Firefox Down

She moved closer to Gant. Priabin's eyes blazed as she seemed to touch the American.

'I'm all right,' she announced, now rubbing her injured arm. 'I'm all right, Dmitri — '

'I'm sorry,' he said, shamefaced.

'OK, that's fine, real fine. Now, what do we do with him? If we leave him here, he'll call the Border Guard just as soon as he can. If we take him, he'll turn me in the first chance he gets — and that will mean he screws things up for you, too, Anna.'

'No,' Priabin protested sullenly.

'Wake up to the fact that I'm the only real chance she has of walking free of this whole mess!' Gant snapped angrily. 'You let us cross the border, and she'll be able to come back to you. Your way — she hasn't a prayer.'

Priabin's face gleamed with hatred. He could not accept Anna as a gift of the American. He was not calculating, not operating, in any kind of professional capacity. He wanted to kill Gant, but it was because of Anna. He blamed the American for everything. The killing of Gant would be some kind of cleansing ritual; either that, or it would prove his manhood or keep his mistress or ensure their safety. Whatever the reason, the death of Gant was inextricably tangled with any solution he envisaged. Perhaps he wanted Gant dead as much as he wanted Anna safe.

'Dmitri, let us go,' Anna pleaded, almost leaning into the car. 'Please let us go. It has to be this way — I have to be free of them-!'

Gant was shocked at the depth of bitterness in her words. However, he addressed Priahin in a tone of laconic threat. 'Well, Dmitri, speak up. You heard the lady. Will you let us go?' Priabin did not reply, did nof even look at Gant. Gant said to Anna, 'Will he let us go? Can you really believe he won't try to kill me?'

She glanced round at him, as if invited to participate in a betrayal. Then she shook her head. 'No,' she sobbed.

'Then he's a damn fool!' Gant snapped and strode swiftly to the window of the car. Priabin flinched. Anna made as if to cry out. Gant struck Priabin across the temple with the barrel of the Makarov. The Russian slumped away from the window, across the seat.

'No — !' Anna cried, gripping the sill, stumbling against Gant.

'He's alive! It just gives us time.'

'Dmitri — '

'Get into the car and listen to his heartbeat if you don't believe me!'

'No, no, I believe you…' she mumbled. 'Thank you, thank you.'

'Don't waste time. Let me get him out of the car — he won't freeze in this coat.' Grunting with effort as he spoke, Gant hauled Priabin out of the car and dragged him into the shelter of a heavy, snow-laden bush. Anna walked beside him, her eyes never leaving Priabin's face. When Gant lowered the unconscious Russian, she knelt by him. Gant watched her stroke the young man's face, gently touching the swelling on his temple. He walked away. The whole attitude of her body, the look on her face, was too much like prayer. 'Are you coming?' he asked in an almost fearful tone.

He turned to look at her. She was still kneeling beside the unconscious Priabin. She touched his face slowly, gently. Then she stood up.

'He will be all right?'

'Just a headache.'

'There is no other way, is there?'

'No. No sure way except coming with me.'

'Will he believe that?' she asked, glancing down at Priabin again.

'I can't answer that.'

'I don't believe he will…' She shrugged, and walked away from Priabin towards Gant. 'But I have no choice — do I?'

'No, you don't,' he replied softly.

They reached the car and Gant opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in slowly and reluctantly, her face turning immediately to Priabin's body. He slammed the door and walked round to the driver's side. He brushed snow from his hairpiece, from the shoulders and knees of his clothing, then sat heavily in the driver's seat.

Harris had left the keys in the ignition. Gant had checked his pockets when he found the body, thrown into a snow-filled ditch near the telephone box.

'Christ,' he breathed, remembering his shock on finding Harris's body and instantly realising who had killed him. 'Why the hell did he do it? How could he be so blind?' He shook his head, his hands fiercely gripping the steering wheel.

'I don't know — love?' Anna said.

'Crazy — '

'Yes, love.' She was nodding to herself, confirming her analysis.

Gant looked at her. 'Have you got the nerve to cross the border without Harris? If he's expected along with us, then we'll have to bluff it out — he fell ill in Leningrad, something like that… we're angry at being delayed and having to cross the damn border in the middle of the night for talks early tomorrow. Can you do that?'

She nodded. 'Yes, I can do that.'

'OK. We have ten miles' rehearsal time. We might just make it before that crazy bastard wakes up.'

'Do you understand why he did it?'

'It doesn't matter — '

'It does! He's a murderer. I have to find a reason for that.'

'OK…'

'Harris and you — you were taking me away from him. He didn't believe I would come back…' She choked back a strange, crumpled, defeated sound in her throat, but she could not prevent tears from rolling down her pale cheeks. Gant flicked on the windscreen wipers. The view cleared of slush. The wipers squeaked across half-ice. 'He didn't believe…' she repeated, but the words were submerged. She shook her head violently, as if to clear it. 'He didn't…' Her voice was awed, and profoundly disappointed.

'And killing me makes everything right, uh?'

'Yes,' she replied, staring through the windscreen at the steadily falling snow. 'You are to blame. You have to be to blame. If you are to blame for everything that has happened to us, then I am not to blame and Dmitri is not to blame… but, especially me. I would be to blame for nothing, nothing at all…'

'It doesn't matter.' He glanced back at Priabin's unmoving form. 'We might just make it, even without Harris.' he announced, switching on the engine.

* * *

With the assistance of a Norwegian radio operator, Curtin was engaged in a long, wearying, intense conversation with the senior engineering officer, the station commander, and the pilot of the Hercules Aubrey had commandeered, at Bardufoss. Aubrey himself was using the high-speed communications system to talk to Shelley in London.

Aubrey was pleased with himself, with the situation, with the progress they had made. In a little more than two hours, he had put his shoulder to the great wheel of circumstances, and had managed to move it. He was tired, but felt elated. Later, he knew he would collapse, like a cliff sliding slowly into the sea. But not yet, not while things remained to be done.

'I shall be telling Director Vitsula that Gant is required in Oslo immediately for a full debriefing. In fact, he will be brought here. You do have the Harrier, Peter?'

Aubrey waited while his message was transmitted via geostationary satellite to Shelley in Century House, overlooking the river. Then the tapes gathered Shelley's reply at high speed, rewound, and spoke.

There was amusement in Shelley's voice, too, as he said, 'Yes, sir, we have a Harrier. It's already en route to Oslo, thence to Helsinki to collect Gant. Allied Forces, South Norway, will inform you of the aircraft's arrival. Won't Vitsula think it just a little suspicious that you had a Harrier collect Gant rather than something that can't land at the lake?'

There was a short pause in the message, but the operator knew that Shelley had not finished.

'There's quite a bit more yet, sir,' he informed Aubrey.