took over a minute as the night shattered yet again with volleys of rifle fire. Bondarenko took jive and ran down the building's main first-floor corridor and out the other side.
He couldn't tell if there'd been a breakthrough, or if the men here were also falling back-again he had to hold fire because both sides were identically uniformed. Then one of those running toward the building fired, and the Colonel went to one knee and dropped him with a five-round burst. More appeared, and he nearly fired until he heard their shouts.
'Nashi, nashi!' He counted eight. The last of them was the sergeant, wounded in both legs.
'Too many, we couldn't-'
'Get inside,' Bondarenko told him. 'Can you still fight?'
'Fuck, yes!' Both men looked around. They couldn't fight from the individual rooms. They'd have to make their stand in the corridors and stairwells.
'Help is on the way. A regiment is coming down from Nurek if we can hold on!' Bondarenko told his men. He didn't tell them how long it was supposed to take. It was the first good news in over half an hour. Two civilians came downstairs. Both carried rifles.
'You need help?' Morozov asked. He'd avoided military service, but he had just learned that a rifle wasn't all that hard to use.
'How are things up there?' Bondarenko asked.
'My section chief is dead. I took this from him. Many people are hurt, and the rest are as terrified as I am.'
'Stay with the sergeant,' the Colonel told him. 'Keep your head, Comrade Engineer, and we may yet live through this. Help's on the way.'
'I hope the bastards hurry.' Morozov helped the sergeant-who was even younger than the engineer-go to the far end of the corridor.
Bondarenko put half of his men at the stairwell and the other half by the elevators. It was quiet again. They could hear the jabbering of voices outside, but the shooting had died down for the moment.
'Down the ladder. Carefully,' Clark said. 'There's a cross-member at the bottom. You can stand on that.'
Maria looked with disgust at the slimy wood, doing as she was told like a person in a dream. Her daughter followed. Clark went last, stepped around them, and got into the boat. He untied the ropes and moved the boat by hand underneath where the women were standing. It was a three-foot drop.
'One at a time. You first, Katryn, Step down slowly and I'll catch you.' She did so, her knees wobbling with doubt and fear. Clark grabbed her ankle and pulled it toward him. She fell into the boat as elegantly as a sack of beans. Maria came next. He gave the same instructions, and she followed them, but Katryn tried to help, and in doing so moved the boat. Maria lost her grip and fell into the water with a scream.
'What is that?' someone called from the landside end of the pier.
Clark ignored it, grabbing the woman's splashing hands and pulling her aboard. She was gasping from the cold, but there wasn't much Clark could do about that. He heard the sound of running feet along the pier as he turned on the boat's electric motor and headed straight out.
'Stoi!' a voice called. It was a cop, Clark realized, it would have to be a damned cop. He turned to see the glimmer of a flashlight. It couldn't reach the boat, but it was fixed on the wake he'd left behind. Clark lifted his radio. 'Uncle Joe, this is Willy. On the way. The sun is out!'
'They may have been spotted,' the communications officer told Mancuso.
'Great.' The Captain went forward. 'Goodman, come right to zero-eight-five. Move her in toward the coast at ten knots.'
'Conn, sonar, contact bearing two-nine-six. Diesel engine,' Jones's voice announced. 'Twin screws.'
'Will be KGB patrol frigate-Grisha, probably,' Ramius said. 'Routine patrol.'
Mancuso didn't say anything, but he pointed to the fire-control tracking party. They'd work up a position on the seaward target while Dallas moved into the coast at periscope depth, keeping her radio antenna up.
'Nine-seven-one, this is Velikiye Luki Center. Turn right to new course one-zero-four,' the Russian voice told Colonel von Eich. The pilot squeezed the microphone trigger on his wheel.
'Say again, Luki. Over.'
'Nine-seven-one, you are ordered to turn right to new heading one-zero-four and return to Moscow. Over.'
'Ah, thank you, Luki, negative, we are proceeding on a heading of two-eight-six as per our flight plan. Over.'
'Nine-seven-one, you are ordered to return to Moscow!' the controller insisted.
'Roger. Thank you. Out.' Von Eich looked down to see that his autopilot was on the proper heading, then resumed his outside scanning for other aircraft.
'But you are not turning back,' the Russian said over the intercom.
'No.' Von Eich turned to look at the man. 'We didn't leave anything behind that I know of.' Well
'But they ordered you-'
'Son, I am in command of this aircraft, and my orders are to fly to Shannon,' the pilot explained.
'But-' The Russian unsnapped his straps and started to stand up.
'Sit down!' the pilot ordered. 'Nobody leaves my flight deck without my permission, mister! You are a guest on my airplane, and you'll goddamned well do what I say!' Damn, it was supposed to be easier than this! He gestured to the engineer, who toggled off another switch. That shut off all the cabin lights in the aircraft. The VC- 137 was now totally blacked out. Von Eich keyed his radio again. 'Luki, this is niner-seven-one. We have some electrical problems aboard. I don't want to make any radical course changes until we have them figured out. Do you copy? Over.'
'What is your problem?' the controller asked. The pilot wondered what he'd been told as he gave out the next set of lies.
'Luki, we don't know just yet. We're losing electrical power. All our lights have gone bad. The bird is blacked out at the moment, say again we are running without lights. I'm a little worried, and I don't need any distractions right now.' That bought him two minutes of silence, and twenty miles of westward progress.
'Nine-seven-one, I have notified Moscow of your problems. They advise that you return at once. They will clear you for an emergency approach,' the controller offered.
'Roger, thank you, Luki, but I don't want to risk a course change right now, if you know what I mean. We're working to fix the problem. Please stand by. Will advise. Out.' Colonel von Eich checked the clock in his instrument panel. Thirty more minutes to the coast,
'What?' Major Zarudin asked. 'Who got on the airplane?'
'Chairman Gerasimov and an arrested enemy spy,' Vatutin said.
'On an American airplane? You tell me that the Chairman is defecting on an American airplane!' The officer commanding the airport security detail had taken charge of the situation, as his orders allowed him to do. He found that he had two colonels, a lieutenant colonel, a driver, and an American in the office he used here-along with the craziest damned story he'd ever heard. 'I must call for instructions.'
'I am senior to you!' Golovko said.
'You are not senior to my commander!' Zarudin pointed out as he reached for the phone. He'd been able to have the air traffic controllers try to recall the American plane, but it had not come as a surprise to his visitors that it had decided not to turn.
Ryan sat perfectly still, barely breathing, not even moving his head. He told himself that as long as they didn't get too excited he would be completely safe. Golovko was too smart to do anything crazy. He knew who Jack was, and he knew what would happen if an accredited member of a diplomatic mission to his country was so much as scratched. Ryan had been scratched, of course. His ankle hurt like hell, and his knee was oozing blood, but he'd done that to himself. Golovko glared at him from five feet away. Ryan didn't return the look. He swallowed his fear and tried to look exactly as harmless as he was right now.
'Where's his family?' Vatutin asked.
'They flew to Talinn yesterday,' Vasiliy answered lamely. 'She wanted to see some friends?'
Time was running out for everyone. Bondarenko's men were down to less than half a magazine each. Two more were dead from grenades that had been tossed in. The Colonel had watched a private leap on one, ripped to shreds to save his comrades. The boy's blood covered the tile floor like paint. Six Afghans were piled up at the door.
