The startling calls of ducks, other wildfowl. The dull, fretted lapping of the water, the stiff, dry rattling of sedge and reeds, the thin, searching cry of the wind. He walked on, deliberately oblivious to the passage of time. Occasionally, the drone of distant, hunting helicopters sounded above the wind, but he sensed no threat. He was safe until he chose to move.
A startled goose flung itself into the wind from the reeds at his feet. Gant threw up his hands to protect his face and stumbled backward as if pushed. He almost fell. Involuntarily, he cried out in a stranger's high-pitched voice, a near scream of shock and terror. The wild goose skittered across the ruffled metal of the lake s gleam, then gained height and grace and curved behind the pagoda, carried by wind and fright and wings. He stood, idiotlike, staring open-mouthed at its passage and the widening circles of its flight.
Then he turned and ran, shaken out of every feeling except panic, back toward the Hind. He felt as if his limbs had been untied, his mind cleared. Get out, get out, get out, his thoughts insisted.
He blundered against the helicopter, dragged open the cockpit door, and heaved himself into his seat, newly afraid. No! No light from the transponder. He had been terrified that he would find the light illuminated, Kedrov's summons peremptory and unignorable. The APU was still on, the main panel glowed with other lights. Two minutes warm-up, two minutes to takeoff. Even as he completed the preflight checks and decisions, his eyes continued to stare at the transponder and its unlit signal. Not yet, not yet. He's dead, dammit, forget Kedrov, he isn't there. In two minutes he would be airborne, and he knew where he was going, knew it for certain. Kedrov's contact was from the diplomatic mission in Tashkent. He had easily enough fuel to get him there. He would walk in to the mission and ask for the Company's man — easy. They weren't looking for him, not yet, they wouldn't have the place guarded, blocked off. He had the time.
Engine-start. He switched on Baikonur's Tac channel. Throttles open. The rotors moved with an initial reluctance, then began turning more swiftly. He would not need to kill Adamov — at least not until later. He began to listen to the reports from the patrols, a feverish excitement mounting in him, all thought of Kedrov and the mission banished.
He released the brake. On the tactical screen, the fireflies were more numerous, more concentrated, but nowhere near him, nor between him and the Aral Sea. He would have to loop well to the south before taking up a heading for Tashkent. As long as they had no idea he was there, they would not close the mission in Tashkent against him—
— glanced up through the Plexiglas, searching the night for the bird that had startled him. It must have settled or flown off. Like a talisman, he couldn't risk harming it.
Twenty feet, thirty, forty… fireflies, the search that must have found Kedrov hours before and was now just waiting for him to show fifty feet. Gant swung the Hind around on its axis, pointing it westward. Fifty miles to the Aral Sea.
Then he saw the light on the transponder. And groaned. A steady light — now! Kedrov had switched on. The fireflies of the search were concentrated in the area where he should be.
No, the bastard was dead, no…
The Hind was moving westward, increasing speed, the trees distressed by its passage, the lake shrinking in his mirrors. Seventy miles an hour, eighty, the airspeed indicator hovering around one hundred. He was out, safe.
Over the Tac channel, he could hear cars involved in the search, troop units being moved by helicopter and truck, MiLs congregating — just where Kedrov should be. They were searching the marshes now. Someone had ordered it, it wasn't an accident. Reports and positions flew.
He was five miles from the lake. Then he heard the name Kedrov. The poor bastard was alive, free, and they were looking for him. Six miles away, seven now. He was almost thirty miles from Kedrov and leaving him behind fast.
The Hind slowed. He cursed the light on the transponder and he cursed Kedrov. Raged at the swarming helicopters that filled the tactical screen. Damn it, damn you, you stupid son of a bitch — why now, damn you? The Hind took up, as if of its own volition, a new heading. To pinpoint Kedrov in the marshes, he would have to fly a north-south patrol until he obtained a triangular fix on the source of the response.
He listened to the tangle of orders and responses, he watched the tactical screen as closely as he might some poisonous creature about to strike.
The area of the agreed rendezvous was being patrolled at that moment. If Kedrov was exactly where he should be, and not somewhere else, then he was right in the middle of the search. He exploded the scale of the moving map until it showed only the islet that was the agreed rendezvous. There were still two helicopters registering even on that tiny pocket of earth and frozen water. One of them was dropping troops into the marshes.
He had to try to get Kedrov out as soon as he pinpointed his position.
Not there, not right there — please…
"Everyone's ready?" Priabin asked breathlessly. Dudin nodded, clearing his throat.
"As instructed, Colonel," he confirmed. The windbreak rattled like a high flag at his back. Katya stamped her feet for warmth, arms clutched around her, hands beneath her armpits. Her face was pale.
"Well concealed? This could be a helicopter, someone could come on foot—"
"I was clear about that," Dudin remarked with evident offense. His own impatience seemed not to exist, his excitement dim and contained by careful routine.
"Good man, good man." Priabin looked up from the screen-Kedrov was sitting or pacing in the cabin of the houseboat, his tension like a silent scream. Above Priabin and the others, a GRU helicopter passed slowly across the night, its navigation lights winking. They had intensified their search of the marshes. Somehow, they'd made the same kind of deduction Katya had made, probably from the same evidence. Kedrov was here somewhere.
Priabin felt success about to be snatched from him; Serov's GRU people, with their vaster resources of men and machines, might have pinpointed the agent-in-place and be simply waiting for a signal to close in — just as his men were waiting for a signal.
Go in now, then. Claim the bloody prize. Get your hands on Kedrov before they do — wait for the collector to arrive. If he comes, another part of his thoughts answered more pessimistically. If he bothers, seeing the opposition in the area… go in now! Serov's people might well get their hands on whoever was coming to Kedrov's aid — and GRU troops would be there soon, he'd heard enough of their radio chatter to know how thoroughly they were searching— so get your hands on Kedrov.
"OK, OK," he murmured, teeth chattering, gloved hands rubbing furiously together as if to ignite a fire. "We're set. Make no moves, Dudin. Just let whoever the rescuers are come on — close in behind them."
"Colonel."
"Katya, you found him, you can come in with me. Dudin, when you spot them, only then contact me by transceiver."
"Colonel. You think they'll come in force, then?"
"I don't know." He glanced down at the screen. Kedrov had begun pacing once more — good. Creaking planks and the noise of his footsteps would cover their approach. "Once I report we're in, and have Kedrov, get your men to remove the borescope and the cable. I don't want whoever's coming to spot them."
"Shall I get the dog from the car, sir?" Katya asked.
"No. Kedrov doesn't appear to be armed. I think he's pretty much beaten already. Let's go in now."
He turned as if to issue another order to Dudin, or to check Previous instructions, then waved his hand apologetically; even grinned. He stepped out of the windbreak, out of the shadow of the clump of bushes and stunted trees, down the slope onto the ice. ^reading warily. The wind hurled itself against him so that he staggered. The ice creaked unnervingly. As Katya caught up with him, be looked at his watch. Three twenty-four. He walked, leaning slightly backward, square-footed like a fatter man, feeling his overcoat plucked and whirled like a cape around his legs. Katya hurried at his side, gun already drawn, body hunched forward. The ice betrayed their passage, as if muttering to Kedrov.