I moved cautiously out on my side of the platform and quickly crossed over the gap to a position beside the other door. No more shots came. I peeked inside, but Lubyanka was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was setting a trap for me in there.
I opened the door a crack to get a better look. Nothing. It looked as if Lubyanka had really left. I slowly entered the car, holding the Luger out in front of me. He wasn’t there. Then I rounded the corner and saw him about two-thirds of the way down the corridor. He turned, his face dark with anger and frustration, and fired two unsteady shots from his reloaded revolver. I crouched quickly and the slugs whined over my head.
I swore under my breath. Just as Lubyanka was turning to run down the rest of the corridor, I took another shot at him. But the train’s movement spoiled my aim, and I narrowly missed him. Then the Russian disappeared around the corner, on his way out of the car.
Apparently no one had heard the exchange of muffled shots. No one came out of the compartments. As I reached the end of the car and the spot where the KGB man had disappeared from my view, I saw that the train was pulling into Poggioreale del Corsa.
Lubyanka would not get off at this quick stop, I told myself. He would not want the authorities to discover that he was wounded. He was in no position to explain what had happened. Besides, he still wanted the monitor he was trying to buy from the Topcon agents aboard the train.
A pair of uniformed men came down the corridor toward me. One was a train conductor, the other a customs man. We were near the border and were being checked.
I produced the false identification which AXe’s special division had provided. The customs man nodded and he and the conductor moved on.
The train picked up speed, moving at a steady clip into Yugosalvia. The next stop would be around midnight at Pivka.
My next item of business, I thought, was to pay a visit to Eva Schmidt. The woman had to be the one who had told Lubyanka I was trying to get my hands on the satellite monitor.
I tried Eva’s compartment, but she wasn’t there. Once again I picked the lock and entered with the Luger in my hand. No one was there. It figured that since her compartment was the only one I could identify by number my adversaries would hold conferences elsewhere.
I left the compartment and walked back toward the day coaches, looking all the while for Lubyanka and Schmidt — and looking for Sheng, too, since I had reason to think that he was still aboard and after my hide.
My search was fruitless. There was no sign of any of them. I began to worry that maybe they had all somehow gotten off at the border.
Then the train was pulling into the Pivka station. Pivka is just a country town that happens to be situated where several Yugoslav railway lines meet. The station is a primitive one — a long gray building that shows few lights at night. It was cold there in the mountains. There was a drizzling rain as the train stopped at the station.
I watched from one of the car platforms to see if anybody would get off. Four people appeared on the platform. Three of them were passengers who had decided to get a snack at the sandwich and coffee shop in the near end of the station building. The fourth, whom I finally recognized by his familiar gait, was Ivan Lubyanka.
Without glancing once over his shoulder, Lubyanka hurried through the station building to a dark street beyond. I hesitated for a moment. This could be a ruse to distract my attention while Schmidt and Blücher left from another car. But I had to take that chance. I stepped to the ground and started after Lubyanka. He just might have the stolen monitor.
Lubyanka had already disappeared into the gray building. I hurried after him, hoping the train wouldn’t pull out before I could get back. The dimly lighted, shabby waiting room was almost empty. Lubyanka wasn’t there — he must have already left the building.
I ran through the doorway to the street and looked up and down the dark sidewalk outside. The light rain wet my face — it was a cold, miserable night. There were no automobiles or pedestrians anywhere in sight — just gray stone fences, gray buildings, and the rain. Lubyanka had completely disappeared.
I had to decide whether to go after Lubyanka and forget the train and Schmidt and Blücher or to get back aboard on the chance that they were still there with the stolen device.
It was a pressure decision because I was running out of time — that train was due to leave in ten or fifteen minutes. If I made the wrong decision, I’d be back where I started in my search for. the monitor, and I might even lose it for good.
In a moment I had chosen. I turned on my heel and hurried back through the dimly lighted station to the platform. The lights on the Orient Express were strung out along the track before me. The train looked like an oasis of civilization in this black wilderness. I gazed toward the restaurant and saw a few people inside, huddled over cups of hot coffee or tea at rough wood tables. A Yugoslav child who should have been in bed at that hour was moving to a table with a cup of steaming tea. He wore a white apron and highly polished patent leather shoes. After I had surveyed the faces of the customers and was sure that none of them was familiar to me, I headed for the men’s room. As I relieved myself, I wondered where Lubyanka had gone and whether he intended to consummate the deal for the monitor.
As I turned to leave, I noticed a man standing in the doorway — my old friend Sheng Tze. He was grinning slightly, and he was holding a revolver in his right hand. It was a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum with a big silencer.
“We meet for the last time, Mr. Carter,” Sheng said. “Our Russian friend has conveniently left the train, and when I dispose of you, I will have no other competitors.”
I watched the gun and his gun hand. “There is still Blücher himself to deal with.” I noticed that the only light in the room came from a dim bulb that hung from the ceiling, only a short distance from where I stood. But I saw no way to darken the place without getting two or three slugs in me. And the room offered absolutely no cover of any kind.
“The woman will be my way to the device,” Sheng said coolly. “But that will be my problem, not yours.” He raised the gun slightly; and it was aimed at my heart. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, a man walked through the door behind him. He was a Yugoslav, a station official.
“What is this?” he asked, looking at Sheng’s long pistol.
He was standing within three feet of Sheng. Sheng twisted around toward him, threw his left elbow out and smashed it into his face. There was a dull crunching sound and a muffled cry, and the fellow slumped to the floor, unconscious.
But I did not wait for the official to hit the floor. Before Sheng could turn back to finish me off, I grabbed at the string on the small light bulb in front of me and yanked hard as I spun off to my left.
The room was plunged into almost total darkness, the only dim light coming from the station platform through the open door. Sheng fired in my direction but missed by a foot. The gun popped dully in the room, and the slug chewed into the cement wall behind me. As I turned around to face Sheng again, he was taking aim. I hurled the stiletto through the darkened room, and it struck Sheng in the forearm above the hand holding the revolver. The hand opened spasmodically, and the gun flew across the room.
Sheng uttered a loud cry as he stared at the knife imbedded in his forearm, which had severed tendon, arteries, and muscle. He turned, the knife still in his arm, to look for his gun. Then he took a step toward it, but I blocked him. He swore in Chinese.
“No more guns, Sheng,” I said in a low growl. “Let’s see what you can do without them.”
Sheng hesitated a moment, then pulled the stiletto from his forearm with a grunt of pain. Blood gushed to the floor. He grabbed the handle of the knife expertly with his left hand, and started toward me.