A matter of time

'Excuse me.' The patrolman was back again. 'They've lost the pickle guy.'

'Already?' Cash demanded. 'How the hell did they manage that?'

'He had a chopper there. He took off in it.'

'A planner. It must be Smiley.'

'Who?' Malone asked.

'A man who calls himself Augsberg but who, looks like Smiley. Maybe he's their Neulist.'

Miss Groloch jerked as if slapped every time she heard that name. She was now spookier than Cash had ever seen. Something apocalyptic was going on inside her head.

'Interesting,' Malone observed. 'You. Fial, is it? Tell me about it.'

The old man ignored him.

'Well, we'll find out later.'

The officer outside shouted, 'Hey, you guys. There was a body in that trunk.'

Cash closed his eyes, silently counted while the earth dropped away. There it was. The death of his last hope.

The whickering sound of helicopter rotors grew in the distance.

'Officer! Get in here!' Malone yelled. To the others, 'Let's make it a trap. Any reason he should be expecting one?'

'He had people here,' Segasture replied. 'Probably the ones who followed her. They might have noticed we were watching, too.'

'He knows we're interested,' Cash added. 'He had somebody watching her back home. I'd say he's trying to beat us here. If we hadn't gotten the break with the newspaper subscription, he would have.'

Malone parted a curtain. 'That damned gumball parked out there. And your car and mine. The crowd will scare him off.'

The whickering passed overhead, began a slow revolution around the house.

'Guess it isn't the real pickle king,' said Segasture, ending with a nervous little laugh.

They waited in silence. The helicopter circled twice.

'He's landing in the garden,' Tran called from the kitchen.

'Okay. Everybody out of sight,' Malone ordered.

Cash rebelled. This was his show. Neither Malone nor Smiley were going to steal it from him. 'I'm staying here. So are these two.'

'Suit yourself.'

Fiala sobbed. Fial held her, defying Cash. Norm let it go. 'Got to meet nightmares toe to toe,' he told Fial. His voice betrayed his own fear.

The helicopter's engines died.

Tran called, 'They're armed. AK47s. They look professional.'

'How many?' Malone asked.

'Five, plus the pilot and old man. The pilot isn't armed. He looks like a conscript.'

'Okay. Everybody hang easy. Don't start anything. They've got a firepower advantage.' Satisfied with everyone's hiding places, Malone slithered into the tight shadow behind a massive Victorian-style couch.

Cash was scared shitless. His pistol grip was slick. His face was pale. His stomach had become a tiny, aching knot. He ground his teeth to prevent chattering. He adjusted his chair so he could watch both the front door and the Grolochs.

It was his show, damn it! Fear wasn't going to rip it from his control.

For an instant he saw snowy brush where rosebushes stood. He heard the squeal of tank tracks, the footsteps and breathing of shadowless panzergrenadiers…

A real shadow splashed across the porch. Norm slipped his revolver beneath his leg, prayed he wouldn't do something stupid again.

Fial still held Fiala. She babbled continuously in Czech. Fial patted her head and murmured in the same tongue.

His eyes, on Norm, remained hate-filled, angry.

You would think, Cash reflected, that he was the wronged party.

He glanced toward the door. The shadow was gone.

Why were they taking so long?

Miss Groloch shuddered, groaned. Fial spoke to her in a hard, urgent tone, shifting to German when she did. Cash couldn't pick out one word in twenty. Most were nein or nicht something. Comprehension grew. Fial was telling her_r over and over, to shut up.

Cash wished he could record them.