The Kremlin File

Of course, she’d probably never heard of the old black giant or his tribe... or his bag of tricks.

“You’d call me a liar if I tried to tell you about Noah, but if we get out of this town alive, I’ll show you. Even then you won’t believe it.”

I pulled the tape off quickly, to keep the pain as short as possible. Fresh perspiration sprang on her forehead in large individual drops. Her hands and feet were discolored, purpling and swollen because the tape had been too tight. She was in agony as the blood began flowing again, biting her lips, tears starting in her eyes. She couldn’t stand and it would be some time before she could walk. Still, I couldn’t risk carrying her through the hotel. If anyone tried to stop us, I’d need my hands and maybe Lambie’s too.

I wrapped Tara’s ankles and wrists in cold wet towels from the bathroom, letting them soak in. Then brought a cotton dress from the closet, helped her to sit up and put it over her head. She looked better without the dress, but the skimpy panties and bra weren’t exactly suitable as a travelling costume.

It took precious minutes before Tara could put weight on her feet, and more time passed while I walked her around the room until she could move on her own. Then I sent Lambie into the hall to make sure it was clear. When he put his head back through the door and nodded, Tara and I followed him in a hurry to the elevator. We ducked into the cage, and I pushed the lobby button just as a room door opened down the corridor.

We dropped to the floor and the elevator door began to slide. Through a crack I saw soldiers. Worse, I saw Colonel Carib Jerome, with a pistol leveled on the crack.

I dodged behind the metal door and hit the basement button as he fired. The lead slammed into the rear of the cage and ricocheted. It had to be magic that it hit none of us. Then the door closed and we went down. It took an hour by my count and we had to be mere minutes. I knew Jerome and company would be on our heels in the other car. If there was no transportation in the garage or if the ramp was blocked, David Hawk would be out of one more operative. Tom Sawyer would lose his daughter and Noah, bless his faking heart, would lose one hell of a good man.

Where Noah’s other man was, I didn’t ask myself. Probably dead. If Jerome had snowed Caco into letting him out of the office with a bribe, Caco had a bullet coming. The colonel was resourceful. It was obviously a mistake to have left poor, simple Caco alone with such a sharpie.

The elevator cage squashed on the air buffer at the basement floor, and we were in the garage. There were lots of cars here, appropriated from the evacuated guests and staff, but I didn’t expect keys in them and I couldn’t spare a second to look. A military truck was parked at the bottom of the ramp; it would probably be ready to move on short notice. But it looked to be a mile away. I pointed at it.

“You two make a run for that,” I said. “Get it started while I keep the elevator bottled up.”

They sprinted, Lambie holding Tara’s arm, the girl still not sure-footed but game to make the try. I saw them start, then faced the elevator. The indicator needle moved, tracking the descent, then stopped. The door began sliding open in front of me.

When it was two inches apart I poured lead in, heard a scream and hoped it was Jerome. I kept firing as the crack widened and there were more cries until somebody had the wit to start the car back up. I shot until the door closed, then ran for the truck. Lambie was in the back under the canvas top. Tara had the engine roaring and had left the driver’s seat for me. I thanked her for that. If it had been Mitzy Gardner, I’d have had an argument and there just wasn’t time. As it was, I still didn’t know what I’d run into outside.

I got under the wheel and gunned up the ramp in second gear. There was no barricade at the top. I headed for the road. At the front of the hotel I took a quick look and saw Jerome and soldiers erupting from the door. They stopped on the top step to throw rifle fire after us, but they hurried too much. The shots went low.

I careened from side to side to further spoil their aim and heard Lambie blasting with his short gun from the rear. I yelled at him to lie low behind the tailgate, but either he didn’t hear me or was too keyed-up to think. Then it was too late. I heard a short scream. In the rear-view mirror I saw Lambie stagger and pitch out of the jeep. He was lying very still in the middle of the drive.

The whole front of his shirt was soaked in blood. More bullets riddled his body, as if Jerome was making Lambie die for those of us he couldn’t reach. A shot exploded into Lambie’s head, taking half of it away. I concentrated on my driving; it took away some of the sickness at the pit of my belly.