That's when he saw her, coming out of an office whose doorway was only half visible through the clouds of mist. It looked like… Vera Karanova. She was striding directly toward them, intercepting Tanzan Mino's small procession.
"Where are you taking him?" She pointed toward Vance, glancing at his Red Star insignia, as she addressed the godfather in English.
"Are you attempting to interfere in my affairs now, too?" Tanzan Mino demanded as he paused to stare.
"I just want to know what it is you're doing," she replied.
"I am handling a problem," he said coldly as he examined her. "There is a traitor, or traitors, among the Soviets. I intend to find out who's involved."
"What do you mean?" An edge of nervousness entered her voice.
Vance was coming up. "Sorry I screwed up, Vera," he said in English. "So close yet so far. Somebody must have blown the whistle."
"You're not—" She stared as he lifted the visor of his flight helmet.
"But what the hell," he went on. "We gave it a shot. Nothing ventured, nothing—"
"We?" She examined him, puzzled.
"I suspected all along you could not be trusted." Tanzan Mino's calm facade seemed to crack as his face flushed with anger. "But I had no idea you would actually betray the entire project. Sabotage the vehicle."
"I don't know anything about sabotage." She clearly was startled, attempting to maintain calm in her voice. "If Vance has—"
"It appears I'm surrounded by treachery and traitors." His voice quavered as he stepped over to one of the kobun, then reached in and withdrew the 9mm Walther automatic from the man's shoulder holster. When he turned back, his eyes were opaque with anger and paranoia. He'd clearly snapped, lost it. "Mr. Vance, I want to know the names of everyone who was involved in this plot. Everyone. If I am satisfied you are telling the truth, then perhaps I will consider sparing your miserable life. Otherwise…"
He turned back to Vera. She was staring at the gun, her face ashen, not letting herself believe what her eyes were telling her. The white mists of the hangar swirled around them, creating ghostly shadows across the expressionless faces of the kobun.
"You made a very grave error in judgment," he was saying to her. "I don't yet know precisely what you were expecting to accomplish, but whatever it was, I can assure you I am not a man who tolerates disloyalty."
His expression was strangely distant as he raised the pistol and fired, one precise round, a dull thunk barely audible above the din of the hangar.
Vance watched in dismay as Vera Karanova stumbled backward, her dark eyes uncomprehending. It was a gangland-style execution, quick and preemptory, the time-honored way. No appeals or due process.
He'd been hoping merely to gain some time for Androv, not cause her to be murdered on the spot. Now Tanzan Mino turned to him, still gripping the pistol. His face was distorted in irrational fury. "Perhaps I made a mistake just now, Dr. Vance. What do you think?"
"Probably a pretty serious one."
"Yes, now that I reflect on it, I'm inclined to agree. The culprit we seized red-handed was you. You are the one I should be making an example of." He was raising the Walther again.
It began so quickly he almost didn't realize it was happening. From out of the swirl of mist that engulfed Daedalus /'s landing gear a white-haired old man appeared, grasping a pistol. Tanzan Mino turned to stare, just in time to hear him yelling — in Russian.
"Release him. Release my son. I order you." He was closing on the group, about twenty feet in front of them, brandishing the weapon uncertainly. Vance couldn't make out what caliber it was, but he doubted it mattered. Andrei Androv clearly had no idea how to use it. His was an act of desperation.
Then another realization clicked.
He said "my son." He thinks I'm Yuri.
Before anybody could move, a white pressure suit materialized out of the distant haze around Daedalus II. It was Yuri Androv, running toward his father, shouting. "Nyet! Don't—"
"Release him, I tell you." Andrei Androv didn't hear him as he continued to move menacingly on Tanzan Mino. The outcome was inevitable.
Vance ducked and rolled for the Personnel Module just as the kobun's line of H&K automatics flared.
Andrei Androv lurched, gray hair flying, and managed to get off two rounds. But instead of hitting a kobun, he caught one of the Mino Industries pilots, visor up, directly in the face.
Comrade Doktor Andrei Petrovich Androv, dean of Soviet propulsion technology, chief designer of the Daedalus, died instantly, his eyes still fixed in determination. However, Tanzan Mino's kobun weren't tidy. One of them squeezed off a couple more rounds just as Yuri Androv ran up and leaned over his father's crumpled body. With a groan, he spun around and staggered against the huge 22-ply tires of Daedalus I's starboard landing gear.
It still wasn't over. As Vance scrambled against the Personnel Module, he caught a glimpse of something that, faintly visible through the clouds of cryogenic fog, apparently was escaping everybody else. Another woman was standing in the door of the office where Vera Karanova had been. Holding an Uzi.
How had she managed to get her hands on that?
Not a second too soon. She can sweep the floor. Just get out of the way and give her an opening. Maybe there's still time.
He began scrambling for the base of the Personnel Module. Now the white mist was obscuring everything, and Tanzan Mino seemed to have enveloped himself in it. He was nowhere to be seen. However, his presence was not missed by his kobun, who were still taking care of business.
The next agenda item, Vance realized, was himself. As he tried to roll under the module, one was turning, raising his automatic…
Now Eva was yelling, "Michael, stay down."
The kobun all whirled back, but she was ready. Stock extended, full auto.
Jesus, he thought, that hood in the back is holding enough C-4 to clear a small arena. If she hits one of the detonators…
It was either a lucky or an unlucky shot. After eight rounds, less than a second's worth, a blinding ball of fire erupted where the kobun had been, sending a shock wave rolling through the open space of the hangar, knocking over technicians almost a hundred feet away. As Vance was slammed under the Personnel Module, out of the corner of his eye he saw Eva being thrown against the doorframe of the office. The air blossomed with the smell of deadly C-4, like acrid Sterno. Not for nothing did the U.S. military swear by it.
Now Yuri Androv was peeling himself off Daedalus II’s landing gear, his flight suit blackened and smudged. Blood from a bullet wound was running down the right sleeve.
They'll be coming for us all, Vance thought. Tanzan Mino's probably somewhere radioing for more guards right now.
Eva was stalking through the smoke, still grasping the Uzi.
"Michael, are you all right?"
"Hell of a morning." He was pulling himself out from under the Personnel Module, awkwardly trying to straighten his flight helmet. "You took out the palace guard, everybody but Mr. Big. Congratulations. And I thought CIA had a patent on that kind of operation."
Already emergency alarms had begun a high-pitched whine, blaring through the cavernous hangar. Everything around them was chaos.
"You know," she yelled above the noise, "he's going to kill us immediately. There's no way he's going to—"
"I figure we've got about two minutes to think of something," he yelled back and pointed. "Check on the pilot. His name is Androv."