Part 13 (1/2)
”I will handle this, Krasny,” the major said. ”Take your men aside.”
The major approached the truck cab. Standing just a yard or so from (he side of the door, his height was such that she knew he could watch her every move-if she went for her gun.
”Sarah, wasn't it?”
”Yes, Major-Sarah,” she nodded, feeling somehow more tired than she had ever felt. ”You caught me,” she said, looking at his face.
”I think about you-a great deal. They are lovely children. They are yours?”
”Yes. They are. They had nothing to do with-”
”Have you a husband, Sarah? I was curious.”
”Yes. I'm trying to reach a friend's farm and maybe he'll find me there.”
”Does he love you-to let you go around the countryside like this?”
”He was away the Night of the War. He must have tried to get back. I know he's searching for us. I've met a man who told me-that John was still alive-was looking for us.”
”John-a st.u.r.dy name.” He smiled. ”It is my name- in Russian, of course.
Ivan. This John-you love him?”
”Yes,” she answered.
”Then there is nothing I can do.” He smiled.
”Major, I didn't-”
”You have a gun under your right thigh. You would shoot me?”
”If I had to,” she said, surprised at the firmness of her voice.
”Then you are stronger than I am. I could bring you no harm. What is the Americanism-weare even, now?” He turned and called out something Russian.
Almost immediately, the ranks of men in front of her blocking the truck, blocking her escape, began to fan apart.
”You're letting me-”
”Yes. Am I not stupid, though?” He smiled.
”I don't even know your na-”
”Maj. Ivan Borozeni, madam . . . Sarah. Literally, at your service.” He stepped farther back from the truck and saluted her. ”One fighter to another, then. And what is the expression? G.o.dspeed-you and the children.”
Sarah looked at him a moment, then whispered, so that only he could hear it, ”I'll pray for you.”
Borozeni nodded, then smiled. ”And I, you, madam.”
Sarah popped the clutch and started the truck ahead; she was crying.
Ishmael Varakov stepped from the back of hi; limousine to walk across the airport runway surface. The V-STOL aircraft's engines were maddeningly loud, his feet ached and his belly felt constrained with his uniform blouse b.u.t.toned.
He walked toward a dark blue Cadillac, stopping for an instant to glance once again at the V-STOL aircraft. He watched as the remainder of the cargo was put aboard- Natalia's things.
He started walking again, stopping beside the rear door of the Cadillac, the driver-an Army corporal-saluting, Varakov returning it. The driver opened the rear door on the driver's side and as Varakov stepped inside, he looked at the man. ”Go talk with my driver-about women or something.”
Varakov slammed the door shut behind him.
In the far corner of the back seat, looking frightened for the first time since he had seen her last as a little girl, sat Natalia Tiemerovna. Next to her-between himself and her-sat a young man, about Natalia's own age, but already with dark thinning hair above a high forehead. He wore gla.s.ses, wire-rimmed, and as Varakov settled his bulk in the seat beside him, the young man pushed the gla.s.ses off the bridge o( his nose.
”What the h.e.l.l do you want with me?”
”Impertinent young man, aren't you?” Varakov smiled. ”Here-if you promise not to shoot me with it yet.' Varakov reached into his briefcase and took out the worn Browning High Power that belonged toRubenstein. He rammed the magazine up the magazine well, then snapped back the slide of the pistol.
He lowered the hammer over the loaded chamber and handed the pistol into Rubenstein's hands, which were opening and closing, balling in and out of fists.
”I told you,” Natalia murmured. ”My uncle is a man to trust . . . not to-”
Rubenstein looked at her and she fell silent. Then he turned to Varakov.
”What do you want-General?” The younger man almost spat the word.
”You don't like Russians-let me guess. But you like Natalia, my niece.
Doesn't that strike you as odd, young man?”
”I know her and-”
”You would be a terrible debater. It would then follow that once you got to know me, you would like me, wouldn't it? Logically, I mean?” Varakov felt himself smile.
Natalia laughed, a little laugh. Varakov liked her voice. It reminded him at times of that of her mother. ”Well, will you listen to me, young man?
For I need your help. Natalia needs your help; she doesn't know it yet.
She is leaving here-for an extended stay.”
”Uncle?”
”I had Catherine pack your things; they are aboard that aircraft out there.” Varakov gestured behind him. ”Everything.”
Varakov looked at Rubenstein, then past him at Natalia. ”You are both so young. It is the young who always risk for the errors of the old-like me.
I have learned something of paramount importance-to your friend John Rourke, something which I must discuss with John Rourke in person. It is of importance to him and-”
”Tm not bringing John into a trap,” Rubenstein snapped, his right fist tightening on the b.u.t.t of the pistol he held.
”Two questions. Would Natalia knowingly do Rourke harm?”
”Of course not,” Rubenstein told him.