smoking. From their manner, Carter guessed they
wouldn't be there long. They had probably just slipped
away from their duty posts long enough to grab a
smoke.
Carter knew that the real spit-and-polish soldiers that
goose-stepped through Red Square every May Day
would not be detailed to the train yards at Astrakhan.
These four were just kids, conscripts from the vast
countryside, putting in their time.
Using hand signals, Carter motioned the other two
back. They retreated until they were in hiding under a
large concrete loading ramp.
In a low whisper Carter told them the problem.
"But what if they don't go away?" Dasha asked.
"They will ... I just hope it's soon."
Suddenly, from the gates in front of another ware-
house, there was a blinding beam of light and the sound
of a diesel starting up.
Instinctively, all three of them flattened out. And just
in time.
From around the corner came the four soldiers on
the run. They passed so close that Carter could have
reached out and touched their boots.
"They were probably supposed to be on that gate
when it was opened. "
Sabat nodded. "We can make it now if we stay low
and close to the building. "
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"Then let's go!" Carter hissed.
Practically as one, they rounded the corner and felt
their way along the dark wall until they found a door.
Carter took a penlight from the kit at his belt and passed
it to Dasha.
"Here, shield it with both your body and your
hands."
She did, narrowing the already thin beam down until
it illuminated only the lock and Carter's feverishly
working hands.
"Hurry," Sabat urged, "we only have just over a
"Almost," Carter replied, and then felt the lock give.
"Got it! Inside! "
The three of them darted inside and Carter locked the
door behind him.
"Give me the light," Sabat said.
Dasha handed him the penlight, and then gasped as
he shined it up around the huge front doors and the win-
dows.
"There is no cause for alarm. The place is sealed
tight. No light can escape because none can enter. They
want no peering eyes outside to know what they are
loading inside. "
Then he flashed the light down the length of the three
boxcars.. Even in its tiny beam Carter could see the
heavy, gilded seals on the boxcar doors.
"These must be the ones," he said.
"Those are indeed the ones," Sabat said, nodding.
Carter unslung the tanks and torch pack from his
back. "Let's get to work!"
As usual, the bureaucratic red tape and general
laziness in Moscow both disgusted and angered Alek-
sandr Delenin.
Within twenty minutes after his arrival he had alerted
every outpost along the Turkish frontier. Just in case,
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although he guessed they would never try anything so
dangerous, he had also alerted the patrol boats in Rus-
Sian waters of the Caspian Sea.
This had been done by one-thirty in the morning.
It took nearly two hours more to have pictures of the
three fugitives run off and sent out to all the posts.
But what really infuriated Delenin was the fact that it
was five o'clock in the morning before the report came
in from Moscow on Lev Sabat.
He had gone over it twice when Piotr Illyich Nikolsky
joined him at last.
"Sorry, they sent the copter to the wrong place."
"Typical," Delenin grunted. "Thank God Khrush-
chev didn't get his way. How in hell could we ever run
the whole world?"
"What's this?"
"Report on Sabat," Delenin replied, tossing it across
the desk. "Go over it, will you, and wake me in a half
hour. I haven't been able to make heads nor tails out of
it."
Delenin stumbled to a cot that had been brought into
the hastily readied office. Without even removing his
shoes he tumbled onto it and was sound asleep in
seconds.
At the desk, Nikolsky pored over the Sabat report.
He had read it clear through three times before he
realized that something was either missing or had never
been inserted in the first place.
How did Lev Sabat execute his defection from the
Soviet Union?
Carter had already burned a round hole two and a
half feet in diameter through the first layer of steel plate
in the belly of the boxcar. Now he shut off the torch and
directed Dasha to shine the light back to the array of
tools on the floor.
"You mean there's more?" she asked incredulously.
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Carter nodded. "These are specially built cars. They
have two layers of steel plate all the way around, even
the doors and roof. "
He took the lubricant gun and again motioned for her
to shine the light back up. He would cut the second layer
with a diamond-and-bronze-bladed saw. This was the
tricky part. The saw was almost totally silent, but if he
hit one of the connector bolts, which were made of iron,
the whine would be heard all the way to Moscow.
He found four bolts and liberally loaded them with
grease, then he called to Sabat who was prowling the
walls and marking time until the guard/watchman's
next round.
"Yes," came the voice from the darkness some
distance away.
"I'm ready to cut through the second sheet."
"Go! You should have at least fifteen minutes!"
Carter smiled to himself. With this baby it shouldn't
take more than five. Nevertheless, tension kneaded his
chest as he adjusted the power on the battery pack and
plugged in the saw.
He was cutting straight away from the side doors of
the boxcar, about three feet in. If the car had been
loaded normally, that would be the open space. The
loaders would fill both ends of the car and then work
their way from the opposite sides up to the door, leaving
a space for the men on the other end to start their work.
At least that was what he and Sabat hoped. This was
the reason Carter was using the saw instead of a torch.
If he cut through and hit crates instead of open air, the
torch would start a fire in the boxcar that might blow
it—and them—all to hell.
"Put the beam right there. Got it?"
"Yes," Dasha whispered.
"Now, when I start, just keep moving it an inch or so
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in front of the blade. I'll actually be following you, so
watch yourself. "
"I'll do my best."
Just before he hoisted the saw, he painted a layer of
the oozy lubricant all over the base.
"That should do it," he breathed. "Here we go."
He flipped the blade up and switched on the saw.
There was little more than a hum in his ear as he ad-
justed the saw-butt to his shoulder.
The first insertion was clean, the blade going through
the steel like a hot knife through butter. Then he was
cutting in a smooth arc, the blade like a razor.
"Look out, here it comes!"
Carter nudged her away with his shoulder and rolled
free himself.
They were barely out of the way when the inner plate
fell with a resounding thud to the concrete floor.
"Lev ... ?"
' 'It's all right, no sound from outside. Are we ready
' 'Yeah, come along!"
Sabat quickly joined them. Together they hoisted
Dasha through the hole with the light.
"Lots of room," she said. "It's only half loaded, big
crates. "
"Good. Give Lev a hand."
When the old man was up through the hole, Carter
passed up the torch, saw, tools, and the canvas they had
been wrapped up in. The last things through were the
two circles of steel Carter had cut from the belly.
Then he hoisted himself up.
"0kay, you two rig the canvas over the hole. I'll drill
some peepholes in the sides up near the roof."
They worked as quickly, efficiently, and as quietly as
possible.
Carter scrambled up over the crates. With a drill and
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the battery pack he drilled ten tiny holes all along both
sides of the car. Between them they would be able to
watch every move on the outside.
When he was done, he dropped back to the floor and
inspected their handiwork with the tarp.
"Good, just make sure you don't step on it and go
through!"
"What time is it?" Dasha asked.
l' Ten minutes until six," Sabat replied with a
chuckle. "Hell, we had nine minutes to spare."
With the rucksacks, they made themselves makeshift
beds for the two-hour journey to the Turkish frontier.
They had barely settled in when they heard the roar
and clang of the huge double doors opening. Seconds
later they heard a powerful diesel, its roar filling the
warehouse outside the boxcar.
Carter scrambled atop one of the crates. "They're
hooking up."
"My God," Dasha gasped, her voice quaking in the
darkness. "It's unbelievable."
"What is, my dear?" Sabat asked.
"We're going to make it. We're actually going to
And then there was a tremendous jolt that knocked
them from their feet.
And then they were moving.
Forward.
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FIFTEEN
Five men had been brought in and a bank of twenty
phones had been hooked up. It was nearly eight o'clock
now, and the phones were ringing constantly.
It was as Aleksandr Delenin had ordered. Every out-
post, even in the middle of a vacant field along the
Turkish frontier, was calling the central Tbilisi com-
mand every fifteen minutes. They had a net from the
Black Sea to the Caspian Sea that a mouse couldn't slip
through.
At least that is what the head of Tbilisi Center had
told Delenin.
"Not even a mouse," Delenin mumbled to himself as
he Watched the men at the phones. "If that is true, why
do I have this aching feeling in my bowels that we have
already lost them?"
"Comrade Colonel .. 4"
"Yes?" Delenin replied, rushing to the man who had
called.
"A report from Kutaisi near the Black Sea. i'
"Yes, yes?"
"A man and a woman were found in the back of a
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lorry hidden in a pile of beets. The border guards almost
missed them, but they are under arrest. "
Delenin's heart went clear up into his throat.
A break. Oh God, if it is, I promise I'll light a candle
even if I don 't believe in you.
"Get descriptions on both of them at once. "
"Da, Comrade Colonel. "
Delenin paced, chewing on his cigar until the man
called him again.
"I'm sorry, Comrade Colonel. The man matches the
description of the American, but he has a wooden leg.
Also, the woman is over sixty, his mother."
Delenin's heart went back to his gut. He waved the
man away.
"What do you want done with them, Comrade Colo-
"Done with them?" Delenin roared. "Hell, let them
go, throw them back. They are little fish too small for
He stormed away, only to crash into Nikolsky at the
door.
' 'Comrade Colonel s"
"What is it?" he snapped.
"Let's goin here where it is quieter."
Delenin allowed himself to be led into a smaller of-
fice. When the door was closed, shutting out the racket
in the larger one, Nikolsky turned to him with a beam-
ing grin on his face.
"I think I've got it."
"Got what?"
"How they are planning to do it. As you know, I got
what Moscow had on Lev Sabat's escape route when he
went over before. "
"Yes, I know," Delenin growled, "but you said it
was all conjecture, no substance, and, God knows, no
real facts."
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"Yes, Colonel, that's what I said, and it's true. But
for the last .two hours I've been down in the computer
room doing an item scan on everything that happened in
the USSR or our satellites for a three-day period on
both sides of Sabat's conjectured departure. "
"And ?"
"Nothing. "
"Nothing?" Delenin roared. "Then why the hell are
you bothering me with all this if—
"But I did find this, by trial and error
Delenin snatched the paper from his aide's hand and
scanned it. He looked up at last with a deep scowl on his
face. "What does a train blowing up in the Erzurum
yards in Turkey have to do with Sabat?"
"It happened the afternoon of the departure ... if, at
least, we have the date right. And, Colonel, it wasn't an
entire train, it was only one car. "
"One car of three, sealed in Astrakhan and not
opened until they were in Damascus. "
Slowly it all sank in. When it did, Delenin literally
dived for the phone. He had to make four calls, scream-
ing all the while to get the trainmaster in Astrakhan.
He screamed questions at the man, listened, and
screamed again. Finally he slammed the phone down
and, white-faced, whirled on his aide.
C' Those shipments are still -being sent to Damascus
twice a week. They put a trio of cars together this morn-
ing in Astrakhan. What time is it?"
"Eight-thirty."
Delenin's face got whiter. "They were due to arrive in
Tbilisi at eight o'clock. "
"And Russian trains," Nikolsky intoned, ' 'are never
late."
"I don't like it," Sabat said, kneading his hands
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together in his lap, his eye straining at one of the
peepholes.
All three of them were sitting atop crates, their eyes
watching the activity in the yards. The three boxcars had
been shuttled to a short track. In front of them, three
hundred yards away, were the barriers. And just beyond
them, Turkey.
"What's wrong?" Dasha asked from the opposite
side of the car.
'II can feel, sense it," Sabat said. "Something isn't
right. No, dammit, I know something isn't right. We've
been sitting on this short track for twenty minutes. By
now they should have dropped the second set of
wheels. "
"Lev." It was Carter from the front of the car.
"Yes?"
"Get up here and take a look at this."
Sabat crawled along the crates until he was at the
Killmaster's side. "What is it?"
"Bad news, I think. Use that hole there."
Sabat ground his eye to the hole. "Holy Mother of
God."
"Is it what I think it is?" Carter asked carefully.
"It is. That's our train. They've sidetracked us, and
the train we're supposed to be attached to is going over
the frontier without us. "
"That could mean only one thing," Carter said
tightly. "They're onto us."
' 'Perhaps not. Perhaps they are just not letting
anything out of the country without a final inspection.
That would at least give us a little time."
"Nick, Nick!" Dasha cried.
"What is it?" Carter said, scrambling over the crates
to join her.
"Soldiers, lots of soldiers, there by the main terminal
building."
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Carter looked. There were six large personnel car-
riers. They had pulled up close to the yard fence and
troops were pouring out the back of them.
Even as the Killmaster watched, the troops started
falling in. They were all heavily armed, and, unlike the
boy soldiers in Astrakhan, these men looked like part of
a crack outfit.
"Nick .. ." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"That man . . .
the one on the back of that truck
shouting and waving his hands?"
"Yeah?"
"I know him. Even from such a great distance there is
no mistaking him. "
"'Who is it?"
"His name is Aleksandr Delenin. He's a colonel and
is head of KGB, Moscow Security. There is only one
reason he would be in Tbilisi. "
Carter groaned. "Us. "
"Yes, " Dasha replied, "us. I'm afraid they have us."
"No," Sabat cried, "not yet they don't have us!
Shine that light over here!"
The old man jumped to the floor of the boxcar and
started ripping the top off one of the crates.
"I want to make this as clear as possible. The second
and third cars are filled with arms and explosives. Do
not fire unless you see them and have a clean shot. Do
you all understand?"
Delenin paused, letting his eyes sweep over the ranked
men.
"We will surround all three cars. I myself will try to
talk them out with the bull horn. Major?"
"Da, Comrade Colonel."
"Move them out!"
"Da, Comrade Colonel."
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Delenin dropped from the tailgate of the truck and
was quickly joined by Nikolsky.
"And what happens if I am wrong, Colonel—if they
are not in the boxcars?"
"Then, Piotr Illyich, we had better find a way to get
to Turkey ourselves."
"You're mad, old man."
"No," Sabat chuckled with glee, "I am quite sane.
Now show me again. I just flip this, press the trigger,
and it fires. Is that correct?"
Carter nodded.
The crates in one end of the boxcar had been filled
with light 7.62 machine guns and ammunition.
They had already pulled out three and assembled
them before Sabat had let them in on his whole plan.
There was a booster engine on a turntable about one
hundred yards from where they were. It was aligned
with the incoming track from the Turkish frontier. If
Carter and Dasha could reach that engine and take it
over, they might be able to crash through the barriers
into Turkey.
"'I'll go out first on the blind side. I should be able to
make the switching tower. From up there I can keep
them away from this boxcar long enough for you to get
clear."
Carter hated what he was hearing, but he had to hand
it to the old man.
It just might work.
"You know, Lev, they'll go for you in the tower
first."
The old man's grin grew wider. "That's what they are
supposed to do."
"But they won't even try to take you alive if you're
firing at them!" Dasha cried.
"My dear," Sabat said softly, "I have done all I can
do in Turkey anyway. "
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Then he turned to Carter.
187
"You must have suspected why I told you I would
come along. I have missed my homeland for a long time
now."
Carter exchanged glances with the woman. No words
were needed.
It was the old man's choice.
He nodded at Sabat, then clasped him hard.
Carter watched him run in a zigzag pattern around
the cars. When he was at the door of the tower, Carter
breathed again.
"He's there. "
"They are fanning out, getting ready to surround the
cars," Dasha replied.
Carter dropped to the floor.
They had found two crates filled with Gelemax plas-
tique explosive. Together they had jammed them
against the doors, and Carter had rigged a detonator
and a makeshift timer.
Together they crouched by the hole. Carter had one
finger of his left hand on the timer release.
' 'When you hear the first shot, go!"
She nodded.
"This thing is set for one minute, if I guesstimated
right. If Sabat's firing doesn't hold them up long
enough, this should. "
The last word was barely out of his mouth when they
heard the chatter of a machine gun. It was quickly
followed by answering fire and chaotic shouting.
"Go!" Carter barked, and pushed Dasha through the
hole. He lifted his finger from the timer. 'SBIow, baby,
blow. "
Then he dropped through himself. She was already
twenty yards ahead of him, running like a deer. Carter
cleared the edge of the boxcar and dashed behind
another. He ran low and darted his eyes from the tower
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to the soldiers, all scrambling for cover.
So far so good, he thought.
Sabat was a wildman in the tower. From the sound of
it, there had been only a few seconds' pause in the long
bursts of firing. That would have been to change mag-
azines,
The old man had learned a lot about a machine gun in
a brief three-minute lesson.
Carter caught up with Dasha and urged her to even
greater speed.
"Why haven't they seen us?" she gasped.
"Because they're too damned busy saving their own
asses," Carter replied. "Faster!"
They were still about eighty yards from the rumbling
diesel engine when, suddenly, the firing ceased from the
tower.
"0h, my God," Dasha cried, pulling up.
Carter kept going, yanking her by the elbow.
"But he's dead
"l know that, and so do they!" Carter shouted in her
face. ' 'So let's get our butts out of here! That's what
he's dead for! "
Carter leaped into the cab of the diesel without
touching a single step as she scrambled up behind him:
A startled engineer was frozen against the other side of
the cab.
"What's your name!" Carter barked.
. r . Ibelka."
' 'All right, Comrade Ibelka," Carter growled, shov-
ing the snout of the submachine gun into the man's
throat, ' 'you have two choices. Move this son of a bitch,
or die. "
. there is nowhere to go. The fron-
"But . . . But
tier ..
"Exactly, " Carter hissed. "That's where we're going.
He had barely shouted the command when bullets
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started careening off the engine like whining bees.
"Nick!" Dasha shouted. "They've seen us!"
' 'No shit. Start -firing back. You! Move this god-
damned thing!"
The man's hand shakily moved toward what Carter
assumed was the throttle. When he touched it and the
engine began to groan, Carter lurched forward. He
closed his own hand over the man's and shoved for-
ward. The big diesel lurched ahead like a scorched cat.
"Now keep it that way," Carter shouted, "or I'll turn
around and blow your fucking head off!"
Dasha was returning the fire. Carter joined her and
opened up with his own machine gun. They had the ad-
vantage of good cover, plus they were moving.
"Keep firing, dammit!"
"I can't!" she replied. "It's jammed!"
"Then stick it in his face and get more poop out of
this goddamned thing!"
He leaned out of the cab as he rammed a new
magazine into the gun. There were about thirty soldiers
trying to keep pace with the engine and darting along
the cars parallel to their path.
The guards at the frontier itself had seen what was
happening. They had also started to open fire.
To their left he saw two men cranking up a tanker
truck. It was easy to figure out their intent. They meant
to head them off and ram the diesel. But Carter could
see that it was no good.
They were highballing now, and only fifty yards from
the frontier. Already the guards had dropped their guns
and were scrambling to get out of the way.
"Duck and hang on!" Carter cried as he grasped
Dasha by the waist and pulled her to the floor.
Seconds later, the wooden barriers splintered around
them and they hurtled over the thirty yards of no-man's-
land and shattered the barriers on the Turkish side.
Carter pulled himself to his feet and turned to the
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Russian engineer. ' 'Okay, comrade, you can stop this
thing now."
Slowly they rolled to a halt.
Carter turned to see Dasha staring back down the
track. The plastique had detonated and flames soared
into the sky.
He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to
his body.
"Welcome to Turkey," he said.
"Was it worth it?" she asked, tears rolling down both
her cheeks. "Was what I did, and what I still have in my
head, worth all this?"
It is, Carter thought, it's worth every bit of it.
But he didn't say it out loud. He just held her more
tightly.
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