but at least he’ll know what he’s actually facing.”
The President glanced up at the clock. “It’s three in the morning over there, they’ll have to get him out of bed.” He turned to Ryan. “If you’ll be good enough to leave now, we have work to do.”
Ryan got to his feet. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said. He looked at Murphy. “I’ll get back to my office and finish the daily summary.”
“You and Tom Moore are relieved of duty as of this moment, Howard,”
Murphy said. “I’ve instructed security not to allow you back in. I’ll have your personal items sent to you within the next day or two.”
“You can’t do this,” Ryan said indignantly. “I’ll fight you in Congress—”
“That would be the worst mistake of your life, Ryan,” the President said coldly. “Everything that has taken place here this evening is top secret. Discuss the situation with anybody, and I’ll have you prosecuted under the National Secrets Act.”
Ryan backed up a step.
The President picked up the phone to his secretary. “Mr. Ryan is leaving, would you have a taxi pick him up?”
Ryan’s color was bad.
“Not at the West Portico,” the President said. “Mr. Ryan will meet the cab at the front gate.”
McGarvey hunched in the absolute darkness of a side tunnel that sloped sharply downward as he tried to catch his breath. The sounds of running water thundered in the narrow confines of the outflow tube, and a sharply cold wind came up from below. The floor here was greasy with mud and algae, making footing treacherous. If he fell he would slide into the underground river, and be swept away and probably drowned.
It was a mistake calling Jacqueline from the metro station. But he’d thought he would have enough time to make the call, reach the street level and get away before Chernov’s people closed in. But they were closer than he thought. It was just rotten luck that Chernov himself had been nearby. He only hoped that Jacqueline had heeded his warning to remain at her embassy.
Even over the roar of the water he’d been able to pick out the noise that his pursuers made and see the beams of their flashlights on the walls. They’d been coming at him from all directions, finally driving him down here, when suddenly about five minutes ago they’d stopped for some reason.
That worried him, because he could think of a number of methods Chernov could use to literally flush him out, such as opening a series of fire hydrants to flood this section of storm sewer tunnels, or even using chlorine gas.
Slinging the leather satchel over his shoulder, he cautiously made his way back up to the main sewer tunnel, where he stopped again to listen. He was about a hundred yards from where he’d re-entered the storm sewers beneath the Lubyanka metro station, and about fifty yards from one of the main tunnel intersections where he’d been driven back by the soldiers.
If the search parties had either pulled back, or were holding their positions in the darkness, he thought it might be possible to sneak past them. Once clear he could make his way through one of the metro stations back up to the streets.
Short of that, he would either spend the rest of his life being herded aimlessly down one dark tunnel after another, or he would finally be corned.
He spotted the reflection of a flashlight beam on the wet tunnel walls at the same instant he heard Jacqueline calling his name, and he pulled back hardly believing his own senses.
“Kirk, it’s me,” her voice echoed down the tunnel.
What was she doing here? What could she hope to accomplish? It was beyond reason.
“Colonel Bykov has pulled back his men,” Jacqueline called, much closer now. “If you come out with me you won’t be harmed. They’ll arrest you, but it can be worked out.”
She was a trained French intelligence officer, not some giddy girl. Which meant she had a plan, and somehow she’d convinced Chernov to go along with it. There was no way they were going to let him out of here alive, no matter what she’d been promised, and she knew that.
“Kirk, thank God,” she said.
McGarvey looked up half expecting to see the beam of her flashlight shining down the side tunnel, but she was at least ten yards away.
“I’m here to help you,” she called. “Someone tell Colonel Bykov we’re coming out as soon as he pulls his people back,” she shouted loudly.
McGarvey knew exactly what she was trying to.do. She meant to lead the search party away, giving him a chance of escaping. She was taking the chance that he was somewhere close, which meant she knew that all of his escape routes were blocked. But it wouldn’t work, because Chernov wouldn’t let either of them out of here alive.
“Mademoiselle, stay where you are,” Chernov called in French.
“Don’t come any closer,” Jacqueline shouted.
McGarvey could hear her up in the tunnel heading toward him. She had done exactly the wrong thing but for the right reason. Instead of leading the search parties away, she had inadvertently led them to him.
“Don’t move, or we will be forced to open fire,” Chernov warned.
“Merde, you dumb bastard, he’ll come out with me as soon as you pull back and nobody will get hurt!”
“McGarvey!” Chernov shouted. “Say something so that we know you’re there. You have my word we will hot open fire!”
Jacqueline reached the side tunnel as powerful spotlights suddenly flashed on, fixing her in their bright glare.
McGarvey reached out, grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and pulled her bodily into the tunnel at the same moment Chernov’s people opened fire. Her flashlight clattered down the tunnel and disappeared below.
She struggled wildly for a few seconds until in the lights reflecting from the main tunnel she realized who it was, and the color drained from her face.
“Oh, my God—”
McGarvey clamped a hand over her mouth, until she understood that their lives depended on her silence.
The firing stopped and for several seconds nothing moved in the tunnel. But then more lights flashed on, and soldiers pounded toward them from both directions.
“I hope you can swim,” McGarvey whispered urgently.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
He grabbed her hand, and together they raced down the outflow tunnel that almost immediately steepened. Jacqueline lost her footing on the slippery floor and she pulled McGarvey off balance with her. They slid in the muck, faster and faster, until suddenly the tunnel ended and they plunged ten feet down into the swiftly moving underground river.
McGarvey was pulled under water by the weight of the satchel on his back, losing his grip on Jacqueline’s hand, the extremely strong current tumbling him end over end.
His knee struck the river bottom, sending a sharp pain shooting up to his hip, and he pushed upward with everything he had. His head broke the surface of the water just long enough for him to take a deep breath before he was sucked under again as the river raced down a completely submerged narrow tunnel.
He could do nothing but protect his head with his arms, as his body was tumbled end over end slamming into the tunnel walls, floor and ceiling.
Almost as quickly as he had been sucked into the underwater tunnel, he was spit out the other end, plunging another eight or ten feet into a big pool of water. His right shoulder slammed into the concrete bottom and he managed to rear up, his head once again breaking the surface long enough for him to take a breath before the waterfall from the tunnel shoved him aside.
But the water was shallow here, less than waist deep, and he struggled to his feet again, stumbling away from the outflow until his hand brushed up against a rough stone block wall.
“Jacqueline,” he shouted. His voice echoed back at him. He was apparently in a large chamber. In the distance he could hear another waterfall, probably where this collection pool flowed farther down toward the
