“I think that’s just about to change,” I said, half to myself.
Looming out of the swirling gray with startling speed, a car came skidding to a sudden stop near the telephone shed.
“Step on it, guys,” I yelled over my shoulder.
The three of them appeared, Willy and Sam dragging the wide-eyed Russian between them.
I grabbed him by his collar. “You wave your friends over here when I tell you, but no words. Understand?”
He shook his head. “No. I will not.”
I looked back outside. Padzhev, holding his arm against his side with his other hand, staggered out of the car, followed by three others, Anatoly among them.
“Persuade him, Willy,” I ordered.
Willy laughed in the Russian’s face, pulled out his gun, and ground it into the other man’s groin. Almost nose-to-nose, he said, “Wave, shithead.”
Across the way, Anatoly had opened the shed door and was shouting something at Padzhev.
“Now,” I said.
I pulled back the door and Willy thrust his captive’s upper half into the opening, where he began waving like a maniac.
Still looking through the crack, I saw Padzhev catch sight of us. “Okay. Enough. Close the door.”
Padzhev had turned away to summon the others, not noticing Kunkle yanking our decoy out of view like a rag doll.
“They bit,” I announced. “Cuff him again, then let’s give ’em a proper greeting.”
Willy returned the Russian to the stairs, where Sammie attached him to the nearest railing, warning him, “One sound and you’re dead.”
We then all drew our guns, Gail standing behind me, and moved just out of the doorway’s immediate line of sight.
Moments later, their caution dulled as much by their desperation as by our ruse, Padzhev and his three followers banged through the door, one of them even falling as he entered.
Sammie, Willy, and I grabbed our three and threw them to the ground, our knees in their backs and our weapons thrust in their ears. Gail stamped her heel onto the outstretched right hand of the man who’d tripped and kicked the gun he dropped across the floor.
I had Padzhev under me, writhing in pain. “Nobody move,” I shouted at the top of my lungs. With the instinct of cornered animals, all four of them became utterly still.
I addressed the back of Padzhev’s head. “You know better than I do that we got about thirty seconds to do this. We’re armed, you’re armed, and Kyrov’s hot on your heels. He’d just as soon see all of us dead. One choice: you want to join forces?”
“Yes,” he said, and followed it with an order in Russian.
I stood up, patted Gail on the back, and returned to my viewing spot. The shadow of a man-more ghost than substance-slipped out of the woods and hid behind Padzhev’s abandoned car.
“Okay, boys and girls,” I said, “time to go up top.”
I helped Padzhev to his feet and steered him toward the stairs.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“We don’t have too many options,” I explained. “This is a reinforced steel building, with one way up. If we can control that, we ought to be able to last for a few days at least.”
From the sound of his voice, I guessed Padzhev to be near the end of his rope. “To what end, Lieutenant?” He stopped in mid-climb and turned to me. “It is I Kyrov wants. Why not satisfy his need?”
I pushed him along. “Because sacrificing you will get us nothing. He doesn’t want witnesses. And I want you for my own anyhow-you’re going to clear my name.”
Padzhev laughed tiredly and shook his head. “Such an optimist.” I didn’t bother telling him what my hopes were based on. Until I saw otherwise, the SOS I’d had Sammie send via computer rated right up there with putting a note in a bottle.
We continued climbing until we couldn’t see into the darkness. “Rarig,” I shouted. “We’re coming up-with Padzhev and company.”
I then muttered to Padzhev, “Tell your people to holster their weapons, in case Rarig thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one.”
Rarig’s disembodied voice confirmed my suspicions. “I better like what I see, Georgi, or people are going to start dying.”
Padzhev gave the order to his men. Slowly, the darkness paled to a light gray, and through the latticework of switchbacks above us, we could just make out the entrance to the second floor. I moved to the front of our line, crossing the threshold first. I paused there, my hands by my sides. “Rarig?”
“Where’s Padzhev?” he said from behind one of the huge scaffolding pillars, a continuation of those below.
“Right behind me.” I gestured for Rarig’s old nemesis to appear.
Padzhev wearily stepped into the half-light, still holding his wounded arm. “Philip-John-it is all but over. No more games.”
God only knew that in the duplicitous world these two called their own, there was always more room for games. Maybe for once Rarig heard something he could finally believe, or maybe, like Padzhev, he’d run out of gas at last. In any case, he stepped out into the open, the gun in his hand pointing somewhere at the floor between us.
“What happened?” he asked.
Padzhev gave a half-shrug. “We are on the same side, after all these years.”
“Kyrov’s just outside,” I explained. “What’s the layout up here?”
Rarig pointed behind us. “I think we should go up one more flight. The light’s better on the stairs, so we can see who’s coming, and there’s an interior ladder to the roof as a last resort.”
“Done,” I said, and stepped aside to let him lead the way.
Corbin-Teich met us on the third-floor landing, looking glad for the company, even if it did include his old boss. “I have been looking outside,” he said nervously. “There are men all around. At least ten of them.”
“That’s about what we counted,” Padzhev confirmed. He stepped onto the floor and looked around. This third level, like its predecessors, was stripped clean except for a few small piles of trash. The radar scaffolding dominated its center, and the elevator, frozen in place, stood with its doors open, blocking the otherwise open shaft beneath it. Across from us was an open door leading to a tiny exterior platform, and in a small room to our right, a ladder led to a square hatch above-the escape route Rarig had mentioned. Enough light poured through these two openings to make a view of the staircase pretty clear.
After looking around, I returned to the others. “Okay, everybody-weapons check. Who’s got what, and how much ammo do we have?”
Our inventory consisted of twelve handguns for the eleven of us, pretty evenly divided between ten millimeters and.40 caliber. Ammunition came to about two magazines per weapon. Only Lew looked a little uncomfortable, handling something he probably hadn’t touched in forty years. Given his increasingly removed, almost dreamy state of mind, however, I didn’t think it was going to matter much.
The plan, such as it was, was simplicity itself-we would guard the stairwell, shooting at anyone who came within sight.
To give us a slight advantage, we gathered together a pile of metal rubbish, including a loose bulkhead we found cast aside on the roof, and used it to barricade the threshold. Then, as an afterthought, we also threw enough odds and ends down the short stretch of stairs facing us to prohibit anyone from making an unimpeded run.
After that, it was sit and wait. Which took all of five minutes.
Willy had just stepped out onto the landing, to benefit from the stairwell’s acoustics, when he leaned back inside and announced, “Company.”
We helped him back over, took up positions, and started listening to the crash and rumble of the wind on the building, trying to discern any stray movement in its midst.
We found it with the single sharp clang of something hard hitting metal, like the toe of a shoe against one of the steps. Moments later, the vague shape of a head moved against the dark background of the landing beneath us.