He tried to read the woman's face from the distance separating them. He'd been told there was a Colonel Miklov there with Natalia. But he saw no Russian officer, not even someone in civilian clothes.
A man Rourke judged as a squad leader stepped toward him, saying in bad English, 'I will take your guns.'
Rourke again glanced toward Natalia— nothing. He decided to gamble, reaching slowly under his coat with first his left, then his right hand, taking the Detonics pistols and handing them butt first to the squad leader. Since the man hadn't asked for his knife, Rourke didn't volunteer it.
'You will come with me,' the man said. Rourke started to walk ahead, still holding Sissy's hand. 'The woman— she will see the general.'
Rourke eyed the soldier, then looked over the man's shoulder toward Natalia. He thought he caught an almost imperceptible nod. But it could have been his imagination, or wishful thinking he thought. He gambled again. 'Sissy, it'll be all right, I think. Just do a good job convincing the general that the quakes are real. Don't worry,' he added. Then Rourke let go of her hand and started ahead, the soldiers falling in ranks around him. He saw the squad leader from the corner of his eye, handing the twin Detonics pistols to Santiago. Rourke saw Natalia looking down at the guns in Santiago's hands, saw her lips move, saying something. Then Santiago— with almost ridiculous formality, Rourke thought— bowed and offered the pistols to Natalia. She took them, smiling, and for the first time he could hear her.
Natalia was laughing.
Chapter 39
Paul Rubenstein looked across the hood of the jeep, then at the florid-faced Tolliver beside him behind the wheel. 'That's a death camp,' Rubenstein said slowly, staring now past the hood of the jeep and to the lower ground and the road and the camp beyond it.
'The commandant has a reputation for being anti-Jewish.'
'They put an anti-Semite in charge of a detention camp in an area with a large Jewish population,' Rubenstein interrupted. 'Then they know what's going on, the Communist Cuban government.'
'Some say the commandant down there, Captain Guttierez, dislikes the Jews almost as much as the anti- Castro Cubans. He's been exterminating every one of them he can find.'
'Why have you waited to do something?' Rubenstein asked him.
'Simple— you'll see in a minute— look.' And Tolliver pointed over his shoulder.
Rubenstein, his palms sweating, turned around and looked behind the jeep. Tolliver's number-one man, Peddro Garcia, a free Cuban, had gone to get the rest of the Resistance force. Rubenstein's heart sank. Two men approximately his own age, a woman of about twenty and a boy of maybe sixteen.
Tolliver, his voice lower than Rubenstein had heard it before, sighed hard. 'That's why, Rubenstein. Two men, a woman, a boy, me, and Pedro— that's it. Now you. You still want to do this thing?'
Rubenstein turned around in the jeep's front passenger seat, started down over the hood toward the camp. 'Hell yes,' he rasped, the steadiness of his own voice surprising him. 'Yes I do.'
Rubenstein felt the ground shaking, then looked at Tolliver. The man said, 'Some little quakes like that have been coming the last week or so. Don't know why. This ain't earthquake country.'
The trembling in the ground stopped and Rubenstein simply said, 'Let's work out the details, then get started.'
'We're gonna wait until dark, right?' Tolliver queried.
Rubenstein thought a moment. He'd learned from Rourke to trust your vibes, your own sense and what they added up to, whatever the others felt. 'No... ' he began distractedly. 'No—
they won't expect an assault in daylight. I just don't think we've got the time to wait. We'll go soon.'
Rubenstein was still watching the camp. He wondered how soon was soon enough.
Chapter 40
Natalia walked from her room and along the railing overlooking the first floor of the house. She stopped, staring at nothing, thinking of Rourke. Santiago had been easy to read. She smiled to herself. The Communist Cuban general had used Varakov's warning of the impending natural disaster, the coming of Rourke and Sissy Wiznewski— all of it as an excuse to see some sort of plot. For that reason when he had sent his men to arrest Colonel Miklov and Miklov went for a gun, she had disarmed Miklov and turned him over to Santiago. This action had pleased Santiago; she had pleased Santiago. That she despised him— mentally shrank from his touch, from his stare— was nothing of which the Cuban was aware. He thought, she knew, that somehow he thrilled her. And so— she smiled at the thought— she was free, still armed and able to move. Sissy Wiznewski was in Santiago's office trying to convince him of the reality of the massive quake. Rourke and Miklov were imprisoned in the basement that had been converted to accommodate prisoners Santiago personally wished to interrogate— and to torture.
She smoothed her hands against her thighs, then reached down to the floor beside her booted feet for the large black purse. She opened it, then looked inside. Her own COP .357
Magnum four-shot derringer pistol, the two stainless steel .45 automatics Rourke habitually carried, her lipstick, and a change of underwear— these items filled the bag.
Shrugging her shoulders, she turned from the railing and started down the stairs, smiling at the steward as he seemed to glide past Santiago's office doors. She stopped at the doors, the bag over her left shoulder, then knocked with her right hand. 'It is Natalia, Diego,' she said as sweetly as she could.
She heard an answering voice from inside, then opened the right-hand door and walked inside. Santiago stood, smiling. Sissy Wiznewski was already standing, the look on her face that of a schoolgirl who had just failed her most important final examination.
'This is all rubbish,' Santiago pronounced with an air of authority. 'This business of earthquakes is nothing more than a plot to cause us to evacuate Florida so Varakov's troops can invade here. You were wise to abandon your KGB friends and join us, my dear.'
Smiling, she walked across the room, glancing at the seismic chart on the conference table, then at the frightened eyes of Sissy Wiznewski. 'Yes,' she murmured, reaching down and kissing Santiago's cheek as he sat
