Kalin’s voice came out of the darkness from some distance away. “Report.”
No one answered for some seconds, then a voice, winded and in pain, replied, “Vasili.”
Kalin’s voice was not as steady now. “The others? The Jew?”
Vasili replied: “I don’t know. I can’t see.”
Abrams heard another man — it had to be Feliks — moaning, then sobbing, then finally crying out in agony, “I’m dying!”
Vasili shouted, “Kalin, we must go. Help me with them.”
Abrams felt the dizziness grow worse. He tried to stand but found himself on the floor. He realized he made some noise as he fell.
Kalin barked, “Vasili! Here!”
Abrams heard the sound of footsteps approaching cautiously. Then he heard Kalin speak. “He’s lying against the wall. Don’t use your gun — it’s too close for a ricochet.”
Kalin spoke in English. “Your last chance, Abrams. You will come with us, dead or alive.”
Abrams’ head was spinning. He was running out of ideas, tricks, weapons, and steam. For a fraction of a second he considered going with them. They’d rather not kill him just yet. That was obvious. Later he’d have a chance to escape. Then he remembered the basement full of Russians, waiting for something, and he doubted there would be a later. He had to get out of here — now.
The dizziness seemed to pass, but he wasn’t certain he should try to stand yet. He felt the crease of a trouser leg touch his hand and didn’t think the man felt it. He was aware of a fragment of glass near his fingers and picked it up. It was sharp on all sides, but he grasped the glass tightly and swung it in a slashing motion across the man’s shin, feeling it slice into the flesh and scrape the bone.
The man — Vasili — bellowed, hopped back on one foot, lost his balance, and fell, still bellowing and swearing.
Abrams stood cautiously, the noise of his movement masked by the sound of Vasili whimpering.
Kalin shouted, “What happened?”
“I’m cut!”
Abrams had already stepped across to the opposite wall and was walking quickly but quietly toward the westbound tracks in his stocking feet.
Kalin shouted, “Abrams! Hands against the wall!”
Abrams could tell that Kalin had faced the opposite way when he called.
Kalin turned and called again. “Abrams! Answer me or I’ll shoot!”
There was a touch of anxiety and defeat in Kalin’s voice. Abrams didn’t envy Kalin his next meeting with Androv. Abrams removed his belt and flung it back toward the two Russians. It hit the floor, and he could hear Vasili let out a startled shout.
Abrams reached the stairs and stopped, his back to the wall. The bluish glow of the parking lot lights fell on the concrete steps. Still, he didn’t want to hang around any longer. He drew a deep breath and prepared to spring up the steps. Just before he moved, he heard a round strike a lower step, sending fragments of concrete splattering. The bullet ricocheted back and struck the wall above Abrams’ head. He heard another round strike the opposite steps and echo back through the tunnel. So, they didn’t know which way he’d gone, but they were letting him know that bounding up the steps was not without risk. In fact, it would be a fool’s bet to gamble that he could outdistance a bullet. Yet he had to get back and make a report, and if what he suspected was true, he had to do it soon.
An unsettling thought came to him: Kalin might have backup people in cars out in the parking lots on either side of the tracks. He was not home free yet. Not even close. He waited.
45
Karl Roth held his wife’s wrists in a tight grasp. “Get out of here,” he said under his breath. “Get in the van and go home.” His hands were shaking and his voice quavered.
“Like hell I will.” She pulled free of him and backed away.
He took a step toward her, but she skirted across the table and said, “You stupid, you idiotic — you — you—” She stammered over her words and tears streamed down her face. A few kitchen workers turned their heads.
Karl Roth forced a tight smile and looked at the people in the kitchen. He said, “Please begin serving. Go on. This is none of your concern.”
The serving girls began carrying the trays out of the kitchen.
Maggie was torn between exposing her husband and protecting him.
Roth waited until the serving girls had left, then looked back at his wife and held his hands up placatingly. “Now, now, Maggie. Calm yourself.” He moved toward her, but she darted around the table, then hefted a large tray of raw cut vegetables and heaved them toward him.
The tray glanced off his upraised arm and clattered to the floor. She said, “Karl — Karl — help me throw it all out — Karl — don’t let them serve—”
He nodded and made calming motions with his hands as he approached her. “Yes. Yes. Fine.”
She looked into his eyes as he drew near, then she snatched a paring knife from the table. “Stay away, Karl! Stay—”
Claudia Lepescu had come up behind her. Quickly and expertly she applied a half nelson and with her other hand delivered a sharp chopping blow to Maggie’s wrist, causing her to drop the knife. Maggie let out a piercing scream. Claudia brought her hand up over Maggie’s mouth and nose, and Maggie smelled a strange odor, then began to feel dizzy.
Karl Roth rushed forward, and together he and Claudia propelled Maggie into the butler’s pantry, a sort of auxiliary kitchen. Claudia held Maggie, whose struggling was growing weaker, then let her slip to the floor. “This is a strong old lady.” Claudia went to a small copper sink and washed the chloroform off her hands. “I knew she would be trouble.”
Roth looked down at his wife, whose eyes were closed now. “Will she be all right?”
Claudia dried her hands on a towel. “She will feel a great deal better than Mr. Van Dorn’s guests.” She smiled.
Roth was shaking so badly that he had to sit in a chair. “Why tonight? They said it would be Christmas.”
She shrugged. “Christmas, July Fourth, New Year’s Eve — they had many holidays to choose from.” She thought a moment, then added, “I suspect the Americans are too close. Everything is happening very quickly.”
Roth had his face buried in his hands and she saw that he was weeping. His words were barely intelligible. “This is terrible… terrible… ”
Claudia walked up to him and slapped him sharply across his head. “Stand up!”
Roth stood and faced her, but said nothing.
“Pick her up.”
Roth bent down and took his wife under her arms, and Claudia took her ankles. Together they carried her out the rear of the butler’s pantry, into a small hallway and up the service stairs to the third-floor servants’ quarters. They found a small maid’s room and laid her on the bed.
Roth caught his breath and looked at Claudia. “What should we do now?”
She replied, “I’m going to enjoy the party. You’re going to see that everyone has plenty to eat.”
Roth looked nervously around the small room, as though someone might be there, then said in a low voice, “How much time do we have?”
Claudia glanced at her wristwatch. “About four hours. There won’t be any effects before then.”
Roth stared at her. “What did you put in the bottle? It was to put them to sleep…?”
“You know it was poison.”
He began shaking his head, then nodded ruefully. His voice was barely a whisper. “What if they taste it? Or smell it? Did I put enough on…?”
Claudia looked annoyed. “It was something called ricin, which I am told is extracted from a castor oil bean. That is why it mixed well with the vegetable oil. But unlike the foul castor oil, this has no smell and no taste, and it only needed the light spray because it is so deadly. The blood begins to disintegrate. Death is by suffocation, and regardless of what Androv told you, it is very painful at the end. The KGB is very advanced on the subject of poisons. There will be no survivors.”