Firefox Down (41 page)

'Dmitri - for God's sake, what are you
doing -
?'

'Saving you - saving us. Harris knew about you, Gant knows about you. He won't give himself up at the border when they try to arrest him - they'll have to kill him. You'll be safe, then.'

'No-'

'What matters most - him or us? Anna, if Gant dies no one will know you helped him. He won't be able to tell them - '

'And the CIA?' she asked bitterly. 'They will know.'

'No they won't! You can tell them he made you turn back, that he went on by himself while you returned to Leningrad… he and Harris were killed. It's easy - '

'
Easy
? Killing two people is easy?'

'Anna - forget all this. Just get out of the car, come with me and let him go by himself. I'll - I won't call the border post, I'll let him go. I promise he'll be safe-'

'I don't believe you - you
want
him to die.' She studied his face; even though he mqyed his head back and away from her, she could distinguish the gleam in his eyes. He did want Gant killed. Like a jealous lover, he wanted his rival dead.

The windows of the car were fogged. The snow was slush-like, beginning to slip down to the sills, because of the warmth inside the car; their anger. She did not know what to do. Dmitri could not protect her from the CIA. She could not let Dmitri kill Gant. Because he was Dmitri, because she could not live with him if she acquiesced… she would learn to live with Harris's death, change it from murder into something else. But not Gant. She would have known beforehand, and would never escape it. 'I can't let you…' she murmured eventually.

'What? You want
to protect him
?' Dmitri raged. 'You want to go on being a
spy
, an agent? For
the Americans
?'

'Not for the Americans, not for him - for us. I can't
agree
to his murder, I can't let you murder him! Don't you see? I can't live with that - !'

'I can,' he announced with cold solemnity. 'I want to.'

'Dmitri-'

He shook his head. 'You're coming with me, Anna,' he said, grabbing her arm. This time the pressure of his grip made her cry out. He pulled at her arm, opening the door with his other hand. 'You're coming with me! You'll forget about this, you'll forget about everything…'

'NO!'

He grunted and twisted her arm, making her scream. 'Come on, Anna,' he snarled, threatening her. 'Come on.'

He twisted her arm further, almost seeming to Anna to be on the point of breaking it. Fire spread through her wrist to her elbow to her shoulder. She cried out again, looking wildly at him, unable to understand his rage, his desire to hurt her, 'No-!'

'Come on - !' He pulled her upper body clear of the car. She lay almost horizontally on the seat. He bent and slapped her face. 'Come on, come on-!' He wrenched her arm. She screamed.

Then she felt the pressure, the agony, lessen. The skirt of his overcoat brushed her head, she saw feet slipping and struggling in the trampled snow by the wheel of the car, then something banged heavily against the front passenger door. She heard Gant's voice.

'What the hell is the matter with you?' Gant was breathing heavily, almost grunting out the words. She could hear Dmitri's rough breathing, too. She rolled back into a sitting position. Dmitri's back had wiped away the snow from the passenger window. The freezing air made her shiver violently. She held her injured arm gently, cradling it like a child in her other arm. 'That's better,' she heard Gant say. 'Just take it easy.' Then: 'You all right, Anna?'

'Yes, yes,' she managed to say thickly. Then she groaned as she moved.

'OK?'

'Yes.' She got heavily out of the car, still cradling her arm. Dmitri looked at her, horrified. Gant's arm had been across his throat, his pistol at Dmitri's forehead. Now, the American stepped back, motioning her away from Dmitri. She obeyed.

'What the hell was happening when I came up?' Gant asked. Then he added: 'You know he killed Harris?' She nodded. Addressing Dmitri, he said, 'You stupid bastard. What the hell's the matter with you? You could get us all caught!'

'You I
want
caught!' Dmitri snapped back.

'OK, kid, I'm the biggest villain you ever met! That I can understand - but
her
! You're putting her in danger. You think you can just take her back, without guarantees from the Company. You're dumb -
too
dumb.' Something else, something more dangerous, occurred to Gant at that moment, and he said, 'Are they expecting us?
Are they
?' The pistol jabbed forward, at Dmitri Priabin's stomach.

Anna gasped, then cried out, 'No! He hasn't told them yet - I swear he hasn't!'

'I believe you.
You
,' he added, addressing Priabin, 'what was the plan, uh? Kill Harris so we get into trouble at the border… or just me? Anna was going to walk? You'd have left me stranded, and you'd have made sure I got killed.' Gant's features twisted in anger and contempt. 'Get in the car,' he snapped. 'Back seat, with the window rolled right down - get in!' Priabin climbed reluctantly into the car and wound down the window. He glared out after the door was closed on him. He avoided looking at Anna. He rubbed his hands together between his knees, as if warming or washing them. Gant pocketed Priabin's heavy Stechkin automatic, keeping his own pistol levelled. 'Anna - come here,' he said. 'Not too close.'

She moved closer to Gant. Priabin's eyes blazed as she seemed to touch the American.

'I'm all right,' she announced, now rubbing her injured arm. 'I'm all right, Dmitri - '

'I'm sorry,' he said, shamefaced.

'OK, that's fine, real fine. Now, what do we do with him? If we leave him here, he'll call the Border Guard just as soon as he can. If we take him, he'll turn me in the first chance he gets -and that will mean he screws things up for you, too, Anna.'

'No,' Priabin protested sullenly.

'Wake up to the fact that I'm the only real chance she has of walking free of this whole mess!' Gant snapped angrily. 'You let us cross the border, and she'll be able to come back to you. Your way - she hasn't a prayer.'

Priabin's face gleamed with hatred. He could not accept Anna as a gift of the American. He was not calculating, not operating, in any kind of professional capacity. He wanted to
kill
Gant, but it was because of Anna. He blamed the American for everything. The killing of Gant would be some kind of cleansing ritual; either that, or it would prove his manhood or keep his mistress or ensure their safety. Whatever the reason, the death of Gant was inextricably tangled with any solution he envisaged. Perhaps he wanted Gant dead as much as he wanted Anna safe.

'Dmitri, let us go,' Anna pleaded, almost leaning into the car. '
Please
let us go. It has to be this way - I have to be free of them- !'

Gant was shocked at the depth of bitterness in her words. However, he addressed Priahin in a tone of laconic threat. 'Well, Dmitri, speak up. You heard the lady. Will you let us go?' Priabin did not reply, did nof even look at Gant. Gant said to Anna, 'Will he let us go? Can you really believe he won't try to kill me?'

She glanced round at him, as if invited to participate in a betrayal. Then she shook her head. 'No,' she sobbed.

'Then he's a damn fool!' Gant snapped and strode swiftly to the window of the car. Priabin flinched. Anna made as if to cry out. Gant struck Priabin across the temple with the barrel of the Makarov. The Russian slumped away from the window, across the seat.

'No - !' Anna cried, gripping the sill, stumbling against Gant.

'He's alive! It just gives us time.'

'Dmitri - '

'Get into the car and listen to his heartbeat if you don't believe me!'

'No, no, I believe you…' she mumbled. 'Thank you, thank you.'

'Don't waste time. Let me get him out of the car - he won't freeze in this coat.' Grunting with effort as he spoke, Gant hauled Priabin out of the car and dragged him into the shelter of a heavy, snow-laden bush. Anna walked beside him, her eyes never leaving Priabin's face. When Gant lowered the unconscious Russian, she knelt by him. Gant watched her stroke the young man's face, gently touching the swelling on his temple. He walked away. The whole attitude of her body, the look on her face, was too much like prayer. 'Are you coming?' he asked in an almost fearful tone.

He turned to look at her. She was still kneeling beside the unconscious Priabin. She touched his face slowly, gently. Then she stood up.

'He will be all right?'

'Just a headache.'

'There is no other way, is there?'

'No. No sure way except coming with me.'

'Will he believe that?' she asked, glancing down at Priabin again.

'I can't answer that.'

'I don't believe he will…' She shrugged, and walked away from Priabin towards Gant. 'But I have no choice - do I?'

'No, you don't,' he replied softly.

They reached the car and Gant opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in slowly and reluctantly, her face turning immediately to Priabin's body. He slammed the door and walked round to the driver's side. He brushed snow from his hairpiece, from the shoulders and knees of his clothing, then sat heavily in the driver's seat.

Harris had left the keys in the ignition. Gant had checked his pockets when he found the body, thrown into a snow-filled ditch near the telephone box.

'Christ,' he breathed, remembering his shock on finding Harris's body and instantly realising who had killed him. 'Why the hell did he do it? How could he be so
blind
?' He shook his head, his hands fiercely gripping the steering wheel.

'I don't know - love?' Anna said.

'Crazy -'

'Yes, love.' She was nodding to herself, confirming her analysis.

Gant looked at her. 'Have you got the nerve to cross the border without Harris? If he's expected along with us, then we'll have to bluff it out - he fell ill in Leningrad, something like that… we're angry at being delayed and having to cross the damn border in the middle of the night for talks early tomorrow. Can you do that?'

She nodded. 'Yes, I can do that.'

'OK. We have ten miles' rehearsal time. We might just make it before that crazy bastard wakes up.'

'Do you understand why he did it?'

'It doesn't matter - '

'It does! He's a murderer. I have to find a reason for that.'

'OK…'

'Harris and you - you were taking me away from him. He didn't believe I would come back…' She choked back a strange, crumpled, defeated sound in her throat, but she could not prevent tears from rolling down her pale cheeks. Gant flicked on the windscreen wipers. The view cleared of slush. The wipers squeaked across half-ice. 'He didn't believe…' she repeated, but the words were submerged. She shook her head violently, as if to clear it. 'He didn't…' Her voice was awed, and profoundly disappointed.

'And killing me makes everything right, uh?'

'Yes,' she replied, staring through the windscreen at the steadily falling snow. 'You are to blame. You have to be to blame. If you are to blame for everything that has happened to us, then I am not to blame and Dmitri is not to blame… but, especially me. I would be to blame for nothing, nothing at all…'

'It doesn't matter.' He glanced back at Priabin's unmoving form. 'We might just make it, even without Harris.' he announced, switching on the engine.

With the assistance of a Norwegian radio operator, Curtin was engaged in a long, wearying, intense conversation with the senior engineering officer, the station commander, and the pilot of the Hercules Aubrey had commandeered, at Bardufoss. Aubrey himself was using the high-speed communications system to talk to Shelley in London.

Aubrey was pleased with himself, with the situation, with the progress they had made. In a little more than two hours, he had put his shoulder to the great wheel of circumstances, and had managed to move it. He was tired, but felt elated. Later, he knew he would collapse, like a cliff sliding slowly into the sea. But not yet, not while things remained to be done.

'I shall be telling Director Vitsula that Gant is required in Oslo immediately for a full debriefing. In fact, he will be brought here. You do
have
the Harrier, Peter?'

Aubrey waited while his message was transmitted via geostationary satellite to Shelley in Century House, overlooking the river. Then the tapes gathered Shelley's reply at high speed, rewound, and spoke.

There was amusement in Shelley's voice, too, as he said, 'Yes, sir, we have a Harrier. It's already en route to Oslo, thence to Helsinki to collect Gant. Allied Forces, South Norway, will inform you of the aircraft's arrival. Won't Vitsula think it just a little suspicious that you had a Harrier collect Gant rather than something that
can't
land at the lake?'

There was a short pause in the message, but the operator knew that Shelley had not finished.

'There's quite a bit more yet, sir,' he informed Aubrey.

'Christ…' he heard Shelley breathing an aside, then clear his throat. 'Thank you, Bill. Yes - no, keep running the tape, man!' Then evidently, he addressed Aubrey directly. The old man was alert, almost trembling. He understood the first drops of rain from an approaching storm. 'Sir, message just received from Leningrad Station. Most urgent - the panic button, sir. Harris telephoned in with ten miles to go, and was cut off. They don't think it was the line, sir. Reception was quite good, in spite of the weather, and they swear the line was still open for some seconds after Harris stopped speaking. They even heard the pips demand more money in the slot.'

'My
God
.' Aubrey exclaimed, raising his hands in the air. 'Oh, my God.'

Curtin was watching him from the other side of the hut. He had paused in his conversation. Aubrey absently waved him to continue, as if dismissing him from the room.

Gant - what the devil had happened to Gant?

The radio operator waited for his reply. Looking slightly bemused and a little worried, Curtin continued his conversation with Bardufoss. His technical specifications, the details of what Aubrey had called their shopping list, the ranks and areas of expertise of the men volunteered, the strength and capacity of arms of the Royal Marines - all mocked him now. Curtin's words bore in upon him in the hot, paraffin-smelling silence of the hut. Curtin was discussing Blowpipe missiles, and dismissing the idea. They had not yet decided whether there would be sufficient room on board the Hercules for more than a handful of Royal Marines and their equipment. Aubrey had been prepared to discount the idea of reinforcements because the Russians still had no idea where the Firefox was located. There was less need of defence than of extra equipment. The bales of MO-MAT occupied a great deal of space, as did the tractor tug, and both were crucial.