Abrams looked out across the wide grassy expanse rising upward toward the great house about a hundred yards away on the crest of the hill. He stared at the fortress-like structure, black and squat against the sky, its ill-omened gables rising above its brooding windows.
Floodlights illuminated every square inch of the short grass, and spotlights shot powerful beams out into the surrounding woods. One beam fell to their right, and the blinding ray suddenly moved toward them and rested a few feet away. Cameron said, “Steady now. The lights are automatic, not manned. They’ll shift at random intervals and random directions.” As he spoke, the spotlight swung ten yards farther right, then shifted abruptly to the left and swept over them briefly before stopping some yards away.
Davis said, “I’m sure the bloody listening devices have us by now.”
Cameron nodded and said, “Ivan does not like trespassers.”
Davis retorted, “We won’t be trespassers for long. We’ll be in residence.”
Abrams could make out three people on the raised terrace: guards with rifles walking an assigned post.
Katherine looked at her watch. “We’re a few minutes late.”
Cameron nodded. “It won’t matter, if the others haven’t achieved their objectives. We’re not getting across that lawn without help.”
Davis raised his binoculars and looked toward the house. “I see the walls and plantings of the forecourt… I can see the Japanese lanterns of the drive as well as where it enters the court… ” His voice rose, “There’s the van! Pembroke’s made it past the guardhouse. The van’s heading for the front door.” He put down his binoculars and looked at the other three. “Damned good show.”
Cameron nodded. “They’ve got a way to go yet. So do we.” He stayed silent a moment, then said, “It’s a fifteen-second run across that lawn… ” He looked at Abrams and Katherine. “What you do is pick a prayer or a poem that takes fifteen seconds to recite to yourself. I’ve picked the ‘Our Father.’ When I get to ‘Amen,’ I expect to be on that terrace. It works every time.”
Abrams thought it must have worked every time or Cameron wouldn’t be here.
“All right,” said Cameron, “fix bayonets.”
63
Roth’s catering van rolled slowly through the landscaped forecourt, lit bright as day with banks of floodlights. Pembroke peered cautiously over the seat. There were guards armed with automatic rifles every ten yards or so. He turned to Ann. “This doesn’t look encouraging.”
Roth babbled as he drove, his voice cracking with panic. “Everyone will die… The Russians will win… They will kill me… Oh, my God, Pembroke… I didn’t want to work for them… they blackmailed me… I was afraid… I don’t believe anymore—”
“Shut up, Roth.”
The van swung left and drew abreast of the front door, and Roth applied the brakes. Pembroke and Ann moved to the rear of the van with Llewelyn and Sutter, who had their hands on the rear-door latches, ready to jump out and make a fight of it if necessary. All four wore black camouflage hoods.
A Russian guard approached Roth’s window and spoke in English. “What are you doing here, Roth? I received no message from the gate.”
Roth’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
The guard snapped, “You stink of whisky. Stay here.” He disappeared from the window.
Pembroke pulled back the operating rod of his M-16 and let it spring forward with a loud metallic ring. Ann and the two men did the same; each time, Roth flinched in his seat. Pembroke rose slowly and looked out the front windshield. He could see the heads of four uniformed men passing by.
The first guard returned. “Their telephone isn’t working. What is your business here?”
Roth drew a deep breath. “More food. For Androv.”
The guard said nothing.
Roth found his voice again. “I have something for you.” He turned and fumbled with a shopping bag on the seat beside him. “Vodka and Scotch. Six bottles.” He raised the bag to the window.
The guard looked around, then snatched the bag through the opening. “Get moving, Roth.”
Roth nodded quickly and threw the van into gear. His foot trembled so badly on the accelerator that the van moved in short lurches. He turned left again along the south edge of the forecourt, then right into a small drive that bent around to the south side of the mansion.
Pembroke came up behind Roth. “All right, one more checkpoint. Get us through there and you’ve bought yourself a pardon. Easy now. You’re doing just fine.”
The van pulled up to the iron gates of the walled service court, and a guard shielded his eyes against the glare of the headlights. He nodded in recognition, then unlatched the gates and swung one open. Roth pulled halfway through and stopped. Pembroke sank down behind the driver’s seat. The guard put his hands on the window frame. “Do you have anything extra, Roth?”
Roth nodded and took a small bag from the floor on the passenger side, and handed it to the man. The Russian peered inside the bag. “What is this shit?”
“Cordials. Sweet. For the ladies. Very expensive.”
The guard snorted.
Roth said, “I’ll be some time unloading and setting up a buffet. An hour.”
The guard looked at him, then said, “Back up to the service doors. Don’t block anyone.”
Roth nodded and pulled through the gate.
Pembroke whispered to the other three, “Half the bloody Russkies must be eating and drinking on poor George.”
Sutter said, “But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, is there? Tonight we collect for Mr. Van Dorn.”
Ann glanced at the three men. She had never seen such coolness and optimism in the face of such overwhelming odds. She supposed their past successes engendered a sense of omnipotence. They simply couldn’t imagine losing.
Roth maneuvered the van through the crowded parking yard, then put it in reverse and edged it back to the service doors. He shut off the engine and headlights, then stood unsteadily and moved to the back of the van. He pushed open the van doors.
Pembroke said, “Open the service doors. Quickly.”
Roth jumped down from the van and opened the large double doors, swinging them out to meet the van doors, creating a shielded passage from the van to the house.
Pembroke stared through the open doors into a large storage room. At the far end was a single closed door. No one was visible.
Pembroke jumped out of the van and prodded Roth through the doors into the storage room. Sutter, Ann, and Llewelyn grabbed a few boxes of food and carried them into the room, stacking them along the wall. Sutter went back and closed the van doors, then began pulling the service doors closed.
“Stop!” Footsteps approached.
Pembroke shoved Roth forward toward the doors. The others braced themselves along the wall near the double doors.
The guard stepped up to the doors. “Roth, I forgot to tell you. Don’t leave these doors open. If they’re open after eleven thirty, Androv will have you shot.”
Roth nodded quickly. “I’m closing them now.”
“Don’t open them again.”
“No, no.”
The guard looked at him. “What’s wrong with you, Roth?”
“I had too much to drink.”
The guard stared at him, then said, “Why are you shaking? Roth? What—”
Pembroke stepped away from the wall, pushed Roth aside, and faced the Russian. The man blinked at the black-hooded apparition and his mouth dropped open. Pembroke seized the leather crossstrap of the man’s gun belt and with a powerful movement pulled him in through the doors, spun him around, and sent him slamming into the wall. Sutter hit the Russian in the groin and as he doubled over, Llewelyn delivered a savage karate chop to the base of his neck. The Russian fell forward and lay motionless. Sutter rolled him over and knelt beside him, checking for vital signs. “Still alive, Lew. You’re getting old.”