'I don't know—I think with your motorcycles.'
'Good,' Rourke almost whispered. 'Now, on your knees, and real careful, check out each one of those pistols and the CAR-15 so I can see they're loaded—hurry it up!'
As Karamatsov knelt and one by one inspected the weapons, slowly so Rourke could see that they were loaded, Rourke slipped the shoulder holster in place, switching the Chief's Special at Karamatsov's temple from one hand to the other as he secured the stainless Detonics pistols under his arms, then got Karamatsov up off the floor.
'Now—hand me that belt with the Python on it,' Rourke said. Rourke slung the belt on his left shoulder, moving the muzzle of the Metalifed six-inch .357 to Karamatsov's head and tossing the little Chief's Special into his hip pocket.
Rourke slung the CAR-15 to his right shoulder—he'd had Karamatsov chamber a round—then flicked off the safety. He slipped the two-inch Lawman into his belt.
'Forgot my knife—where is it?' Rourke asked.
'In my desk.' Karamatsov said.
'Let's go get it—and my wallet and lighter, hmm?'
Never moving the muzzle of the Python from Karamatsov's head, Rourke walked slowly beside the Russian to the desk. The Russian started to open the top drawer and Rourke pushed him away, then opened the drawer himself. There was his wallet, and the black chrome Sting IA and his Zippo—and a Pachmayr-gripped Model 59 Smith & Wesson 9mm automatic. 'I would have killed you, Vladmir. Hey—what do people call you for short— Vladey? I like that—I'll call you Vladey,' Rourke said, smiling. 'Now Vladey, we're gonna walk down that hallway, you're gonna carry my Steyr in that nice padded rifle case—be real careful with it. Fantastic gun—come up my neck of the woods sometime and I'll show it to you. Great shooter. Now, you carry it, walk real slow and don't try to get so you can't feel this—' and Rourke gestured with the muzzle of the Metalifed Python—'against your head. 'Cause if you stop feeling it there, I'll pull the trigger.' Rourke thumb-cocked the hammer on the Python, his first finger against the grooved trigger. 'All right—let's go.'
Karamatsov didn't move, saying, 'Kill me now.'
Natalie was blown, she would be fingered for helping him escape, Rourke knew that, and he said, 'I promised your wife I wouldn't unless I had to— your choice. You want to be a dead hero, or you want to live again to fight another day—which is it?'
The Russian started walking toward his office door. Rourke switched the Python into his left hand, his right fist wrapped around the pistol grip of the CAR-15, his finger against the trigger. They entered the corridor and Rourke spotted at least a dozen Russian soldiers halfway along its length. 'Shout to them,' Rourke whispered.
In Russian, Karamatsov almost screamed, 'I gave an order—it is to be obeyed—let us pass and stay out of sight. That is my order!'
The soldiers, some slowly, vanished from the corridor. Rourke started walking faster, saying to the KGB man, 'Let's pick up the pace a little—I'm runnin' a little late. Where's the radio room?' Karamatsov said nothing for a moment, then Rourke repeated the question. 'Where's the radio room, Vladmir? Hmm?' and Rourke punched the muzzle of the Python harder against the back of Karamatsov's head.
'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.'
