Angel Eyes (74 page)

"Valeri Denysovich and his people will not allow me to get anywhere near him.''

"True enough," Nikolev said. "You will be thoroughly hidden from them along with my people. I will go in with the Americans and the computer. When they have convinced Bondasenko to access the information, I will signal you electronically. You'll bring my men in and we will have them all."

Mars spent some time digesting this. ''It seems flawless,'' he said. "Except for one thing. How will the Americans convince Valeri Denysovich to access the White Star information?"

"I've told them about the coup."

"You what?"

Nikolev thought Mars was going to have a stroke. "It was the only way to hook them,'' he said. ''Didn't you teach me that the truth works better than lies to catch human prey? Believe me, these are no ordinary Americans. They would not have believed a lie. Entanglement in the truth brings defeat, that's what you often say, eh, comrade?"

Mars thought a moment longer. Then he nodded. "Come," he said. ''Take the Toshiba and let's go."

Downstairs the two men strode to Nikolev's black Zil. Nikolev got in behind the wheel, and Mars, with the Toshiba on his lap, slid into the passenger's seat.

"Where is your driver?" Mars asked.

"I drove myself," Nikolev said. He engaged the ignition. He was about to throw the car in gear when Mars put a hand on his arm.

"Just a moment. Captain. Regulations make it clear-"

"All my men are with the Americans," Nikolev broke in, heading out of Star Town. ''Not so the Americans would notice, mind you, but that's why I've had to use so many. I've thrown an invisible cordon around the six square blocks surrounding the Rossiya. What do the American soldiers say? An ant's ass couldn't get through there without my knowing."

Mars laughed. "Good work, Captain. You'll gain a promotion yet."

Out on the highway there was almost no traffic at all, and the Zil made good time. Several miles from Star Town, Nikolev pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the ignition.

"Is something the matter, Captain?" Mars asked.

Nikolev turned, and there was a pistol in his hand. It was aimed at Mars's chest. "I'll take the Toshiba now, comrade."

Mars's eyes did not nicker. "Why, Captain, you disappoint me."

''Never mind that,'' Nikolev snapped. ''I want the computer, and I want it now."

''I hope there are a great number of treasures in here,'' Mars said, "otherwise you're throwing your life away for nothing."

"That's yet to be seen," Nikolev said.

"What did you do, Captain, foolishly make a deal with the Americans? I should have known. A rampant devotee of history could not be a true Marxist."

"You're a bit behind the times, comrade. There is no such thing as a true Marxist anymore. Can't you see that you're the last of a dying breed? A dinosaur in a new, enlightened age."

"If that's so," Mars said, "then my teeth are huge. The better to bite you with."

The muzzle of the pistol flicked slightly. "Give the computer over."

"And once I do, what is to happen to me?" Mars nodded, reading the look on Nikolev's face. "I see. So that's how it's to be. You'll leave a lump of dead meat for the animals to tear apart."

"You're a dangerous man, comrade," Nikolev said.

"You 're telling me," Mars said, firing the small-caliber pistol he had hidden in his lap under me Toshiba.

The report was deafening inside the Zil, and the two men were rocked on its shocks. Captain Nikolev's face registered surprise, and he gaped at the blood pouring out of him. But the bullet had been slightly deflected by the computer, and it had entered Nikolev's belly, quite a bit below where Mars had been aiming.

Mars slapped at Nikolev's pistol and it went off, tearing a hole in the Zil's roof. Nikolev grabbed Mars, slammed the heel of his hand into Mars's throat. Mars's grip on his pistol loosened, and Nikolev slapped it away.

The Toshiba crashed to the floorwell of the car. Mars balled his fist, smashed it into Nikolev's belly where the bullet had entered. Nikolev shouted, and tears of pain came to his eyes.

Mars immediately bent to retrieve his pistol, but Nikolev caught him in a lock meant to break his arm. Gritting his teeth, Mars jammed his elbow into Nikolev's face, heard the sharp crack of the jawbone splintering, and thought, I have him now.

It was a mistake. Nikolev, almost blind with pain, used two quick, percussive blows to Mars's solar plexus. Bright spots of noncolor danced in Mars's head and he felt himself begin to black out. He fought to gain control over his spasming diaphragm, winced as the third blow robbed him of desperately needed air.

He used the heel of his hand in an attempt to break Nikolev's nose, but the lack of oxygen in his system had robbed him of strength and he had nothing behind the strike.

Meanwhile, Nikolev was hard at work trying to separate Mars from his ribs. Mars felt a searing pain lance up into his chest and neck. He was losing feeling in his right side, and he began to panic. He had nothing to work with, so in desperation he slammed his forehead into Nikolev's nose. Blood and cartilage splattered, but the pain in his chest would not abate.

Mars, losing control, hit Nikolev again with his forehead, and this time Nikolev's neck snapped back, the top of his head smashing into the Zil's windshield and breaking it. Nikolev, stretched unnaturally backward across the dashboard, blinked heavily, momentarily stunned.

Mars, taking great gulps of air, made the most of this respite. He drove his fist into Nikolev's side over and over until the rib cage gave way.

Nikolev fell sideways into the floorwell. His face was streaked with blood, and shards of glass were embedded in his cheeks. his eyes stared upward.

Mars, almost weeping with the enormous expenditure of energy, cursed him mightily, kicked the side of his head. He bent over, put his head between his legs so that he wouldn't pass out.

It took him some time to recover. The smell of fresh blood, as sickly as decaying flowers, reminded him of how close he had been brought to the brink of death.

"You sonuvabitch, Nikolev, you thought you were more clever than I was, but in the end you didn't have a clue. I had a man on the inside of your division since before the time I had you seconded to Department N. That's one of the reasons I picked the Eleventh Division of the Border Guards.''

He spat onto Nikolev's face. The captain was beyond caring, but just the same, it made Mars feel better.

Mars opened the passenger's door, bent down, rolled Nikolev's corpse out onto the verge of the highway. "Dead meat, Captain," Mars said. "You were right about that at least."

He took the Toshiba off the floorwell. The case was covered in blood and bits of bone, but Mars didn't care about that. Hurriedly he unzipped the case, cursed harshly as he saw the damage his bullet had done to the computer. There was a large chip taken out of the hard disk.

Christ, he thought, this is useless now, the White Star information is locked away in there for all time. Now I need Valeri Denysovich more than ever.

Throwing the Toshiba aside, he activated the Zil's two-way radio. He identified himself, asked to be patched through to Lieutenant Pokov. His fingers drummed impatiently against the bloody dashboard. Come on! he thought. Come on!

The radio crackled to life. "Pokov."

"This is Volkov," Mars said without preamble. "You are now commanding the Eleventh Division, is that clear, Lieutenant?"

"Perfectly, comrade."

"You have the Americans in sight?"

"I do. Everything is under control."

"Excellent. They will lead you to Bondasenko. Bring as many men as you feel you need. I give you the authority. And, Pokov, I need Bondasenko. I'd like to have the Americans as well, but if they give you the least problem, kill them. The less witnesses the better, do you follow me, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, comrade."

"Volkov out."

Mars replaced the receiver, slid over into the driver's seat. He started the engine, swung the Zil around, headed back for Star Town. It was difficult negotiating the highway with the shattered windshield, and he was soon obliged to pull over, use the butt of his pistol to knock out the remainder of the glass so he could see.

The guards gaped at him as he pulled into the Hero's fortress, but he had no time to give them an explanation. He was thinking of how Anatoly Nikolev had believed himself more clever than himself. He expected Irina did, too. She thought she had convinced him of her loyalty, but he knew better. He was willing to bet that someone, somewhere, had given her proof that he, not Valeri, was KGB. He could see the fear in her eyes, feel it in her body when she touched him.

Had she been fertile when she had allowed Odysseus to take her? He did not know if she was capable of such a terrible lie. Buy why not? he asked himself as he raced up the stairs of the Hero's fortress, wincing at the pain from his broken ribs. She had proved herself capable of so many dangerous things. He admired her for that, even as he hated her in the same unthinking way he hated the traitor, Valeri Denysovich Bondasenko. It was the antipathy of the cobra for the mongoose. There was no reason to it, just an elemental fire that could be temporarily banked, but would never go out.

Now, Mars thought, opening the door to the pool room, it's time to see just how far Irina is capable of taking her triple life. He decided it would be most interesting to see whether she clung to her smooth lies even at the edge of death.

Having crossed both the Moskva River and the narrow canal at the end of Red Square, having come cautiously down to Dobryninskaya Square on the Sadovaya ring, Tori and Russell now found themselves on the edge of the Zamoskvorechye, the District Beyond the Moskva.

Behind them, they could see the four handpicked men Captain Nikolev had left behind to make sure they got safely to their destination. He had been most persuasive. "With Mars Volkov using the bulk of the Eleventh Division to comb Moscow for Valeri Bondasenko, you'll never make it on the streets on your own," Nikolev had said.

Lieutenant Pokov got out of his Zhiguli, came over to them. It was one of those typical Russian cars, tinny, uncomfortable, a piece of junk, really. Yet another manifestation of the third-world atmosphere. "We are close to a number of Volkov's patrols," he said. "Are we near our destination?"

"Fuck off," Russell said.

Pokov looked hurt. He was a stolid-looking dark-haired Russian with the kind of musculature one often saw on amateur wrestlers. He appeared very quick on his feet. "I'll lock the car and leave it here. It will attract too much attention closer in."

Russell glanced over his shoulder at Pokov, drew Tori away from him. "I'm liking this less and less," he whispered to her. "We're out in the deep water, and we can't even tell the good guys from the bad guys. This seems to be an excellent way to get ourselves killed.''

Tori said, "You still think Nikolev's fall of shit, don't you?"

"Believe me, I would like to think he's telling us the truth, bat I can't. Face it, the odds are against it. Tori. Look at this setup. In all honesty, we've got to figure he had more reason to lie than to tell us the truth. Or he could have been telling us the truth but for the wrong reasons.''

"Is that the same thing?"

Russell looked at her. "Do you see what's happening? We're getting so enmeshed in sorting out the truth, we've lost our way in the forest of lies. And let me tell you, Moscow is not a city to get lost in. You do, and chances are you never come out."

"Either way," Tori said levelly, "we've got to reach Valeri Bondasenko as quickly as possible. It's after one in the morning; less than four hours to the start of the Russian invasion of the Baltic states."

"If Nikolev wasn't pulling our leg."

They fell silent as Lieutenant Pokov approached them. "Excuse me," he said, "but we must go quickly. It is very late. Not many people are still on the streets, and so you will become too conspicuous to remain out yourselves. One of Volkov's patrols could pick you up at any moment, and I would be helpless to stop them. My men and I can only try to steer you clear of the other Border Guards patrols.''

"He's right," Tori said. "We'd better go."

Russell said, "Goddamn this to hell," but he did not stop her as she headed down Bolshaya Polyanka Street.

And so at length they came to the Church of St. Gregory of Neocasarea.

"Stay here, understand?" Russell said to Pokov.

"Is this where Bondasenko is hiding?" Pokov said. "A church?"

Something in his voice warned Russell, and he grabbed Tori by her arm, dragged her quickly around to the front of the church. He got out a small instrument, twisted it into the lock. Russell pushed, and the huge door swung inward.

They stood inside, in the utter darkness, listening for shouts, the shouts of running bootsteps on the gritty pavement outside. They heard nothing. "What happened?" Tori whispered.

"Maybe we're okay, after all," Russell said.

Then he saw the silhouette of one of Nikolev's Border Guards insinuate itself through the front door. For a moment it was outlined against the faint blue light filtering in through the stained-glass windows, and Russell pointed to it. Then the silhouette was gone, and so was Tori.

Tori spent the first few moments doing nothing but listening. It was impossible to see the Border Guard, but she could hear him well enough. He was taking all the proper precautions, and in fact he was quite good, but Tori heard him nonetheless.

She had already taken off her shoes, had tied the laces together so she could hang them around her neck. She listened a moment more, then, when she was certain of where the Border Guard was and how he was moving, she went after him.

He thought he was being clever, crawling between the pews. Tori climbed onto a pew's back and, like a tightrope walker, put one foot carefully in front of another. She felt without having to see the straight line of the wooden pew back against the soles of her feet, which she relaxed around the inch or so of wood, molding them to the shape of the carved wood.

When she was above and just behind the crawling Border Guard, she dropped onto him, as silent as a bat. The Border Guard already had his knife out, ready to stab whoever he came upon first, her or Russell. He twisted as he felt her weight come down on him and, as he did, he swung the knife up in a vicious arc toward her belly.