Ahern, Jerry - The Nightmare begins

"By the aircraft maintenance section—at the far end of the corridor and to the right. But you'll never make it."

Rourke pushed a little harder with the muzzle of the Python, "You better hope I do, pal—it's us, remember. I don't make it, you don't make it. Move."

Rourke started walking faster, Karamatsov just ahead of him. They were halfway down the corridor, and ahead of him, Rourke could see more of the Russian soldiers, and as he started to say something to Karamatsov, the Russian shouted, "Get away from here! That is an order!"

"Good," Rourke whispered, glancing around the hallway. There was no one behind him, but he knew that as soon as they reached the end of the hall and turned right, the corridor would fill with Russian soldiers, just waiting for their move.

"What do you want in the radio room?"

"You're going to call off the air strike with the neutron device," Rourke told him.

Karamatsov stopped, not moving. "She told you that?"

"I'm a psychic," Rourke said. "Now move unless you want your brains decorating the ceiling tiles— come on."

Karamatsov started walking again, saying to Rourke, "Why would I call off the air strike, and even if I did, why would they listen to me?"

"You'd better hope they do," Rourke said. "Because when I get out of here—with Chambers—I'm going to try and save your tails and get the assault force called back, if I can. We're in the same spot, friend. 'Cause I'm leaving here through the elevators onto the air field, and if I'm reading this place right, this wouldn't be a neutron hard site with the access doors open to the elevators—so all you guys would get fried. You tell your bosses that," Rourke concluded. He knew nothing about the construction of the underground complex and had no reason to suppose that the site would be vulnerable with the access doors to the elevator section opened, but he was gambling that Karamatsov and his superiors wouldn't be sure of that, either.

They reached the end of the corridor and turned right. Behind him, Rourke could hear the shuffling of boots, but there was no one ahead of him. "How far's the radio room, Vladmir?"

"There," and the Russian raised his hand, slowly, gesturing toward a door perhaps a hundred yards down. "That is it."

"Good," Rourke said. "Now, when we get there, you knock on the door and they bring the radio microphone out to you—got it? We don't go in." Rourke could see the KGB man's shoulders sag slightly. "And when it comes up, they can use alligator clips to make the connection if the microphone cord's too short."

The Russian started to turn his head and Rourke gave the Python a little nudge and the movement stopped. "You will never make it out of here alive, and if by some chance you do and you do not kill me, I will find you, if I have to search this entire dung pile of a country. I will look and look until I find you."

"Because of this," Rourke said, nudging the gun slightly, "or because of her?"

"What do you think?" the Russian snapped.

"Nothing happened—it could have, but nothing did. I think all you've got is a very lonely girl. You were already married to your job when you married her. It happens to a lot of guys in a lot more prosaic jobs. She's a hell of a good woman—you're lucky. I guess that's maybe the real reason I don't want to kill you."

Karamatsov stopped and turned, ignoring the muzzle of the gun at his head, staring at Rourke. Rourke whispered, "I almost envy you—with her. If you're fool enough to lose her, I should shoot you," and Rourke pushed the muzzle of the Python against Karamatsov's head again and they walked the last few yards to the door of the radio room. "Now knock—be polite," Rourke whispered.

Karamatsov knocked on the door, shouting in Russian, "It is Major Karamatsov—open the door— immediately."

The door opened and there was a soldier there with a gun in his hand and Rourke, in Russian, said, "Put it away or you've got a dead major—you want to be responsible, go ahead and be a hero of the Soviet Union." The soldier hesitated a moment, then stepped back into the room. "Call for the radio hookup," Rourke rasped to Karamatsov in English.

The Russian hesitated, then shouted into the radio room. In a moment, the same young Russian who had appeared at the door with a rifle appeared with the microphone, passing it to Karamatsov. Rourke jockeyed Karamatsov into position, so he could see the inside of the radio room over the Russian's shoulder. He glanced down the hallway, saw a face peering around the corridor, then the face withdrew. Rourke said to the KGB man, "Now, get on the radio and make it good—call off the neutron strike. Remember, my Russian's just fine."

Karamatsov pushed the button on the microphone and began speaking into it, then from the speaker inside there was heavy static, then a guttural voice, coming back to him. Rourke listened to the voice on the speaker and Karamatsov arguing, Karamatsov finally admitting the situation he was in. There was a long silence, then the voice was replaced by another voice, speaking in English.

"This is General Varakov—your name is Rourke, no? I do not want Karamatsov killed, at least not yet. He was too proud, perhaps this will be good for his—what is it—the Latin word, the ego. Yes. I have called off the neutron weapon strike. I will meet you some day. It is hard for me to believe you are acting alone, though."

Karamatsov glanced toward Rourke, and for a moment Rourke could read his eyes, then Rourke took the microphone from Karamatsov, saying, "General—I wasn't acting alone. I freed President Chambers and he helped me—you've got a tough adversary in him. I'll give you some advice—don't underestimate him."

"And some of the advice for you, my young friend," the voice on the loudspeaker came back. "You have just used all the nine lives of a cat this night. Do tell this to your President Chambers—do not underestimate me." And the radio went dead.

Rourke ripped the microphone free of the cord and tossed it down the empty corridor, saying to Karamatsov, "Now let's get out of here so I can call off the attack before it gets started." Running in a slow lope beside the KGB man, the gun still trained on the Russian's head, Rourke started down the hallway toward the aircraft maintenance section. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling of the Russian boots on the corridor floor, but he didn't bother to turn around.

Chapter Forty-Three

The elevator section of the underground hangar and maintenance complex was huge, more vast in size than Rourke had ever imagined. The twin engine prop plane was ready, the bikes loaded aboard, Chambers—Rourke had breathed a sigh of relief finding that the new president knew how to fly—was at the copilot's controls. At gunpoint, Natalie had moved Rubenstein, complete with the I.V. and the stomach tube, from the hospital section, and had him already loaded aboard. She had said nothing to her husband as Rourke had brought Karamatsov in still at gunpoint.

The doors leading to the elevator section were closed behind them, massive steel doors that effectively sealed the compound.

"How are the RPMs, Mr. President?" Rourke shouted in through the hatch in the port side of the fuselage. The president gave a thumbs-up signal and Rourke turned back to Karamatsov, saying, "Well, major—looks like we take off. Do I have to cold cock you—that's slang for knock you out—or will you just stay here and wait?"

Karamatsov said nothing, then Natalie spoke. "I will guard him, John—you don't need to knock him out."

Rourke looked at her, saying, "I can't leave you here—you'll be—"

"If I go with you, I am still a KGB agent. Your people won't welcome me with open arms. Besides—" and she left the word hanging.

"I can let you off between here and there," Rourke suggested, his voice low.