“Nick?”
“Right,” I said. “Take it easy and I’ll have you out of here in a minute.”
The handkerchief mask slipped away from my mouth as I carried Rona outside and let her down on the ground. I waited until my eyes cleared, then I went back after Gorodin.
I stepped over the quivering remains of Boris and into the second room of the shack. Empty. There was a board-covered window, but it had been smashed open. I peered out at the surrounding rocks, but saw no sign of Gorodin.
A distant yell from Rona jerked me away from the window. I charged back through the shack and out the front door. Gorodin was running down the short path between boulders toward the dock where the cabin cruiser was tied. As I came through the door, he whirled and fired at me with a long-barreled Erma pistol. His bullet tugged at my sleeve, just enough to spoil my aim as I squeezed off two answering shots. One of them caught the cruiser’s fuel tank, and the boat went up with a mightly whoomph as Gorodin flung himself off the path and into the protecting rocks.
I knelt beside Rona. “Can you walk?”
“I–I think so.”
“Stay right behind me, then. I have a boat tied up on the other side of the island. It won’t be easy going, and Gorodin’s out there somewhere with a gun.”
“You lead, Nick,” she said. “I’ll make it”
I peeled off my shirt and gave it to Rona, not for modesty’s sake, but because it was almost the color of the rocks, and would camouflage her white skin. My own hide was sun-bronzed enough to keep from being such an obvious target. With Rona behind me I picked my way back over the jagged rocks in the direction of my boat, painfully alert for the slightest sound or movement.
There was just one narrow ridge of rock between us and the boat when I saw it — a glint of metal in the sun. Whirling, I threw Rona heavily to the ground and dropped flat beside her just as the flat crack of the Erma pistol shattered the silence and gravel spurted two feet in front of us.
“Stay flat,” I hissed at Rona and aimed with the Luger at the spot where I had seen the flash of the gun barrel. I fired once, twice.
Gorodins arm and shoulder appeared around a boulder and he let off a wild shot that pinged off the rocks over our heads. I fired back and heard the Russian cry out in pain as my slug ripped his forearm.
Careless now, Gorodin shifted his position to examine his wound, and threw a perfect shadow on the facing boulder. Apparently he wasn’t hurt seriously, for I saw the shadow clench and unclench its right hand, then take the pistol again and creep higher on the rocks for a shot.
When Gorodin’s head came into view, I was ready with the Luger centered. I squeezed the trigger. The hammer snapped on an empty chamber. I’d used two clips of ammunition and didn’t have another.
The Russian got his shot off but, hampered by the bullet wound, his aim was poor, and he ducked back out of sight.
I scanned the jagged rocks around us for a spot that would provide better cover. Ten yards back the way we had come was a coffin-shaped cavity.
Mouth to Rona’s ear, I whispered, “When I tell you, get up and run for that hole back there. Move fast and keep down.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Gorodin was up and taking aim again. “Go!” I said softly. Rona leaped out, ran in a crouch, stumbled, and plunged into the niche as a bullet bit off a chunk of boulder inches from the opening.
I scrambled to my feet and followed her. As I dived for the shallow pocket, a bullet burned my shoulder and thudded into the dirt. I tumbled into the sheltered space and felt the sticky wetness of blood where I had been creased.
“You’re hit!” Rona said.
“Just barely.”
From beyond came the voice of Gorodin, who might now have guessed why I wasn’t returning his fire. “Carter, can you hear me? One more like that will finish you! Come out with your hands up!”
After a few seconds of silence, there were two more shots. One of the bullets found our narrow opening and, ricocheting back and forth, spattered us with chips of rock.
Leaning close to Rona, I whispered, “Next time he fires, scream.”
She nodded in understanding, and at the next gunshot gave an agonized shriek. I gave her the “okay” sign and waited.
“All right, Carter,” Gorodin bellowed. “Come out or the woman will die!”
“I can’t!” I shouted back, making my voice tight with pain. “I’m hit and the woman is badly wounded. Let her go and I’ll make a deal with you.”
“I think you are out of bullets, too, eh. Throw your gun away; then we will talk.”
I smeared blood from my wound into Rona’s hairline and down her face, set her in position on her back and told her what to do. Then I called to Gorodin and tossed the gun out.
When I heard Gorodin approaching, I turned on my belly and lay hunched and still. The sound of Gorodin’s heavy footsteps crunched to a halt above us. After a beat of silence, Gorodin said, “Out, Carter, out!”
Then Rona said weakly, “He — he’s unconscious.”
“Perhaps not,” Gorodin growled. “Let me see if he is only faking.”
His gun exploded just above me and a bullet scattered soil and rock chips an inch from my head. His words had signaled the gimmick, and I didn’t move a muscle.
A shadow fell across the rocks. I saw it from the corner of my eye as he bent over me. I knew he had the gun in his fist, carefully leveled, and I waited in heart-jolting suspense. Rona, I prayed, don’t fail me now!
Then I heard the thrust of her leg, the soft thump of her foot as it connected with Gorodin’s body and he tripped.
The stiletto clutched in my hand, I twirled instantly and sank the blade into his massive chest. With a long sigh, a gurgling moan, he gave up the gun — and his life.
I led Rona out into the fading afternoon sunlight and said, “The boat’s just past that ridge. Wait for me there — I’ve got one last thing to do.”
She looked at me questioningly, but turned and walked toward the boat. I bent for the Erma pistol Gorodin had dropped and jacked out all the shells but one. Then I picked my way back over the rocks to the fisherman’s shack. The door hung open and the smoke had cleared.
I walked across the room to the torn remains of Boris. Barely audible whimpering sounds came from the ruined throat, while the one working hand scratched at the floor.
It seemed there should be something profound for me to say, but I couldn’t find words. So I simply placed the pistol on the floor by the moving hand, and walked out the door.
I had gone only a short distance back to Rona and the boat when I heard the shot
Eighteen
When I joined Rona in the boat, she was sitting hunched in the bow, hugging herself like a small abandoned child. Tears running steadily down her cheeks, and she trembled pitifully.
“It’s all right now,” I said. “No one will come after us.”
She reached out for me and folded her arms about me, clinging to me as if I were a raft of survival. After keeping her cool through a nightmare of violence and long exposure to the ocean, she was at the limit of endurance — at the edge of collapse. And I knew she must have rest and medical attention.
With one hand holding Rona close to me, the other steering the boat, I sliced across the water to the docks of Curasao. As we neared the slip where the speedboat was moored, I saw a figure standing there, waiting. It was Pilar. Apparently watching for the boat, she had seen us coming.
I throttled down, drifted to the dock and threw the bow line to Pilar. She made it fast on a cleat as I jumped out and secured the stern. Then I cradled Rona in my arms and lifted her to the dock where, in the trance-like catatonia of shock, she sat like a zombie.