Брайан Гарфилд - The Last Bridge

“No. Nothing. Return to your post, Sergeant.”

The sergeant left the room, and when he was gone, Saville reached around and turned the bolt. “That was too easy.”

Khang tipped himself against the wall. “You think that was easy , Captain? My God.”

Tyreen moved soundlessly toward the side door. He put his ear against it. When he came away from the door, Saville said, “Well?”

“I couldn’t make out the talk. But it’s only one voice.”

Khang said, “I get the funny feeling the whole place is booby-trapped or something.”

“We’re wasting time,” Tyreen said. He took his pistol back from Khang and walked again to the side door. His hand reached the knob and slowly turned it.

The door was not locked. Saville ranged himself beside the jamb, and Nguyen Khang straightened his uniform. Tyreen rapped sharply with his knuckles and swung the door open without waiting for a reply. He wheeled through the doorway with his gun up.

The Vietnamese Colonel was thin and small; his features were delicate. He was in the act of turning away from his prisoner to answer the knock at the door. He saw Tyreen, saw the guns and the other two men entering the room; but if any of it took him by surprise, it did not show on his face.

Tyreen said, “Cut him loose, Colonel.”

The Colonel’s eyebrows lifted politely. Tyreen said, “Come on, move. You wouldn’t be an interrogation officer if you didn’t speak good English.”

Khang and Saville had walked past him; Khang lifted the Colonel’s pistol and swagger stick from the man, and the Colonel neither stirred nor gave any sign of annoyance. Theodore Saville bent over the prisoner.

Kreizler lolled back in a spidery chair. He was naked. His eyelids fluttered open, but he stared at them all without recognition. He seemed to want to speak; his throat only made a vague guttural sound.

Saville said, “Easy. Take it easy, Eddie. It’s all finished now. You’re okay now.” Saville’s voice broke.

Tyreen took two long strides and drove his fist into Colonel Trung’s stomach. The Colonel coughed and bent over. Tyreen pulled him upright and rammed his knee into the man’s groin. Colonel Trung gagged and clutched himself. Tyreen said wickedly, “I wish I could mark you up, Colonel, but we’re going to need you for just a little while.”

Saville was holding back one of Eddie Kreizler’s eyelids, looking closely into the eye. “He’s in pretty bad shape, David.”

Nguyen Khang had gone back to the door to keep watch. Tyreen yanked Colonel Trung upright by the lapels. “Straighten yourself out, Colonel.”

Saville said, “It takes a lot of talent to hurt a man as bad as he hurt Eddie and still not knock him out or maybe kill him.”

Tyreen unloaded Colonel Trung’s pistol and jammed it back into the man’s holster. Trung’s hand absently buckled the holster flap down over the handle. All the while he had not spoken a word.

Tyreen said, “Give Eddie a shot of morphine and get out that other syringe.”

Saville took out his first-aid pouch. Tyreen snapped at him: “Hurry it up, Theodore. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Saville said. It was hard to tell what his tone meant. He had two syringes; he handed one to Tyreen and turned around, searching for the vein in the crook of Eddie Kreizler’s bare arm.

Tyreen said, “Sergeant.”

Khang came away from the door. “I’m getting the jitters.”

“Hold him still,” Tyreen said.

Khang’s eyes glittered momentarily. “That’ll be a pleasure, Skipper.”

Colonel Trung drew himself up. Tyreen said, “Behave yourself, or you’re dead, Colonel.”

Behind Colonel Trung, Nguyen Khang gripped the man’s arms and drew them around behind his back. Tyreen walked around and plunged his syringe into the vein in Trung’s wrist. Trung did not make a sound. Tyreen emptied the syringe into the vein and tossed it on the table. Colonel Trung said, “How long will I be conscious?”

“Until you die,” Tyreen answered. “About an hour.”

“I trust,” said Colonel Trung, “it will be suitably painful?”

Tyreen said, “Agony is an occupational hazard for you and me, Colonel.”

“Just so.” Trung massaged his punctured wrist. “Which poison have you used?”

“You realize I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course. If I knew the poison, I might secure an antidote. There is an antidote, of course?”

“Yes.”

“But you do not have it with you.”

“That’s right,” Tyreen said. “You know the rest of it.”

Colonel Trung smoothed his sleeve down. “The price of the antidote is my cooperation. If I raise the alarm, I will not find the antidote, and I will die within the hour.” A slight smile touched the feminine lips. “Very clever. But you take two risks, I believe. First, I might be prepared to take the chance that you are bluffing. The liquid in that syringe looked very much like a harmless saline solution. And second, I might be prepared to sacrifice my life in order to prevent your escape — especially since you will most likely kill me once you’ve got away.”

“I gave you enough poison to wipe out a squad, Colonel. Your only chance to stay alive is to come with us and see to it that we reach the place where I left the antidote. If you cooperate, you’ll get the antidote. We’ll knock you out with a sedative, and be on our way. That’s all the talk I’ve got time for. What’s your answer?”

“Oh, I’ll cooperate,” Colonel Trung said easily. “I’ve already sent out my report on the information I extracted from your Captain.” He smiled gently. “Shall we be on our way, gentlemen?”

Saville had wrapped Eddie Kreizler in the Vietnamese Colonel’s raincoat. “He’s out cold,” Saville said. He picked up Kreizler as if the stocky man were a small stack of firewood. Tyreen nodded to Nguyen Khang; Khang drew his pistol and got behind them. Tyreen put his hands on top of his head. With a sardonic flourish, Colonel Trung held the door open. Nguyen Khang said, “Skipper, it’s nineteen minutes after.”

“Move fast,” Tyreen said out of the side of his mouth.

They marched into the corridor two abreast. Saville walked at Tyreen’s shoulder, carrying Eddie Kreizler like an infant. Bemusedly, Colonel Trung took out his empty pistol and held it against Tyreen’s back. The murmur of his voice reached Tyreen’s ears: “If this were loaded, I wonder if I would pull the trigger. What do you think?”

Trung nodded politely to officers they passed in the hall. Nguyen Khang was speaking in Vietnamese: “It is good of you, Colonel, to accompany us. The Lao Dong will be most pleased when we deliver these prisoners to Hanoi. Comrade Ho himself has expressed his interest.”

“That is most kind of the honorable Comrade Ho,” Trung said. “One only hopes that Comrade Ho’s confidence is justified.”

Grinding tensions set Tyreen’s nerves afire. He licked the false, poison-filled tooth; he almost tripped on a crack in the floor. When they passed the sour-faced major in his doorway, the major gave a reluctant salute, and Colonel Trung transferred his automatic to his left hand to answer it. Tyreen’s arms began to ache. He laced his fingers together on top of his head. Their boots raised a pounding racket in the long hallway.

The sergeant of the guard saluted quickly and yanked the main door open. Tyreen braced himself for an explosion. It was time for the gasoline storage tanks to go up. As he passed through the door onto the porch, he could see the squat cylinders of steel half a mile up the mountain, above the motor pool. He heard the drone of an airplane, hidden somewhere in the clouds.

The Moskvitch stood empty, parked by the building. A big staff car, an East German Wartburg, was drawn up by the porch. Nguyen Khang spoke to the driver: