The bomb was set to go off when the minute hand reached the half hour, and there were only four minutes to go. I didn’t have much time.
“We’ve got to get you off that thing,” I said as I turned to Ursula. “I can’t move the bomb.”
“But how can I get free?” she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
I leaned down and examined how she was shackled to the metal. There was only one way to free her, and that was to pick the lock of the handcuffs. But that operation would require several minutes, even if I had my hands in front of me. I slipped Hugo into a back trousers pocket; I would not need it. Then I examined the radiator carefully.
The pipe from the basement that joined the radiator was all rusted out. It looked as if the radiator had not been in use for years. Also, the plates that anchored the radiator to the wooden floor appeared old and loose.
I stepped back and surveyed the scene from a short distance. The radiator was placed about a foot from the wall. There was enough room for what I had in mind. I positioned myself squarely before the radiator and glanced at Ursula.
“Brace yourself,” I said. “I’m going to give this thing a hard kick.”
“All right, Nick,” she said.
I glanced at the clock. There were two minutes to go. Raising my leg and bending my knee, I kicked out viciously at the radiator with my right foot.
There was a wrenching of metal and wood as I connected, and Ursula was thrown backwards against the radiator. I heard her make a sharp sound in her throat. When I looked to see the results, I found a pile of rust on the floor. The radiator had come off the pipe completely and was leaning back against the wall. The plates that had held it to the floor had been torn loose, but they still had rotten wood attached to them. One of the plates was still clinging to the wooden floor at the anchor, so I kicked out again and freed it completely.
Ursula was bruised and covered with rust.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to lug your end of this thing,” I told her. “Get up. Fast.”
She struggled to her feet, lifting one end of the radiator with her. It was heavy for her, but her adrenalin was flowing. I moved sidewise, grabbed the other end with my cuffed hands, and hoisted the radiator to thigh level. I looked at the clock on the bomb. There was less than a minute left.
“Move!” I said. “Out the door!”
Ursula stumbled out of the open doorway, still hooked to the big piece of accordion-shaped metal. I followed her, having to walk almost backwards.
“Walk very fast,” I said. “Don’t run. We have to make at least fifty yards. To that depression in the ground over there.”
She obeyed orders, grunting and sweating. It was awkward as hell. Once Ursula fell to her knees while I almost lost my end of the radiator. “Get up,” I said in a calm voice.
She did. The clock in my head told me that we had only about fifteen seconds. We moved quickly to the shallow depression in the field adjacent to the house, and stumbled into it Just as we fell to the ground, a deafening explosion ripped the calm day behind us.
The shock waves hurt my ears and blew our hair into our faces. Then we were assailed by a welter of dirt and debris. Big, heavy pieces of timber rained down around us. In a moment it was over, and we looked toward the house. A big cloud of smoke curled skyward, and the little that was left of the cottage was in flames.
“My goodness,” Ursula exclaimed, evidently imagining what would have happened to her if the radiator had not come loose. Her blonde hair was straggly, and there was dirt on her face.
“We were lucky,” I said.
I got Hugo and went to Ursula’s end of the radiator to begin picking the lock on her cuffs. It required over ten minutes. When she was finally free, she rubbed her wrists for a long moment and drew a deep breath. Then she set to work with Hugo to remove my cuffs. It took her about the same time, with her hands free. My wrists had been cut by the cuffs, but the blood was already caking over the wounds.
“Now what, Nick?” Ursula asked.
“Now we head for the Dragoman Pass after Richter.”
“They have a headstart on us,” she said. “And we don’t have a car. They took some parts from the Lamborghini.”
“I know,” I said, glancing toward the Italian car near the house. Some of its glass had been broken, and the paint had been blasted off one side by the explosion. “But Richter made it clear that he is getting back aboard the Orient Express at the Pass. He intends to cross the border into Bulgaria at Dimitrovgrad. So we don’t have to concern ourselves with getting to Crveni Krst when Richter gets there, but before the train leaves. It might just be possible, if we get down to the main road and catch a ride right away.”
“Then let’s start walking,” Ursula said.
Twelve
It was quite a hike to the road. Ursula did not complain, but I could tell that the strain of the past twenty-four hours was telling on her. About a half hour after we left the scene of the burning cottage, we reached the only road that passes through that part of the country.
“It looks pretty lonely,” Ursula said.
The road stretched out flat along the river valley in either direction for as far as the eye could see, but there were no cars on it. It was so quiet that it was difficult to believe that any traffic would ever come past.
“It makes me want to forget Richter and just enjoy the peace and quiet,” I said.
“Yes,” Ursula agreed. She went and sat on the grassy bank by the roadside, and I joined her there.
Ursula leaned back in the long grass with her elbows propped under her. She closed her eyes and listened to a bird in a nearby field. It was a soft, sunny spring day with an enervating magic in the balmy air. A clump of poplars, green buds decorating their lacy branches, whispered nearby, and the breeze that moved the trees also gently rippled the long grass in the field that paralleled the road. It was the kind of day and place, and the kind of company, that makes an agent wonder what the hell he is doing in his particular profession.
Ursula’s short, dark skirt was hiked up around her upper thighs, and she looked very good lying there. A bedroom is not the only perfect setting for love-making, as I had discovered on other happy occasions. Often I find a perfect place in the most unexpected circumstances. But this opportunity, considering we were hoping for a car any minute, was less than favorable.
“Nick! It’s a car!” Ursula pointed.
It was a Citroen sedan, approaching us at high speed.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll try to stop it.” I climbed out on the roadway and waved my arms in a wide arc. The car began to slow down immediately, and in a moment it had pulled over onto the shoulder beside us.
Two young Italian men were inside, and they were headed toward the border themselves.
“Are you going as far as Crveni Krst at the Dragoman Pass?” I asked.
They were both thin young men with long hair. The driver glanced at Ursula and apparently liked what he saw. “We will make a point of going to Crveni Krst,” he said in a thick accent. “Please get in.”
We did, and the car roared away down the highway. I was glad that they enjoyed driving fast, because our time was short. In fact, we might have already lost our chance to get there in time.
At first the young men made overtures to Ursula. They offered cognac and wanted to stop for a rest. But when they saw that Ursula was not one for group sex, they went back to enjoying the sunny day. We arrived at the mountain village of Crveni Krst, where Richter had undoubtedly headed, by around two p.m. The Italians took us right to the train station, and I hurriedly thanked them for the ride. Then Ursula and I went inside.