The man behind the gun was speaking rhetorically. Randi sensed he had already decided. He knew he needed nothing from her. Any ploy she might try now, any bargain she might offer, any attempted diversion would be recognized as sophistry. Randi reverted to silence.
“No, I suppose not.” The automatic lifted and aimed into her face.
“Wait.”
It was Kropodkin speaking. He was standing at his uncle’s shoulder, and his expression was one of smug cruelty. His flat, dark eyes ran the length of her body, slipping under her clothes.
The faintest spark of hope gleamed.
“Do we have to be so fast with this one? We have a long, cold night ahead of us, Uncle. It would be a waste.”
That faint spark of hope flared as a hint of thoughtful consideration crept into the big man’s eyes. The muzzle of the automatic lowered to Randi’s chest, brushing lightly against the fabric of her sweater, slowly tracing the outlines.
Randi knew she was an attractive, even a beautiful, woman. Sex and seduction had been useful tools in her agent’s kit, and she had no problem with employing them. But any overt coquetry on her part now would blow the fragile potential. This man was not a fool. Still, Randi inhaled slowly, a deep breath that lifted and subtly offered her full breasts.
“Yes, Stefan. This one might be worth enjoying a bit,” the red-haired man murmured.
Very carefully Randi metered a hint of fear into her expression, the promise of a chink in her iron control. Fear and vulnerability would be an aphrodisiac to men such as this. They would react to it in the way a shark would react to a drop of blood in the water. The one chance might be the briar patch tactic.
Come on, you bastards! You want it! Screw me before you kill me!
Existence balanced on a razor edge.
“Yes, a waste.” The automatic sank away from her chest and disappeared into the pocket of the parka. “Recreational facilities are decidedly lacking on this misbegotten rock. Remember this, Stefan. You must always look to the morale of your employees. Our men would not forgive us for denying them this charming lady’s company.” The big man reached up and playfully patted Randi’s bruised cheek. “Take her back to the bunkhouse and keep her secured until this evening. Work must come before pleasure.”
Randi pretended to crack, registering an expression of sick horror. Inwardly, she exulted. They had thought with their glands instead of their brains. They were only a bunch of thugs, after all. Thugs on a world-class scale, perhaps, but thugs nonetheless. They had made a mistake a real pro outfit would never have made. They had allowed another pro to remain alive. She must now make them pay for that folly.
Wednesday Island Station had undergone a population boom. Anton Kretek had brought in a twenty-man security and technical team aboard his Halo. Now that crew was hard at work securing the mammoth helicopter against the weather and establishing a sentry perimeter.
With matters dealt with inside the laboratory hut, Anton Kretek made a tour of inspection, ensuring that his detailed ops plan was being followed to the letter. He could still make this thing work-he was certain of it, even in the face of the niggling interference of the Western security agencies-but the margin for error would be small.
His dead sister’s son crunched through the layering snow at his side. Kretek was pleased with how things had worked out with him. Stefan had been a wild one a few years back. Kretek had once despaired over the boy. No discipline. No common sense, like so many of them these days.
It had been bad enough when Stefan had knifed that German student over some tourist girl in Belgrade, but he had cut the girl’s throat as well. There was no putting a fix in for that. Kretek had expended a great deal of time and trouble in spiriting the boy out of Europe and getting him established under a new identity in Canada.
But the boy had made amends with this current coup. He had acquitted himself well, and perhaps there would be a place for him in the business after all. An heir.
Stefan squinted through the growing sweep of wind-driven snow. “We’re awfully open here, Uncle. The American spy satellites could spot this activity.”
Kretek nodded to himself, pleased. The lad was thinking. Yes, he had come a long way. “Let them look all they like. This was one of the reasons we delayed our arrival. We had to get the timing and the weather just right. We had to squeeze in just ahead of this next storm front. Now the flying conditions are impossible everywhere between us and the Canadian coast. No one can get at us.”
“But it must clear sometime.”
“Very true, Stefan. There should be a break in the weather tomorrow morning, in fact. But in this part of the world the weather breaks from the north. We will be able to take off first. I have my best explosives men with me, and they have ribbon charges already cut to fit the bulkheads of a TU-4. I have also obtained a set of schematics for the biowarfare system, and I have had a lift harness made to fit the anthrax reservoir.
“Tomorrow morning we will fly to the crash site and open up that aeroplane like an oyster. Then we will pluck out the pearl and be on our way. It should take only half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes at the most. By the time the authorities arrive, we will be gone.”
“Where do we go from here, Uncle?”
“I have three refueling sites established in isolated areas across northern Canada. We will stage through them to reach Hudson Bay, flying at treetop altitude to evade the NORAD radar. In Hudson Bay we will rendezvous with an Icelandic trawler. The helicopter will go to the bottom of the sea, and we sail for the mid-Atlantic. There, we will transfer the reservoir to one of the group ships and we will dispose of the trawler and its crew. After that, we are free and clear. We need only decide if we should sell our prize in bulk to one buyer or if there is more money to be made breaking it down into penny packets.”
Kropodkin laughed and clapped Kretek on his shoulder. “The old wolf always has a plan.”
“Yes, but this time it was the sharp-nosed cub who sniffed out the prey.” Kretek peered intently into the eyes of the younger man. “You are sure the investigation team didn’t have the opportunity to get out a radio report on the situation here?”
“I am certain. The transmitter they brought with them did not have the power to penetrate the solar flare, and I had sabotaged the station set. It was a close thing. Very close, but they didn’t radio out.”
Kretek nodded. “This is good. As far as the outside world knows, the investigation team and the crew from the science station might still be here in the camp. The Americans won’t risk cruise missiles or radar bombing through the storm if it might kill hostages. That was the last thing we had to fear.”
“I’m not quite so sure, Uncle.” Kropodkin glanced back toward the laboratory hut. One of Kretek’s guards was dragging the body of Dr. Trowbridge out into the snow. Another was herding a handcuffed Randi Russell toward the bunkhouse. “We still have the other members of the American investigation team loose on the island. If they are anything like that bitch, they could be trouble.”
Kretek shrugged. “Pish, pish, pish! Three are only three. Worry about things worth worrying about. If they come stumbling back into camp tonight, we will kill them. If they are still up at the crash site tomorrow morning, we will kill them there. If they choose to hide from us somewhere on the island, let them hide. They are nothing as long as they do not interfere with us.”
“All but that one.” Kropodkin nodded toward Randi. “She is something to me.” His voice was tight and as cold as the polar winds.
“I can understand that. You will be the first in her tonight. You are owed that.” Kretek gave his nephew a bearlike cuff. “Just see you leave plenty for the rest of us,” he continued boisterously. “Remember, you are a member of the firm now. Fair shares for all.”