They reached what Rourke recognized as Co-lumbus Drive, the street running parallel to the lakefront and Lake Shore Drive itself. The foun-tain at the middle of the square now seemed odd—no lights, no water—stillness.
Vladov waited behind bushes near the street, signaling silently to one of his men—the man ran to the curb, then signalling. Vladov whispered hoarsely-“Hurry!”
Vladov ran ahead, Rourke and Natalia running abreast behind him, the two other men following, Rourke recognizing their rifles as the new 5.45 mm AKS 74s—Vladov and his men were paratroop-ers—he could tell from the stylized berets, and likely the Soviet equivalent of Special Forces. They halted in dead underbrush—but in the moonlight Rourke could see sprigs of pale green—new life. Vladov, a pistol in his right hand—he had car-ried it since Rourke had first set eyes on him—turned, still crouched, saying, “Your uncle, major—my men and I have been patrolling the park each night, a similar patrol on the far side of the museum—he almost despaired, comrade,” and the man smiled at her—warmly.
“So had I,” she laughed softly. “Almost de-spaired.”
“There’s no need to speak in English—I speak Russian,” Rourke advised Vladov.
“Very good,” Vladov nodded, slipping into Rus-sian then. “The comrade general—he is watched by some of the residual forces of the KGB—but Colonel Rozhdestvenskiy is no longer here—it is rumored he has gone to a place in Colorado called The Womb. Our forces mass for an attack against United States II, but this is senseless commitment of troops—these are your uncle’s words, comrade major—there is something afoot.”
Rourke studied the man’s gun as he listened to him. “What are you doing with a Smith & Wesson automatic and the AKS-74 assault rifle?”
“You are observant, Dr. Rourke—we are the So-viet equivalent of your—” and he said the next two words in English— “Special Forces. Officers are allowed to choose their own personal weapons, and we are all issued the AKS-74—it is more effi-cient. Now,” and he seemed to dismiss the subject, “we shall make all good speed to the museum—the guard posted at the main entrance is friendly to our cause—but we must hurry,” and he rolled back the cuff of his black and dark green night jacket—the watch was a Rolex. “The guard will change in less than forty-five minutes.” “My uncle,” Natalia asked.
“He is well?” “The comrade general is well—yes, comrade major,” Vladov grinned, adding, “and as tough a man as ever. It will gladden his heart that you are well.” And he looked at Rourke, “But we must hurry—there will be no need for shooting—you see, I have looked at your guns.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rourke only told him. And then, Vladov in the lead, they began to run again.
Chapter Fifty
They had reached the main entrance to the mu-seum from the side, by circling behind the struc-ture—and the guard there, a young, florid-faced man who looked very tired, had pretended they were invisible, never acknowledging their pres-ence, never following with his eyes as they had gone up the steps toward the heavy doors.
Vladov used a key—two of the men went through first, the third in a guard position in the shadow beside a pillar at the head of the stone steps.
Vladov was checking his watch—then he said in English, “Hurry—inside.” Natalia went through, Rourke behind her, Vladov after them, closing the door as his men came through, then locking it from the inside. Vladov rasped, “That way—hurry!”
The figures of two fighting mastodons domi-nated the central hallway, Rourke running past them waved on by the two Special Forces men who had gone through first, toward mezzanine stair-ways, Natalia taking the stairs three at a time in a run, Rourke behind her, doing the same, Vladov and the third trooper behind him.
At the head of the stairs, the two Soviet SF men waved them down a left-hand corridor, Natalia following, Rourke beside her now, Vladov giving an order in Russian to the third trooper to stand guard by the mezzanine and stay out of sight.
They slowed their run, walking in dark shadows, a golden light ahead of them. The two Soviet SF men turned right into a side chamber, Rourke and Natalia after them—Rourke stopped. At the far side of the chamber—perhaps some sixty feet away, was a man, huge in his bulk, but of average height and not more. His face was a com-bination of sternness and the warmth of a home-less dog, his uniform tunic open, his feet moving as though it hurt him to stand. Natalia ran into his arms, the man seeming to smother her.
“That is Comrade General Varakov,” Vladov said with obvious pride. “I am sure that as the friend of the major you will not, but should you attempt to harm the comrade general, I would willingly—even gladly—die in his defense.”
Rourke studied Vladov’s eyes, saying, “You know—I think you would.”
Chapter Fifty-one
They had moved—silently but slowly because of Varakov—Rourke, had circumstances been differ-ent, would have liked to have examined the old man’s feet to see if perhaps some remedy for the man’s obvious pain would suggest itself. They were deep within the museum now, in what was apparently part of an Egyptian wing, glass cases dominating the high-ceilinged chamber, inside the cases ranks of mummies and sarcophagi, and about the hall various items of antiquity of Egypt-ian origin. The third Soviet SF-er had rejoined them, and now all three men stood guard at the entrance-ways, Varakov seated on a backless low wooden bench, Natalia huddled beside him—for all the world looking like an overly tall little girl. Rourke smiled.
Rourke stood, and beside him stood Captain Vladov.
General Varakov at last spoke. “There is little time—perhaps no time at all, but only God—if in-deed there is one—can determine that now.” A woman joined them—slightly built, what most men would call plain, but a prettiness about her. She walked over to stand beside and slightly be-hind Varakov, the bench separating them.
“Catherine,” Natalia murmured.
“Comrade Major Tiemerovna,” the woman smiled.
Varakov looked at the woman, her right hand going to rest for a second on his right shoulder, lovingly, Rourke thought, then moving it away, folding it inside her left hand, both hands held in front of her overly long uniform skirt.
Varakov continued to speak, “There is little time. So, very plain talk, Dr. Rourke. Natalia. Captain Vladov. First, Captain Vladov—after our discussion here, unless I am greatly mistaken, my niece and this man, Dr. Rourke—they will be go-ing to Colorado, to The Womb—all is ready for you and your Special Forces to accompany them?”
“Yes, comrade general,” Vladov answered.
“What are you talking about?” Rourke asked softly.
Varakov turned to Natalia. “Child—what does ionization of the atmosphere mean to you? You were very bright at the polytechnic—so tell this to me.”
“The air—it would become charged with electri-cal particles—and—”
“When the sun heated it,” Rourke interrupted, “the electrically charged particles would—”
Varakov continued to speak, interrupting Rourke. “You are correct—both of you. I had little education—it took me a great deal of time to grasp this idea. But soon, all will understand it.”
“You alluded to the end of the world,” Rourke whispered.
“In the Judeo-Christian Bible, I believe that God promises this man who built the big ship—”
“Noah,” Vladov said.
Varakov looked at him and smiled. “Noah—He promises Noah that the world would never again end by water flooding it over, but by fire instead.”
“I always thought that was a poor bargain on Noah’s part,” Rourke interjected. “I’d rather drown, I think, than burn to death.”