James Axler - Red Equinox

And Gregori Zimyanin, with the barrel of a 9 mm pistol shoved hard against his abdomen, was going to be very cautious before he made any sudden moves.

And that was all.

All but one.

Tracker Aliev had been sheltering in the lee of the auto-wag, trying to protect his ruined face from the chilly rain. Now he saw his beloved master being taken away at gunpoint. If Zimyanin was taken, then Aliev knew his shield and protection would be removed.

"In the wag," Ryan repeated, eye raking the watchers, making sure nobody was going to try anything particularly stupid or dangerous. He kept his free hand lightly on the Russian sec officer's shoulder, feeling the tightness of the man's muscles, ready to detect even the slightest movement.

Zimyanin looked as if he were going to cooperate, but Ryan was surprised and impressed by the rippling power he could feel in the man's upper body.

J.B. was halfway in the vehicle, holding the door open against the rising wind when Aliev came out of the darkness.

He attacked on Ryan Cawdor's blind side in a snuffling, howling, sideways shuffle, reaching out with his horn-tipped fingers to tear the face off the man who threatened his master.

"Ryan!" the Armorer yelled, hampered from shooting by the door of the wag.

But his shout of warning was enough, giving Ryan the edge of time that he needed. He spun around and put a bullet through Aliev's face, a couple of inches above the sodden rag that covered his missing nose and jaw.

The little man's feet skittered out from under him and he slid in the dirt, rolling twice by Zimyanin's feet. He ended up staring sightlessly into the driving rain that bounced off his blind eyeballs. Death gave Aliev a serenity that he had never enjoyed in life.

The sound of the pistol was muted by the silencer, and it was some moments before everyone realized that Ryan had shot and killed the Mongolian tracker. Then there was a burst of angry chatter. The sec men looked at one another, nervously fingering their rifles. They glanced at Zimyanin in case he was somehow able to give them some fresh orders.

"Tell them to be careful, Major," Ryan warned.

"I am sorry to have lost the poor dumb beast. He was always steadfast, loyal and true," the Russian said sadly.

"Tell them!"

Zimyanin called out to his men. "Do what I told you. Don't attempt anything foolish."

"Didn't want to chill the little guy, Major," Ryan said, easing Zimyanin backward toward the wag.

"He was very wretched. It was always hard to find enough rubles to pay a woman of the streets to lie with him. Such is life."

"Move it. Drop that blaster in the dirt before you get in. Good. Watch him, J.B., while I get in."

The engine sounded rough as Ryan revved it, and he was worried that the ceaseless rain might make it stall. But it picked up as soon as he trod on the gas pedal a few times.

Zimyanin sat quietly as they drove away. The wheels slid sideways toward the river, and Ryan corrected the drift. J.B. kept his pistol at the Russian's nape, glancing through the rear window to make sure there was no pursuit.

"You told them to start after us as soon as we're out of sight, Major?" Ryan asked.

"Your assumption is correct, Mr. Cawdor. Indeed I did."

"Black dust!" J.B. exclaimed. "The Russkie speaks more like Doc Tanner than Doc Tanner does!"

"Is my English less than impeccable? Must I apologize for its deficiencies?" Zimyanin asked.

"You speak good, Major. Better than me or J.B., and that's the truth." Ryan checked the mirror, unable to see anything in the rain.

"How come you're in Moscow, Major?" J.B. asked. "You were in Alaska."

"I hated the coldness, and I never relished the life with horses."

"Don't blame you," the Armorer agreed.

"And now you will transfer me to the choirs ethereal?" the Russian asked.

"How's that?" Ryan asked, swerving to avoid a raggedy child leading a patient donkey along, the side of the road.

"I shall be going to a far, far better place than I have ever known. You see that I am familiar with the work of your Mr. Dickens."

"Oh. You mean you think we're going to chill you?" Ryan said.

"Of course."

Ryan hadn't honestly given it that much thought. His main purpose had simply been to escape from the work gang and get back to the dacha to help fix the gateway and make the jump, if all went well, with the others.

But now that he did think about the problem of the prisoner, it seemed that the easiest thing would be to put a bullet through his brain and dump him by the side of the road. A dead enemy would never come after you in the dark hours of the night.

Then again, he didn't actually have any personal animosity against Major-Commissar Gregori Zimyanin. He was a Russian, but that didn't necessarily mean that he was an evil person.

And bullets cost jack.

"I reckon not," he said eventually. "What d'you figure, J.B.?"

"I figure bullets cost jack. There's nobody behind us, Ryan. Mebbe the major's ridden far enough with us right now."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "So long, Gregori. Guess we won't ever meet up again."

"You will not cause me any dying?"

"No." Ryan slowed the wag to little more than a walking pace and peered through the windshield seeing that they were coming to an area of dense forest on both sides of the blacktop.

"You wish me to disembark?" Bewilderment was evident in Zimyanin's voice.

Ryan couldn't avoid a smile. "Yeah, Gregori. We want you to disembark. Right now would be a real good time."

Zimyanin opened the car door, letting in a gust of damp, fresh air. He glanced behind him at J.B., then across at Ryan as though he were making sure that their faces were well fixed in his memory. Then he jumped. Despite the puddles and the mud, he succeeded in keeping his balance, running a few steps, then standing still.

J.B. gave a casual wave out of the back window of the wag, but Zimyanin didn't respond. He knew that some of the sec-troop wags would be along shortly, but he didn't look around for them. He stood and watched the spot on the highway where the Americans and the stolen wag had vanished.

His face showed no expression at all.

Ryan and J.B. eventually reached the ravaged mansion in the early hours of the evening. Both were soaked to the skin from the rain, which had continued to pound the countryside throughout the morning and afternoon. As they'd gotten closer to the dirt-poor ville, they'd decided to abandon the wag so that they wouldn't attract unwanted attention.

Krysty greeted them at the open front door, hugging Ryan with a sudden strength that took his breath and made his ribs creak.

"Fireblast! You'll snap my spine, lover." He kissed her on her warm cheeks with his cold, wet lips.

"Good to see you again, lover. Gaia! But it's so good."

"How about me, Krysty?" J.B. grinned and eased himself out of his sopping furs.

"Hell, I knew you'd make it. Uncle Tyas McCann used to say it was often the runt of the litter that survived."

"How's Rick? They made it safe?"

"Yeah. Jak was beat. Nearest to the line I've ever seen him. Slept ten hours straight through. He's up now with Doc, looking at the gateway and trying to figure out how those tools can help us."

Ryan let go of her and took a half step back. "You still haven't said how Rick is, lover. Guess that must mean bad."

She nodded. "Bad. I've tried using the healing skills that Mother Sonja taught me."

"No good?"

"No."

"He's not dead?" J.B. asked after pushing the door closed, having taken a good look around the dusk-gray fields.

"Close. Doc wondered about trying to help him down those stairs so he could talk us through the repairs."

"He conscious?"

"Some of the time." She hesitated. "Not all of the time."