Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake (12 page)

Herolled onto his stomach. To his knees. He stood, his body swaying side to side. John Rourke turned toward the

medicaltechnicians, a pistol locked in each fist. They stopped, edging back now, drawing back and away from him.

JohnRourke felt it start to go, his knees buckling. He remembered to say it in German as the pistols fell from his weakening hands. “Schiess.”

Whyhad Kerenin stopped asking her questions? She wanted to ask him, but then he was asking her questions again.

“Youfell in love with this American spy named Rourke then. Why?”

“Heis the finest man I have ever known.”

“Thatis absurd,” Kerenin said.

Natalialaughed. It felt nice to laugh. “The Greeks and Romans told stories about the days when gods walked on the earth. One god still walks on the earth and he is a man. His name is John Rourke.” She realized she was giggling. She tried to remember when the last time was that she had giggled. Not in the ballet. Because they never wanted you to be anything but serious.

Shetried to remember if she could still put her hands together in front of her and make the thing that looked like a bubble.

Sheput her hands together, cupping one in the other. “See my bubble.” She giggled.

“MajorTiemerovna—tell me about the end. Before the skies were consumed with flame.”

“Allright.” She smiled. “Well, you see, John is a very special person and Rozhdestvenskiy, the bad man who took over from rotten Vladmir, well, he had these cryogenic chambers, see, and he had all this serum. It was to keep him alive so he could be the czar of the entire earth when everybody woke up again. And my Uncle Ishmael— he got this nice officer and his sergeant and his men to

helpus and we all got together with this man named Reed—but he was a grouchy man—and we all attacked the place where Rozhdestvenskiy was hiding and …” She lowered her voice and giggled. “We took it!” “What?”

“Hisserum, silly, and we escaped and Reed—do you know what he did?” “No. What did he do?”

“Hetook Rozhdestvenskiy’s mountain and he blew the whole thing up like this!” And she clapped her hands over her head and shouted, “Boom!”

Kerenin’svoice sounded grouchy too. “So you took this serum and at the place Rourke called the Retreat you used it. Correct?”

“Correct!You are very smart.”

“Thankyou, Major Tiemerovna. You are very beautiful.”

Shegiggled again.

“Now,“he said, “tell me just what happened at the very end.”

Shedrew her legs up under her and sat on her heels. “It was really exciting but it was very sad. It was. We made up injections for everybody in the Retreat. Michael got one. He was so cute. And Annie. She got one too. And Paul and Sarah and me. And I fell asleep and I slept for five hundred years!” She giggled again. “But John—what he did was he climbed out onto the mountaintop and he shot it out with Rozhdestvenskiy, see. Bang! Bang! Bang! Just like that. And John won and he got inside again before the fires burned him all up because the fires were burning the air and everything. And he woke up early and he woke up Michael and Annie and he lived with them for five years and taught them everything he could and then he went back to sleep. Like this, see?” She put both her hands together, palm to palm, fingers extended, then cocked her head to the right and closed her eyes and leaned against them. It felt nice to pretend to sleep.

“Thenwhat?”

“Annieand Michael grew up and Michael went off to look for the Eden Project, and when he didn’t come back Annie woke up because she had a bad dream and Sarah— was she angry! Because her little boy and little girl were all grown up now, you know? And Paul and John and I— we went after Michael and we rescued him. Know from what?”

“No.TeO me, Natalia.”

“Cannibals.Uh-huh—that’s what they were. Cannibals. They ate people. And there were some crazy people who sent people out to be killed by the cannibals and we sort of rescued Michael from them too. And that’s where Michael found Madison. He rescued her—but it didn’t do any good at all. Madison died.” And Natalia started crying.

MichaelRourke moved slowly forward on knees and elbows, his neck arched to keep his face out of the snow, Paul Rubenstein beside him, ahead of them the lip of a precipice which, if German high-altitude observation data were correct, should directly overlook the encampment of Marshal Vladmir Karamatsov’s armies.

Theyhad left backpacks, assault rifles, and most of the rest of their gear some 500 yards back along the route to the top, with Han and Maria Leuden and Otto Hammerschmidt and the small force of German commandoes.

MichaelRourke kept moving, Paul whispering beside him, “Someday we have to find a warmer climate to do this stuff in.”

Michaelsmiled only, kept going.

Hereached the edge of the precipice a second or so before Paul, already unlimbering the German binoculars as he stole his first look.

Theencampment stretched for acres, crescent-shaped and following the natural pattern of the terrain. The snow seemed less heavy in the lower elevation of the encampment, at least at first glance. To the rear of the encampment was sheer rock face, and beneath and beyond it the sea, whitecaps whipped in what appeared to be a vigorous wind.

Michaelbutton-adjusted focus, the rangefinder giving precise distance to the center of the camp as he focused on it. Hermetically sealed tents were almost everywhere and, where they were not, there were trucks and armored

personnelcarriers. He could not discern the command tent immediately. He kept moving the binoculars. “Look all the way to your left,” Paul whispered beside him. Michael swung his binoculars to the north. A helicopter pad, one helicopter rising in a swirlof snow and ice spicules, two dozen more helicopter gunships anchored against the wind. More would be airborne. “He must have a hellof a lot of that synthetic fuel,” Paul observed. Michael nodded. “If we could get to that and destroy it, we’d have him trapped with his back to the sea.”

“Mydad never said Karamatsov was a brillianttactician,” Michael noted. “But before we can take a try at that …”

Helet the sentence hang, no need to state the obvious.

“We’regonna have to get down there, Michael. And I don’t think either one of us picked up enough Russian from Natalia to be able to understand very much of what’s going on.”

Michaelput down the binoculars and closed his eyes for an instant. He opened them. “Maria. Before the Night of the War, the Russians did quite a bit of archaeological research. She has a readingknowledge. Maybe between us—damn.”

MichaelRourke looked at Paul Rubenstein. The smaller man nodded, his face—the torque pulled away and his ears reddening with exposure to the wind and cold—grim and hard-set.

Michaeltook up his binoculars again. If Karamatsov were at all smart, he would make the command tent as indistinguishable as possible from any other, a wolf hiding amid the flock in the event of aerial attack. But Karamatsov would be near enough to the helipad that he could reach it rapidly in the event that survival became his most important concern. “The command tent,” he began. “It has to be near the helipad. Look for the most innocuous thing you can find.”

Michaelkept scanning the encampment below them.

ThenPaul spoke. “Check out the hospital tents. The smaller one in the middle.”

Michael shifted his gaze, refocusing, taking a new distance reading. One of the hospital tents, set almost in the exact center of the others, yet with totally unobstructed access to the helipad, had two guards stationed near the opening, one on either side of H. Portable deflection barriers were installed around it and guards stationed at regular intervals ringed it.

“You have a good eye,” Michael told his brother-in-law and friend.

“Which one—the right or the left?”

Michael Rourke reached out his left fist and gently punched Paul Rubenstein’s right shoulder. “Touche.”

“How are we gonna get in there? I found it; you figure that one out,” Paul whispered, his voice holding a hint of amusement,

“Standard thing, I guess. How’d my father and Natalia get into the Womb just before the Great Conflagration?” “You know how.”

“Then we’ll get some Russian uniforms and play it by ear. And if we’re wrong and Dad and Natalia aren’t there, we’ll find out where they are. And I can get Karamatsov.”

“Youll get him, Michael. But maybe not yet.”

Michael Rourke didn’t speak. Of greatest importance was finding his father and Natalia. Then killing the man responsible for the death of his wife, Madison, and their unborn child. That would be dessert.

JohnRourke’s hands were bound behind him and a length of the plastic restraint was around his throat, his neck held arched back with it by the hand of one of the two guards who flanked him close. Natalia Anastasia Tiemerovna, her head aching, her mouth dry, her insides feeling as if her period were a week overdue when in reality it had just passed, spoke to him quickly in German. “Wolfgang. I revealed my identity as a Russian, and yours as a German officer—I am—”

“Quiet!“Kerenin clamped his hand over her mouth.

John,looking as though he was barely able to smile, tried breaking away from his captors. The one guard drew back hard and fast on the cord around his neck, the other punching him in the left kidney. He dropped to his knees, his lips drawn back from his teeth, his high forehead glistening sweat, his eyes glaring toward Kerenin as he coughed, sounding as though he were choking.

Kerenintook his hand from her mouth and she screamed at the Russian. “You promised he would not be hurt!”

“Ipromised he would be given the best medical attention and he was. He then killed one guard, injured another, and nearly beat one of the medical technicians to death. He escaped his compartment in the Marine Spetznas hospital and shot several guards and hospital technicians with Sty-20s he had stolen. He would be dead at my hands now if it were not that I promised you. His fate is no longer under my control, Major Tiemerovna—

and …”

Kerenin fell immediately silent, the triumvirate entering the marble-floored, marble-walled room, unceremoniously seating themselves at the long desk she had seen before.

She looked at John. He had been dragged to his feet, the cord still tight around his throat. He smiled at her, as if to say that somehow everything would be all right. But she knew; this time, it wouldn’t be all right. And she was suddenly chilled more deeply than she had ever been chilled.

Kerenin urged her forward, her hands again bound behind her.

John moved forward, no longer fighting them.

The female intepreter was again present.

The man at the center of the triumvirate spoke, the woman beginning the translation—unnecessary though it was—for John. “You have both been adjudged enemies of the State. By her own words, this self-proclaimed former comrade has outlined the systematic betrayal of the ideals of Communism, the Soviet State. If her claims of somehow surviving since before the vicious and unprovoked attack by what was called the United States against the people of the Soviet Union is true, she is personally and collectively responsible for countless deaths, unnumbered acts of sabotage and espionage. And this man is an officer in an enemy force which seeks to destroy Communist forces this woman tells us exist in force on the surface of the planet. He is an intelligence officer, and therefore a spy. The penalty for espionage, of course, in time of war, is obvious. The woman—if her story is true, there could be no penalty horrible enough to properly punish her.

“We are told that she claims that the husband she betrayed for the love of an American …” He consulted his notes. “… named John Rourke is also alive and is the commander of Soviet forces even now fighting an imperialist alliance bent on the complete obliteration of Soviet Communism. If she tells the truth, it might be useful to the welfare of the State to meet with this Marshal Karamatsov and work with him to advance the cause of

Communismon the surface. To that end, it is the judgment of this triumvirate that the woman, who calls herself Natalia Anastasia Tiemerovna, Major, Committee for State Security of the Soviet Union, be held in an appropriate location until such time as contact has been achieved with Marshal Karamatsov and the transfer of this woman to his custody can be effected.”

Nataliawanted to scream. And then she wanted to cry. And then to die. She stood perfectly erect, shoulders back and lowered, her chin raised, her eyes unwavering as they stared ahead.

“Itis the further judgment of this triumvirate that the man, identified as Wolfgang Heinz, Colonel of Intelligence, the Army of New Germany, shall be taken to the customary place of execution immediately and there shall be meted out the reward for his crimes. You are both allowed a brief final statement.”

Nataliaspoke quickly, before John could speak and implicate himself still further and perhaps try to save her. “This German intelligence officer has valuable information which-my husband would wish to possess. If you kill him, you will anger Marshal Karamatsov. He—”

Kerenininterrupted her, shoving her back. “Comrade Chairman. It is clear the woman wishes to bargain for time.”

Johnspoke, his Russian as faultless as she had ever heard it. “I am John Rourke. And any crimes you claim this woman had committed were done at my order. If there is any punishment to be meted out, I am the one deserving of it. She is—”

Kereninhad nodded, and the cord around John’s neck was snapped back so tightly he was forced to his knees, gagging, his face purpling. Natalia tried to move toward him, the two guards who stood beside her grabbing her at the upper arms and shoulders, holding her back. And she realized that if she could convince them, perhaps John would live long enough that … “Comrade Chairman! I must speak!”

“Speak,“the man said emotionlessly.

Kereninnodded. The pressure on her arms was released. She took a tentative pace forward. “He is John Rourke. I lied to protect him, but I see now that—”

Kereninshoved her aside. “It is clear, Comrade Chairman, that the woman lies in order to save her own comrade. This man—” and he gestured broadly to John, John on his feet again, but the cord still so tight at his throat that his face was discoloring, “—could not be John Rourke. She told of a man of virtually superhuman abilities, not a common ruffian such as this. I am convinced, comrades,” and he addressed them all now, all three of their judges, “that this man is only a German officer. And I am further convinced that this John Rourke of whom she speaks even now works for the undoing of our system. I am convinced that such a man would not be so easily taken. This man—” He stabbed his right first finger toward John. “—must die!”