'Okay,' Thomas said, clapping his hands as if to physically break his sister's spell. 'Let's move on to the Pavlovski woman.'
Babette stepped forward. Bolan was amazed at how startlingly attractive she was despite all the physical and mental hardships she had been through.
Her face had the hard expression of a survivor, yet with the soft edges of a beautiful woman. He noticed how carefully Tanya studied her as she leaped 'smoothly atop the narrow wooden wall and stood there balanced as gracefully as if she were on solid ground. An involuntary frown of jealousy tugged at Tanya's mouth.
'You will do just as you have practiced,' Thomas said, picking up a green canvas knapsack; it reminded Bolan of the kind the boy scouts used to carry when he was a kid. 'There are the same two bricks in here, approximating the weight of the cannister you will be carrying.' He handed the knapsack to her, which she quickly slipped onto her back. 'Now, there is a ten-foot-high wall that runs parallel to the surrounding fence for twenty feet before curving back around one of the buildings. Once the cannister has been handed to you by either my sister or myself, you are to climb that wall and run along it until you see Rudi waiting on the other side. When you spot him, you are to toss the entire pack over the fence to him. Clear?'
'Quite,' Babette snapped.
'Good, now let me see you run this wall as fast as you can.'
She glared at him with burning defiance, as if deciding whether or not to throw the knapsack in his face. But finally her shoulders sagged in acceptance and she nodded affirmatively.
'Go!' Thomas shouted.
Babette Pavlovski, once Czechoslovakia's prima donna gymnast, dashed across the rickety wooden wall like a sprinter. The fact that the wall was only four inches wide did not slow her in any way. She covered the distance in only a few seconds, her sneakered feet— slapping wood in a breathless rhythm. When she reached the end of the wall she leaped off and landed lightly on the ground.
'Yes,' Thomas nodded happily. 'Very good. I'm quite pleased.'
'Well, that just makes my day,'' Babette said, shrugging off the knapsack and dropping it on the ground.
Thomas ignored her and turned to face his sister.
'That leaves only Mr. Barnes-Fenwick to display his ability,' she reminded Thomas.
Tanya strolled up to the Welshman and stared into his battered face.
'This will be your final opportunity to live, Welshman. Your skills would give us the few extra seconds that could make a difference. But if you aren't there, we will just have to take our chances. You will never know how it all turns out, because you'll already be dead.' She turned and walked away.
'It's up to Y.' Clifford watched her with his sad, tired eyes, and Bolan feared that he might simply drop the bow and stroll away. If he did, Bolan had no doubt that Tanya would kill him right then and there. If he could not help in the assault, at least dead he would serve, as a warning to the others. But that was the Welshman's decision. Bolan could not help him if he chose to die. There were the others to consider. The archer took a deep breath and grasped the bow firmly in his left fist. He snapped the black wooden arrow from the plastic quiver and notched it into the string. It was a hunting arrow, with razor edges and barbs to keep the arrow from being pulled out once it penetrated flesh.
'We also have a glove for your right hand,' Thomas said, 'and rubber balls to silence the string when it's released.'
'I don't need the glove,' he said, tugging slightly on the string to get a feel for the tension. 'As for the sound of the string, well, there'll be enough surface noise to cover that anyway. So let's get on with it. What are my targets?'
Thomas shot a self-satisfied grin at Tanya, who remained coolly aloof as she watched the proceedings.
'Those three cabin doors,' he said, pointing at the cabins lined up on one side of the camp. The farthest was fifty yards, the closest twentyfive yards. 'Let me see how quickly you can hit each door. If you can...'
But before he could finish his sentence, the Welsh archer was already moving. He pulled the string back to his cheek and released, sending the thin shaft whistling at the farthest door. It struck with a thud and twang. But by then he was already firing at the next target. And then the next. Each struck home, all within five seconds of the first shot.
'Amazing!' Thomas said. 'Incredible.' But while Thomas continued to praise the shot, Bolan noticed something else. A look in the Welshman's eye. It was a look not many people would recognize, it required a specialized kind of training and experience. It isn't everybody who can tell when a man is getting ready to kill. It's a flicker, really, a darkening of the iris, a grimness around the mouth that reveals that a heavy decision has been made, one that cannot be reversed. That was the look Bolan saw in Clifford as he watched the archer casually ease another arrow from the quiver as if to get ready for the next trick shot. Trick shot, yeah, one that would end up sticking out of Thomas Morganslicht's chest. And he would probably get another one into Tanya, too, before the surrounding hardguys pumped a couple hundred rounds into him. And into the rest of the athletes. And into Mack Bolan. The archer notched his arrow and tightened his three-fingered grip around the string. He started to raise the bow.
Bolan stepped forward and grabbed the bow. 'Hey, I used to hunt a little with a bow. These arrows don't look long enough.'
'Don't be an idiot, Sergeant,' Thomas said angrily. 'You can see for yourself they'll do just fine.'
Clifford tried to pull the weapon free from Bolan's iron grip. 'Leave me alone,' he growled in a low whisper.
'I don't know,' Bolan said loudly. 'Arrows have to be measured according to each man's pull. These look a little short.'
'Would you please shut up,' Tanya said. 'Mr. Barnes-Fenwick doesn't seem to mind. Rudi, take the bow and escort out guests back to their room. We want them to get plenty of rest before this afternoon.'
Rudi elbowed Bolan aside and jerked the bow out of the Welshman's hand. Bolan smiled grimly with relief, but Clifford scowled at him in frustrated rage.
'What about the skier?' Thomas asked. 'Shouldn't we run him through one more time?'
'I think not. He's done it perfectly every day, so there's no need to wear him out so soon before the real thing. He knows the route and he can make the jump off the mini-ramp that we have already constructed.' She addressed Udo. 'You can drop the knapsack in the truck as it passes under you?'
'Yes,' Udo said nervously. 'I have not missed once so far.'
'Fine. Then once you've dropped it, you can keep skiing to freedom.'
'With the army chasing after him instead of you,' Bolan added.
She smiled smugly. 'Yes, but it's still a chance for him to live. Now, you help Rudi lock our little Olympians back in their room. The cabin, not the garage. We want them ready. We have only hours to go.'
Rudi pounded his club against the ground. 'Let's go,' he roared, and the four athletes began to shuffle away in a loose line.
They had not gone ten yards before Babette tripped and pitched face first into the snow. Bolan reached over, grabbing her elbow to help her up, but as she rose she whirled around and pushed him away.
'Don't touch me, you pig!' she yelled, pushing him away. But as she struggled against him, their faces only inches away, she looked up at him, and with the briefest of movements, winked at him. Then he knew for sure that she would be ready for the break, whenever it came. The slaps had been part of her act, an act so convincing he hadn't been sure himself.
'Get away!' she hollered, brushing the snow from her jacket and marching on.
Bolan looked over his shoulder at the terrorist twins. Thomas merely looked annoyed.
But Tanya, obviously pleased, was smiling her thin, evil smile.
20
'How much longer?' Bolan asked from the back of the van.
