I had told Gail of our subterfuge earlier. “Do you think it’s Olivia Kidder?” she now asked.
The door burst open violently, helped by the wind, and the man I’d brushed aside stood before us, gun still in hand. “You come,” he shouted.
I heard the computer beep yet again as we were hauled outside. “Hang in there, Sam. I’ll be back,” I shouted over my shoulder, unsure she’d been able to hear the second half of the sentence.
The guard, frustrated, angry, and obviously scared, pushed us toward the tallest tower. Clad in rusty, corrugated steel sheets, it stood hulking like some symbol of Armageddon, thrusting out of the earth like an enormous square column, its top swallowed whole by the gray, swirling mists. I wouldn’t have been surprised upon entering it to find it extended both into the ground and straight up for thousands of feet.
Reality, of course, told otherwise. We were half-thrown into a dark, cold, thunderously noisy steel cube, the exact dimensions of the tower’s footprint. The floor was concrete, the ceiling and twenty-foot high walls metal. There was an enormous elevator shaft to one side, next to a steel-grid stairwell, and the biggest, most robust piece of scaffolding I’d ever seen running from the floor through the ceiling-presumably to support the huge radar dome Rarig said had never been put in place. Otherwise, the whole room looked like an abandoned warehouse building, utterly lacking the exterior’s air of malevolence.
Rarig, Corbin-Teich, and Willy Kunkle were grouped together near the entrance to the stairwell, apparently waiting for us.
“How’re things with Sam?” Willy asked.
“She’s fine, but it’s heating up in the village,” I answered, just as my escort slammed me in the back with his hand.
“You quiet,” he shouted.
“Up yours, asshole,” Willy answered.
The other guard pulled Rarig by the sleeve and gestured up the stairs. “Go.”
Rarig led the file, followed by Corbin-Teich, the guard, me, Gail, Willy, and the man who’d shouted at us.
The stairwell was totally encased-a square, metal, windowless silo-and the stairs themselves, made of welded, open gridding, stretched up out of sight into the pitch black void, switchback-on-switchback, lending an additional sense of fantasy to our climb.
Whether stimulated by this, his own natural restlessness, or some private grand plan, Willy, just shy of where visibility yielded to total blindness, suddenly announced, “Hey, boss. You sick of this shit yet?”
I caught his meaning instantly-a now-or-never chance to turn the tables, which, given our other options, sounded good to me. After the man behind Willy let loose with his expected “Quiet,” I yelled, “Yeah,” grabbed the right wrist of the Russian above me, swung him around, and slugged him in the gut. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Willy spin on his heel, catch his man full in the face with his elbow, and send him tumbling down the stairs, his gun clattering against metal.
Willy had swung from the high ground, and his man had all but fallen into thin air. My position had been just the reverse. Even doubled over by my blow, my opponent landed up against the wall and then used it to brace himself. With my hand on his wrist, still held overhead, I found myself vulnerable to a good left hook to the ribs. The air rushed out of my lungs and my eyes filled with sparkling light.
Instinctively, I hit him close enough to the groin to make him pull back, and then Gail took over.
Standing below us, she grabbed his coat collar and hauled on it with all her strength, jamming her leg against the wall in the process. He staggered forward, caught his shin on her leg, and hurtled down the stairs. As he passed Willy Kunkle, Willy gave him one sharp, clean blow to the larynx. There was an odd sound from his throat, and he fell like a bag of rocks on top of his struggling companion.
All three of us were on them in an instant. Willy grabbed the gun from the dying man’s hand and held it to the other’s head, as Gail and I pinned him in place.
“Don’t move,” Willy shouted.
The hapless Russian froze.
“Let me shoot the bastard.”
I took a deep breath to clear my head. “Relax. It’s over.”
I frisked our victim, locating another pistol and a pair of handcuffs. I pulled them out, laced them through the railing, and snapped them around his wrists. “I think this’ll be enough. Check the other guy.”
The guttural noises had stopped coming from him. Willy groped for his pulse, said, “He’s dead,” and went through his pockets.
Gail had eased off the survivor and was sitting on one of the steps, her back against the cold, rattling wall. I leaned over and took her hand in mine. “Glad you were there. You did great.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Compared to what?”
“We’ll be finding out soon enough.” I turned to Willy. “What’d you get?”
He held up two guns. “Plus extra magazines and another set of cuffs.”
I stood and looked up at Rarig and Corbin-Teich, who’d been watching us in stunned silence. “You two keep climbing. John, you know what’s up top?”
“Two more levels like the ground floor, then the roof. It’s flat with a railing around it.”
“Okay-top floor and wait. And take this.” I handed him one of the guns. “Just make sure you know who it is before you shoot.”
They began climbing into the total darkness above. I looked at Gail closely. “Your choice. Stick with us, or go with them.”
She pointed at me. Willy had peeled off the dead man’s coat and jacket and now handed the former to Gail, donning the latter himself. She accepted it without comment. Her silence didn’t trouble me too much, since I recognized the set of her face-she was in her version of combat mode, which I knew would stand her in good stead, at least for the moment.
I undid the other Russian’s cuffs and ordered him to give up his coat. He did so without protest.
“You all set?” I asked Willy.
“You bet,” he said, smiling broadly.
“Then let’s see if we can find that other gun and go round up Sammie.”
Outside, daylight was getting stronger-a dark pewter now-but the wind and the cold were as intense as before. We ran doubled-over to the nearby shack and piled inside like late arrivals to a departing elevator.
Sammie stared up at us in bewilderment. “What’s happened?”
“The rats have grabbed the ship,” Willy said. “What d’ya got there?”
She showed us the screen. “Padzhev just announced they’re pulling back. He’s got about three men left. They should be here any minute.”
“Will the Covens know if you disconnect?” I asked.
Sammie’s mouth half opened. She’d spent so much time here, bent over her screen, that it had probably become like a lifeline to her. “Yeah,” she said tentatively.
I reached over and unclipped the phone cord from the back of the computer. “Then they’re officially off the hook, and so are you. Let’s go.”
I helped her to her feet, dumped the computer on the shelf, and headed back over to the tower.
“Now what?” Willy asked, as we slammed the door against the wind.
I looked back at the access road through a crack in the door.
“We bolster our manpower. Get the guy we left on the stairwell down here.”
Sam and Willy left together. Gail sidled up next to me and shared my observation point. “It’s so weird, knowing what’s happening, but not hearing anything-not a single gunshot.”