The Kremlin File

The mortar between the stones where the staple was anchored was a couple of centuries old, weakened by water seepage. I braced a foot against the wall and pulled. The chain was loose and moved a fraction of an inch, but it wouldn’t come free. I tried a couple of times, but, it was no go. We’d have to dig it out.

I snapped my arm and the stiletto dropped out of the chamois sheath into my curved fingers. The razor-sharp point bit into the mortar, chipped away a pebble at a time. Lambie worked the staple. It took more time than I liked. In spite of the cold, I was sweating. If the lieutenant didn’t show upstairs soon, somebody would come looking, several somebodies.

I cut around one side of the staple. Then, with both Lambie and me hauling on the chain, the tired old metal broke. We stumbled back, slipping in the oily slime. Fleming was yanked forward, but the chain kept us from falling. When I caught my balance, I stuffed the loose end of the chain in the doctor’s pocket and Lambie and I lifted him to his good foot. He was wobbly from the ordeal. I left Lambie to support him while I stripped off the lieutenant’s gold-braided coat. I also took the dead man’s belt and gun, handed them to Lambie and held the Doctor’s arm.

I told Lambie, “Get out of that jacket and into this. You’re being commissioned in the field.”

Lambie complied. Carrying Fleming between us, we went back to the guard room.

Mitzy Gardner’s handsome chest heaved in relief. She turned a chair for the doctor, saying as he sank into it, “What kept you so long? We were just about to come looking. God, what did they do to him?”

I snapped my fingers at Caco.

“Keys. Look in the drawers.”

He opened the top drawer and tossed me a handful. I tried several before I found one that fit, then the lock was so rusty I had to slam it with a paper weight until it released. When the handcuff fell away, I saw the spikes inside and the drying blood around deep gashes on Fleming’s wrist. Rust from the old handcuff was embedded in the cuts, but there was no way to wash them, no medication in the office. It would have to wait.

I explained my plan for leaving the fort. Lambie in his new uniform would stand with his back to the door. Caco was to tell the private on the drawbridge that the lieutenant wanted him inside. When he came, we would disarm him, then tie and gag him.

With the door cleared, Mitzy would go for the car, head it downhill close to the drawbridge while we brought Fleming across. He and I would curl up on the floor of the rear seat, Lambie in his braid would ride in the front between Mitzy and Caco.

At the sentry box Lambie would hold the lieutenant’s gun on Mitzy, turned to face her. Caco would tell the corporal Jerome had ordered the girl brought to him. If it worked, fine. If it didn’t, I had my Luger and Lambie and Caco were also armed. Three against three are very good odds.

We made it to the Caddy without trouble. Mitzy flipped on the headlights and drove downhill. The sentries saw us coming and moved out to the road, but not blocking it. They didn’t expect a jailbreak. The corporal raised a hand to make a routine check and Mitzy stopped abreast of him. Caco leaned forward to screen Lambie from the soldiers and sounded disgusted.

“Colonel changed his mind. He wants the girl brought to him. Now.”

The corporal looked worried. “Lieutenant, if you take her over yourself, who’s in charge here?”

“You are,” Lambie barked. “Don’t pass anyone through until I come back. Drive on.”

The corporal jumped back. Lambie’s voice didn’t match the real lieutenant’s. “Hold on... you’re not... What is this?”

I heard a gun explode and came to my knees. Caco had shot the corporal. The privates were caught off guard, but as Mitzy slammed the car ahead, one still grabbed at the door handle. I broke the hand with the snout of the Luger, then shot him. The other’s rifle was whipping up when I put a bullet in his stomach. His rifle went off and plowed a hole in the door.

Then we were clear, swerving headlong down the drive. We were near the bottom when the Caddy sputtered and died. I knew the sound. We were out of gas. Mitzy coasted to a stop, looked around at me and shrugged. With the town under martial law, gas stations were closed. And Fleming was in no shape for a hike of more than twenty miles through the mountains.

We might carry him as far as Noah’s hotel, but what then? He wouldn’t be safe anywhere near Port of Spain when Jerome learned he was gone. We needed another car. We were still high enough so that I could see along the beach road. Out beyond the old town a jeep was parked. Dark figures passed nearby, in front of lanterns set across the highway, one of the colonel’s roadblocks. I pointed it out to our group.

“There’s our transportation. I don’t know how many we have to take it away from, and we can’t risk gunfire to bring more troops swarming over us. You two wander down there, get them bunched while I cut around behind them. Mitzy, do you have a gun?”