33
SEVERAL HOURS
EARLIER, shortly after Kurt and Joe had first settled in on the
seafloor beside the Liberty ship, Katarina Luskaya was packing her
suitcase under the watchful eye of Major Sergei
Komarov.
With everything that
had happened, the high command had decided to abandon the mission
for now.
“You became
romantically involved with the American,” he said, sounding as if
he disapproved.
“Not as involved as I
would have liked,” she said brashly.
“This is not what we
sent you here for,” he reminded her.
She’d almost
forgotten that, so much had gone on. “He was in charge of the dive
area,” she said. “I thought it would be better if he took a liking
to me. That’s what I see in all the old movies, you
know.”
The major eyed her
suspiciously and then smiled just a bit, a slight crease appearing
in his permanent five o’clock shadow. “That is a good answer,” he
said. “Whether it is true or not, you are learning.”
She offered a
sheepish grin in return and went back to packing as a knock at the
door sounded. The major wasn’t so bad. More like a big brother than
Big Brother.
He went to answer the
door, putting one hand inside his jacket where his Makarov pistol
rested.
OUTSIDE IN THE
HALLWAY, two men stood at the door. A short man with dark hair held
what looked like a small monocular, his taller partner held what
looked like a length of pipe, though it had frost on its curved top
and some type of heavy electrical battery pack on one
side.
The shorter man
placed the monocular on the peephole in the door. “Movement,” he
said, looking into the scope. “It’s the male. Three
seconds.”
He stepped away from
the door, and the man with the pipe moved in, holding one end of it
against the door chest-high.
“Yes,” the deep
Russian voice of Major Komarov said through the door. “What is
it?”
“Now,” the shorter
man said.
The pipe man pressed
a button. A split second of buzzing and then a sudden thud, and
splinters frayed out around the end of the pipe where it was
pressed against the door. It was a mini rail gun powered by
superconducting magnets and carrying a two-pound sharpened metal
spike as a projectile. At the press of a button it instantly
accelerated the spike to 100 miles per hour, more than enough to
fire it through the door and the Russian major.
The pipe man stepped
back and delivered a kick to the door. The jamb snapped, and what
remained of the door swung open.
KATARINA LUSKAYA
HEARD an odd sound and looked up. Slivers of wood were flying
through the room. The major stumbled backward, clutching his
stomach, a short spearlike piece of metal sticking out from his
abdomen. Blood soaked his white shirt. He hit the ground without a
word.
Katarina reacted
slowly at first, but then she moved with all the speed in her body.
She lunged toward the major as she heard the door being kicked in.
Landing beside him, she grabbed for the weapon in his coat. She
pulled it from its holster, thumbed desperately for the safety, and
turned toward the door.
A boot slammed into
her face, snapping her head to the side, before she could fire. She
tumbled, lost her grip on the pistol, and felt someone on top of
her an instant later.
Already stunned from
the blow, she struggled only an instant before a rag soaked with
chloroform was pressed to her face. She felt her hands go numb, and
then nothing but darkness.