down again.
As she drew her mouth away, she moved her left hand upward, the COP pistol in it, pressing the muzzle against Santiago's left temple. 'But, my General, it is true— and you will now do exactly as I say or the top of your head will soon decorate the ceiling above where you sit. For a small gun, I still have one of the most powerful .357 Magnum loadings in it— the 125-grain Jacketed Hollow Point. Do you know guns? A pity if you don't, but tests conducted for American police departments indicated this was perhaps the most effective .357 Magnum loading available. Want to see?'
Santiago turned his head slightly and she looked into his eyes, smiling. 'You tricked me,' he said.
'That, darling, should be obvious to even you,' she cooed. 'Now, you will call out to have Colonel Miklov sent up— immediately. The guards will wait outside the door for him. After Colonel Miklov arrives, I will free Rourke. Already, though, you will have issued orders to your commanders initiating the truce. And you will issue orders for the radio signal to be given that the U.S. II and Soviet planes may land, as well as issue orders to your line commanders to begin evacuating civilians. Including the concentration camp near the airport. Everyone. And, my dear Diego, if you are very good, you too can leave after everyone else has.'
She looked at Sissy Wiznewski and asked matter-of-factly, 'How soon?'
'The— the general said there had been some small earthquakes reported for the last five days around the area. I'd say it's a matter of hours, if that.'
Natalia smiled at the girl, then turned back to General Santiago. 'For your own sake, Diego, I sincerely hope there is enough time left.'
She pressed the muzzle of the COP pistol tight against his head. 'Make your first call, darling.'
Chapter 41
'What the hell is going on down there?' Tolliver snapped, dropping to the ground behind a palm trunk, Rubenstein dropping down beside him, the Schmeisser in his right hand.
'It looks like they're getting out of the camp— but why? What's going on?' Rubenstein riveted his eyes to the camp. The guards were running from their posts; the officers were running too. Rubenstein looked overhead. Planes of every description imaginable were filling the sky from the west. 'Those are American planes!'
'Commies use ones they found on the ground a lot.'
'No— they're coming from the west, maybe Texas or Louisiana.'
'You're dreamin' kid,' Tolliver snapped.
'No! Look— more of them!' The droning sound in the air was as loud as anything Rubenstein could ever recall having heard. The sky was filled, the ground darkening under the shadows of the aircraft. The ground began to tremble under him, but this time more violently than before.
Rubenstein stood up, Tolliver trying to pull him down, the young man shaking away Tolliver's hand. 'It's an earthquake. Some of those planes are landing.' He looked down toward the camp. The Cuban guards and officers were fleeing, the gates of the compound wide open.
'They're evacuating. There's gonna be an earthquake.'
'You're nuts, kid.'
Rubenstein looked down to Tolliver, started to say something, but then the ground shook hard and Rubenstein jumped away as a crack eighteen inches wide began splitting across the ground. Then a palm tree fell, just missing Pedro Garcia and the other Resistance people.
'A damned earthquake!'
As if to underscore Tolliver's shout, the ground began shaking harder, so hard Paul Rubenstein fell to the dirt on his hands and knees. 'Oh my God!' he said.
Chapter 42
John Rourke sat in the detention cell, his feet up on the edge of the cot, his eyes focused on the guard sitting at the far end of the cell just beyond the bars. Rourke mentally shrugged. He'd waited long enough. He palmed out the A.G. Russell black chrome Sting IA with his left hand. He had not been searched.
'Guard,' he rasped in English.
The Communist Cuban guard stood on the other side of the bars. 'Si?'
'That's perfect,' Rourke smiled. His left hand whipped forward, the Sting in his palm, point first, sailing from his hand, across the six feet or so to the wide bars, the shining black knife impacting square into the center of the guard's chest. Rourke was on his feet, diving toward the bars, his hands out, catching the guard before he fell and snatching the key ring. Rourke let the body fall to the basement floor as he reached around, fumbling for the right key. He found it and unlocked the cage, swinging the door out as far as it could with the body there, then going through.
He reached down, grabbing his knife, wiping the blade clean on the guard's uniform, then sheathing it. As he reached down for the Communist's AK-47, Rourke froze, a familiar voice behind him saying, 'Wait, John!'
Rourke turned, slowly rising to his full height. His eyes tightly focused on Natalia, every outline of her tall, lithe body visible under the black jumpsuit she wore. And in her hands were his twin Detonics pistols, the hammers back.
'Well what is it? You going to kill me?'
'Why did you kill Vladmir?'
Rourke saw no reason to lie— to lie wasn't his way. 'He was an animal, he would have killed you.'
'My uncle told you this?'
'Yes.' He hesitated. 'But it was something I could see. Did he hurt you?'
'In many ways.'
