“Yes,” Brook said. “It’s one of my boss’s aberrations.”
“Then you know that in a stalemate the board is cleared and a new game begun. There is no other choice. I will leave through that window. One hour from that moment you may report this. I must have your word.”
“I wouldn’t keep it. You know that.”
“Perhaps. I have the curious feeling you might.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Perhaps.”
They stood there, silent. Then Brook said reflectively, “That’s a report I wouldn’t like to make.”
“Embarrassment before your superiors, even punishment, is better than dying here, is it not?”
“You have a point, Alex.”
“It is more than fair. Under this arrangement the odds are all with you. You cannot possibly die, whereas even with an hour’s start I may well be caught anyway. So then you win the new game with a quick checkmate. I am taking all the risks. Your word, Peter.”
“Let me ask you, Alex,” Brook said. “Suppose our positions were reversed. Would you keep your word?”
The slightest frown appeared between the Russian’s heavy brows. “I am not sure. I should have to find myself in your position.”
“All right,” Brook said, “it’s a deal. You have my word. I suggest we both lower these pistols together, at the same time and rate, very slowly, and we’ll drop them—”
“Rather let us put them in our belts. I shall need this if I am to stand a chance of escaping.”
Brook shook his head. “Nothing doing, Alex. One of my people might be killed. You know I can’t agree to that.”
Krylov considered. Brook could only admire his calm. The Russian was in an all but impossible spot. “Very well,” Krylov said at last, “I concede. Are you ready?”
“Now,” Brook said.
It was a beautiful exercise in unison. Inch by inch the hands holding the weapons lowered. Neither man took his eyes off the other’s gun-hand. When the pistols were pointed at the floor Brook said, “We drop them now, Alex. At the count of three. One... two—”
That was the critical moment. Would Krylov try a shot? Brook was ready. But the General’s pistol dropped from Krylov’s hand. A breath later Brook’s followed.
“You did not trust me,” Krylov said reprovingly.
“That’s why I’m still alive.”
“You could have shot me.”
“I’m a fool, too.”
They almost smiled at each other. “That makes me feel better about my chances,” Krylov said. “However, I have still to get out of this room. I think, Peter, it would be more professional if I did not leave you with the pistol at your feet while I go to the window. Accompany me.”
They walked side by side to the window. Krylov glanced out and around quickly. Then he threw a leg over the sill.
“Goodbye, Peter.”
“Dasvidanya, Alex.”
Krylov was through the window and running. Brook stood there until the Russian was lost in the rolling sandhills among the piñon trees. He glanced fretfully at his watch. He was still undecided. Since when did a FACE agent’s word to the enemy mean a damn? It was downright treason, or would be so called by Holloway. Yet something held him back. Damn it all, he thought, I grew to like the bastard. Maybe I’ll give him ten minutes.
“Mr. Brook.”
He whirled. In a half-seated pose on the floor, leaning on an elbow, was General Levashev.
The old man was holding his bloody side. “I thought you were dead,” Brook said, running over. “Lie back, General. I’ll get a doctor.”
“It is painful, but only a flesh wound, I think,” the Russian said. “If you thought I was dead, so did Krylov. I did not dare let him know that he had missed a vital organ. He would have finished me off.”
“Don’t talk, General.” Brook ripped the old man’s shirt away. The bullet had drilled through the externus muscle in the fleshy part between the rib cage and the hip — messy, but hardly serious. “Is there a first-aid kit somewhere?”
“In the bathroom. It is off the hall.”
On his way Brook paused briefly to check the Filipino. There was no pulse in the carotid artery. The houseman was dead. When he got back with the kit he applied a dressing to the General’s wound, raised him, and helped him to the couch. Then he went to the telephone. Levashev was watching him. “Yes, I’m going to break my word to Krylov, General. It’s the only way I can get a doctor here.”
“I take it, Mr. Brook,” Levashev said, “that except for this you would have kept your word?”
“I haven’t had time to think about it,” Brook said shortly.
“I think that is not so,” the Russian said. “You are strange people, you Americans. Is this what your service teaches you? I am astonished.”
Brook did not reply. It was like being dressed down by Holloway. He was staring down at the dial.
“For the gatehouse,” Levashev said, “you dial nine.”
Brook shook himself alert. “I’ve got to call Washington first.” He took a breath and dialed a long series of digits.
“Special Projects Section.”
“Code Two,” Brook said.
“One moment, sir!”
“Yes?” Holloway’s voice, a knife made from an icicle.
“Brook. Is the wire secure?”
“One second.” There was a click. “Okay, scrambler on. What is it, Brook?”
“Krylov was sent to kill Levashev. He made a play, and there was a hassle. He wounded Levashev — not seriously — and got away.”
“You let him get away?” Holloway had digested the whole thing with the speed of a computer; as usual, he came up with the nitty-gritty.
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. I’ll be interested in the detailed report. How about you?”
“I’m all right.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Nobody but the General. I haven’t had time to call the guards, wanted to report this to you fast. I don’t see how Krylov can get away. Oh, yes. He killed the houseman.”
“He was no houseman. He belonged to our friends across the Potomac.”
“Well, he’s had it.”
“There’s something about this you’re not telling me, Brook. What is it?”
“You want my resignation, sir?”
“All right, all right,” Holloway said, to Brook’s surprise. “Hold it a minute.” Listening to the humming silence, Brook wondered what was going through that mind. “Maybe,” Holloway’s voice said slowly, “maybe this is the break I’ve been looking for. Yes, I think it is. Still in possession of your baggage?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t possibly have been dumb enough to let Krylov get in with a weapon. Did he use yours, or Levashev’s?”
“Levashev’s.”
“That’s what I figured. All right, Brook. Use that one.”
Brook was bewildered. “For what, Mr. Holloway?”
“To kill the General,” Holloway said.
Chapter 14
“Tell him what?” Brook said.
“I didn’t say tell. I said kill.”
“I see.” Brook didn’t see. Brook didn’t see anything. He thought he must be dreaming. At last he said, “Very funny.” Holloway cracking a joke?
“Brook, pay attention.” Brook could see him sitting there at his desk, a man so gray he drained the color out of his background, looking out at a world on which he had declared war through his North Atlantic eyes. “I want you to kill Levashev. Right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it in such a way as to make it look like Krylov’s work. Use the pistol he took from Levashev. The two bullets we’ll find in Levashev’s body will prove out from the same weapon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, hang up and do it.”
“Mr. Holloway—”