As one of the killers would later describe it, he “came to life” with a roar and began to struggle fiendishly. His unexpected display of life, and his brute strength, were too much for them. They fell away from him in horror. And, according to the same assassin, he crashed through the “locked” door and into the courtyard beyond.
Finally, the three recovered themselves and gave chase. Cautiously, I brought up the rear. I emerged from the cellar just in time to see Rasputin surrounded by them in a corner of the courtyard. He’d run the wrong way and boxed himself in. This time it was Purichkevich who fired at him with the same blank-loaded revolver Yusupov had used.
Just as he fired, Rasputin spotted me over their shoulders. Perhaps it was the sight of me that prompted him to play dead once again. Or perhaps he figured that if it had worked once, it could work again. Or maybe it was just that they had him trapped and he had no other choice. In any case, as Purichkevich fired, he pitched forward and lay still.
Dead as he looked, the trio was still terrified of him. Not one of them had the guts to go up to him and touch him and determine if he really was dead. Instead, they looped a rope around his feet, tied the other end to a horse-drawn sleigh, and dragged his body through the deserted late-night streets to the bridge over the Neva River.
Not knowing what else to do, I followed. It was easy to keep pace with them on foot. The weight of the body being dragged, plus the three men in the sleigh, was really too much for the one horse pulling the vehicle. The animal moved very slowly, plodding all the way.
Halfway there, my wrist radio buzzed. I answered it and heard Putnam’s voice. “Grab Rasputin right away,” he said curtly. “The time machine will pick you up in five minutes.”
I didn’t bother to answer. There was no time to explain the difficulties—-indeed, the impossibility—-of the situation. The sleigh had reached the bridge.
I ran up to Rasputin. “Let them throw you in the river,” I counseled him. “I’ll dive in with you. I’ll save you. I promise.”
“But I can’t swim,” he objected.
“It doesn’t matter. Do as I say.”
They were getting out of the coach now and I darted onto the bridge before they could see me. I climbed over the parapet and crouched behind a stone ornament, watching as they approached Rasputin’s supposed corpse. It was obvious that they were very upset and loath to touch him. This made them want to get it over with fast. Hurriedly, clumsily, they lifted his body and threw it far out over the water.
I gauged where Rasputin would hit and dived for the same spot. I had to grab him before the time machine picked me up. I had to be sure we were both picked up. It all would have worked too except—
Except that the Neva River was covered with a crust of ice. Just before we hit, Rasputin yelled one last time. “I can’t swim!”
“Trust me!” I yelled back as I plummeted on an angle towards the spot where he would hit.
Then my head connected with the ice and everything came up stars for a long moment. The next thing I was aware of was inky black water and me plunging down through it. I spotted Rasputin sinking beneath me. It was like witnessing a legend in the making.
According to what Putnam had told me, when the police dredged his body up their report would read that it contained “water in the lungs.” This would indicate that he was still alive after being dropped through the ice into the river. But the assassins would insist that he’d been poisoned and shot and that finally they were sure he was dead when they dumped him into the Neva. The weirdness of the tale would live on for fifty years after his death.
But right now I was determined to save him. After all, I’d promised. If only I hadn’t cracked my head on the ice, I could have latched onto him without any trouble. But now I had to dive for him and grab him while there was still time. My own lungs bursting from the strain, I swam downward into the icy depths and grabbed for Rasputin’s hand. Our fingertips grazed, and then—-
“Yum-yum!” Ti Nih Baapuh said. “You come back make bang-bang, Steve?” Her warm behind rubbed against me between the sheets.
“First I want a full report!” It was Putnam. He was in the bed too, on the other side of Ti Nih. “And get the hell out of my bed!” he added angrily. “There’ll be no bang-bang with Ti Nih as long as I’m here to prevent it. Now what the devil happened?” he asked in a slightly gentler tone. “Where’s Rasputin?”
“He drowned,” I told him, my teeth still chattering from my icy dip. I pressed against Ti Nih for warmth.
“Then your mission was a failure!” Putnam was disgusted. “Stop pushing, you two!” he snapped. “I’m falling out of bed!”
“Well, you can’t win them all.” I answered his first complaint. “Sorry about that, Chief.” I responded to his second complaint. “Umm, yeah, that’s good, Ti Nih! Yes-yes-yes!” I ignored his main complaint. “Yum-yum! Bang-bang!” Man, was I glad to be back. “Yum-yum! Bang-bang!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
What’s the difference between a Wise Man and a wise guy? The Wise Man said there were pivotal points in history which could be affected to prevent the doom of mankind. The wise guy—that was me—tried to affect those pivotal points.
My batting average was exactly zero!
I’d tried to prevent the development of missile-firing weapons and ended up inventing the slingshot. Attempting to keep Alexander the Great from the Gordian Knot, instead I’d been the cause of his severing it. Setting out to stop Nero from burning Rome, I’d actually become responsible for his starting the fire. By trying to prevent the Spanish Inquisition, I’d brought it about. I’d almost turned the tide for civil rights in America only to flub it by getting caught with my pants down. And I’d goofed the chance to save Rasputin’s life, to perhaps save Russia from Communism and the world from a cold war growing hotter by Vietnamese leaps and Korean bounds23 .
I’d gone to bat six times. Results? No hits, no runs and plenty of errors. In any ball game that kind of performance deserves being sent to the showers.
But did that mean the outcome of the ball game was unalterable? Is Vietnam inevitable? Is it immutable Fate that one day someone’s finger must slip and blow up this coconut of a world of ours so that the shreds can never be put back together again?
“Kiss-kiss!” Ti Nih urged me.
Was it only a diversion? Or was it an answer? I wasn’t sure. Not then, anyway. . . . I kissed her.
“Now see here, Victor!” Putnam was miffed. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve First you foul up all the way from prehistory to the present, and now you’ve got the gall to drop into my bed and start making love to my girl. Victor, you’re a cad!”
“It’s her idea,” I reminded him between kisses.
“Ti Nih, how can you be so fickle?” Putnam tried another tack.
“All time you say let you sleep, no bang-bang, you tired after one most two time. So why you no sleepy now let Steve me love-love?” She took my hand and pressed it against the erect, burning nipple of her plump breast.
“Ti Nih! You’re being unfaithful to me!” Putnam’s voice rose.
Her giggle was lost with her tongue in my ear. Her nails dug into my neck, pushing my head down so that my mouth was pressed into the deep cleft of her bosom. I picked up my cue, tonguing the cleft and then covering both quivering breasts with kisses.
“Victor! I’m ordering you to get out of this bed!” Putnam was livid.
“I’ve just come up out of an icy river,” I reminded him. “I’m freezing. I need the warmth here. Where’s your compassion, man?”