He stopped dead in his tracks. There were three dozen people in the room at the end of the hallway: men and women, some old, some Rourke's own age or so.
And Natalia was there, holding her tiny derringer pistol in her outstretched right hand. There were five Communist Cuban guards and one officer.
Rourke flattened himself against the wall of the corridor and inched ahead, trying to make something of the Spanish coming from inside the room. '... This is immaterial to me, senorita. Until a secure Cuban aircraft can be landed, these prisoners will remain with me. I do not care for the idea of shooting a KGB
officer, even a self-proclaimed one. However, if you do not, for the last time, step aside and leave this room immediately, my men will open fire. If you care so much for these American military personnel and their wives, then I should think you would not wish to risk their being killed while my men are shooting at you.'
Then Rourke's face creased into a smile. Natalia's quiet, alto voice, the Spanish perfect, began,
'Captain, aside from the fact that I outrank you, I also will shoot you in the face if you do not order your guards to put down their arms. Many of these people, if they ever were American military personnel, are likely retired. There is no real American military any more. Any purposes you might have to interrogate these people do not take precedence over the humane purpose of allowing them to be evacuated before this entire airfield is torn to pieces. Now,' she said as she gestured with the pistol, 'stand out of my way or die!'
Rourke shook his head, stepping away from the corridor wall, firing one of the Detonics pistols into an overstudded chair midway between where he stood and the entrance to the room at the end of the hall.
'Hold it— nobody moves!' he shouted in English, adding, 'Sus mannos arriba!'
The Communist Cuban officer did just what Rourke had hoped, and turned to face his new challenger. As the captain moved, Natalia moved, the pistol in her hand flush against the side of the officer's head.
'Now, Captain,' Rourke snapped in English. 'I believe the young lady asked you and your men to do something. Order your men to drop their guns. Now!'
Natalia, her voice low, in English this time, said, 'Or I will kill you, Captain.'
The captain didn't move for a long moment, Rourke holding both Detonics pistols on the five guards, their AK-47s still on line against him.
'Do as they say,' the officer shouted in Spanish. The guards then, one by one dropped their rifles to the floor.
'Now the pistol belts,' Rourke commanded.
The Cuban officer nodded, and his men began to drop their pistol belts to the floor.
'Natalia, take the Captain's pistol.'
Rourke started forward, the floor beginning again to shake under him. Rourke, jostled to the corridor wall, pushed himself to the doors of the room, then stepped inside, the shaking of the floor more violent. He looked at the Communist Cuban officer and muttered, 'If I had the time right now, I'd beat the shit out of you. You're going to wait for a Cuban plane to take you back with your prisoners. You think anybody out there cares if this whole peninsula goes into the sea?
Can you imagine the tidal wave that'll hit Havana?'
Rourke backhanded the Cuban officer across the mouth with his left hand, the pistol jammed into his belt. 'Idiot!' Rourke shouted.
'Come on,' he said, starting the nearest of the refugees through the doorway. Then he turned to the Cuban guards, two of them holding up the officer, his mouth bleeding at the left corner. 'You guys too—
no sense dying!'
There was a white-haired older man near him and Rourke snatched up one of the AK-47s, saying, 'Can you handle one of these, sir?'
'I sure can, son,' the old man said, prodding the muzzle at the nearest guard.
There was a sudden violent shaking of the ground beneath them, the walls of the building and the floor under their feet beginning to crack. 'Get out of here!' Rourke hollered, grabbing Natalia's hand and starting to run with her, the refugees behind them. Rourke, still holding Natalia's hand, turned the corner into the entrance hallway, the roof starting to cave in, Rourke bending into his stride and hitting the shattered doorway and running out onto the airfield. He shot a glance behind him, over his left shoulder. He could see the white-haired man, a woman with him, the rest of the refugees, and even the Cubans running for their lives.
Rourke scanned the runway from side to side. In the minutes spent inside the building, the volume of the rain had increased, the cracks in the runway surfaces had broadened, and all but a few of the planes had cleared the field. There seemed to be no more aircraft coming in for landing.
There was only one plane not in motion, the DC-3 Rourke and Sissy Wiznewski had originally landed in. Rourke recognized the markings. 'Over there!' Rourke shouted, starting to run toward it, still holding Natalia by the hand, one of the Detonics pistols in his right fist. The rain was falling so heavily he could barely see as he ran. He heard Natalia scream, turned and saw her falling. He caught her, the ground beneath them shaking so violently that Rourke too almost lost his balance.
He let go of the Russian girl's hand. He and Natalia helped the older refugees, some of the Cuban guards doing the same. The plane was still fifty yards away, Rourke gauged. And there was a crack, broadening almost imperceptibly, but expanding nonetheless. The crack was between them and the plane. Rourke started running again, helping an old woman across the field. There was only one plane on the field now, the DC-3, and one plane was landing. It was a twin-engine Beech-craft. Almost absentmindedly, Rourke noticed it from the corner of his right eye.
'Idiot,' he thought.
The old woman started to collapse. Her cheeks were red with the exertion. Rourke jammed the Detonics into his belt beside the first gun, then swept the old woman up into his arms, running as best he could, jumping over the crack in the runway.
His feet sloshed through the deep puddles, the wind lashing the rain against his face. He heard himself shouting as he saw the DC-3's cargo door starting to close. 'Wait! Wait! Don't leave!'
Then Rourke could see Natalia, just ahead of him, her dark hair plastered to the sides of her head, sprinting across the field, waving her arms toward the plane.
