company of the Soviet ambassador.
Guards in the next corridor. He could hear the nervous words flickering between them like gamblers' bids. He strode around the last corner. Carpet, suddenly, not linoleum. Petrunin's KGB suite of offices. He glanced out of the tinted windows along one wall of the corridor. The guards had their noses pressed against the glass like children at a fairground.
'Back to your posts!' he snapped.
Troops were running across the light-mossed, snowy lawn towards the main embassy building. One of them fell, killed by a bullet which could have come from either side. Other soldiers scuttled beneath the idling rotors of the MiL-8 transport towards the KGB building.
Three minutes.
The soldiers had already sullenly shuffled back to their posts, almost forming a ceremonial guard for inspection as he passed down the corridor to the main double doors at the end. One guard, two, three, four—
'Sir — there's no admittance,' the fourth guard offered, unslinging his Kalashnikov from his shoulder.
Hyde turned and glared at him. He pointed at his forehead and cheek.
'Do you think I've come for the coffee?' he asked. 'Comrade Colonel Petrunin wants a full report on the situation at the gates. I was at the gates, unlike you lucky bastards! Understand! You want to delay my report to the Comrade Colonel?'
'No, sir.'
'Then step aside. And don't admit anyone else, not until you've seen the proper authority.'
'Sir.'
Hyde passed swiftly on before he could be asked for papers he did not possess. He knocked once, loudly and peremptorily, on the double doors then opened one of them and slipped into the ante-room, his hand fiddling with the holster flap over the butt of the Makarov pistol.
A male secretary on the telephone glanced up immediately, his only concern his inability to identify the features partially disguised by the cuts and bruising. One hand reached into the top drawer of his desk. His left hand still held the telephone. He continued his urgent request for more back-up.
Then the Stechkin automatic came above the level of the desk and the telephone was ignored, and Hyde shot him twice, the Makarov still pressed against his hip. The secretary ducked under the table, as if looking for coins he had dropped. The telephone receiver followed him with a clatter.
Hyde swiftly crossed the carpeted, comfortably furnished ante-room to Petrunin's door. Petrunin, in his present circumstances, would be as alert as a cat. How many of them were in the room, how many guns—?
He wrenched at the handle of the door, felt resistance, then flung his shoulder against it, aware of the hollow, soft stomach he presented to any bullet fired through the door. There was a muffled cry and he stepped through, closing the door behind him with his heel. It slammed shut like a call to attention.
Hyde's eyes took in the room.
Petrunin was alone. In uniform, looking much older, much more cunning. Spreadeagled by Hyde's thrust against the door, he had raised himself to a sitting position on a circular, rumpled Chinese rug. Highly polished wooden floor, Afghan, Persian, Indian rugs and wall-hangings. Exotic. Not Western.
Petrunin was looking at him. And at the Makarov levelled at his stomach by a young lieutenant with his back pressed against the door. There was something familiar…?
'Good morning, Comrade General Petrunin,' Hyde said in English and he could not help, even though his body was shaking with reaction and his voice had quavered, indulging in an almost boyish grin.
'Hyde, Hyde.' was all Petrunin said. And then once more:
CHAPTER NINE:
The Prisoners
'Hyde,' Petrunin repeated once more, then added: 'You've come a long way.'
He exuded an easy, false confidence as he sat on the rug, almost as if welcoming a guest to some casual, even exotic party. Hyde remained with his back against the door. There was no sound from outside, but he was intensely aware of the dead body of the secretary behind his desk. Anyone who entered the outer room—
'Comrade General Petrunin,' Hyde acknowledged, hearing the noise of a second helicopter approaching.
Through the long window behind Petrunin's desk, he could see people being hurried by greatcoated soldiers towards the first helicopter. The ambassador, a dark coat thrown over his pyjamas, waded through the patchy snow in large fur boots, a woman clutching a dressing-gown around her followed him. He had less than ten minutes by the timetable they had agreed before the raid. He had little more than a minute in this office before Petrunin's rescuers arrived.
Petrunin got up slowly, casually. He appeared unafraid. 'You seem to have entangled yourself in the web quite willingly,' the Russian observed, flicking the rug's fringe into greater order with the toe of his right boot. Hyde watched the man's eyes and hands and the shape and intention of his body.
Beyond Petrunin, the rescued figures were clambering or being pushed into the interior of the MiL helicopter. The noise of approaching rotors was louder now.
'Time for us to go,' Hyde said.
'Of course. Then we can walk into those who have come for me.' He pointed to the window. 'Rescuing the ambassador is a matter of correct form — the helicopter has, in reality, come for me. There is no way out for you.'
'Perhaps — come on.'
Petrunin smiled but did not move. The room was overhot. The central heating purred and clicked. Petrunin contemplated his desk. Then he turned on Hyde.
'Why are you here?'
Hyde grinned. 'You know I'll kill you, don't you,' he said. It was not a question. 'You know I'd have killed you in Australia because I knew I should have killed you in England. You're sure of it.'
'And that is why you're here?' Petrunin was watching for signs of growing impatience. Yet he was also troubled.
Hyde shook his head. 'I'm here because of
Petrunin laughed aloud. 'Then they've done it—?' he asked excitedly. 'I wondered, when I saw that Aubrey… but, it's
'Come on.'
'There's no way out for you.'
'Nor for you. I'll kill you, if it comes to it. You know that — quickly now!'
Hyde moved closer, his eyes intently watching Petrunin's face as he brushed his hand over the man's jacket, his torso. Then he moved carefully behind the Russian, touching along the line of his belt, then brushing his back. Petrunin had no weapon. Hyde gestured to the door with the Makarov, and Petrunin hesitated only for a moment, then collected his greatcoat from the rack and picked up his cap and gloves from a small table. He passed with assured nonchalance out of his office, Hyde close behind him, the Makarov drawn as if for Petrunin's protection.
A guard blundered into the outer office. From his position, Hyde could see the secretary's legs, despite the cover of the desk. The guard saluted. Hyde closed on Petrunin, touching the small of his back with the barrel of the Makarov. Then he stepped quickly away again.
'Is my escort here?' Petrunin demanded.
'Yes, Comrade Colonel—!'
Petrunin's shoulders twitched at the mention of his present rank, as if it pained him that Hyde was present to witness his reduced circumstances.
'Then get on with it. Get out of the way!'
The guard's face was white, thin. He held the door open. Hyde motioned him away from it and slammed it
