"Last time I was here," Carter whispered, "there were two guards, one at this end and one at the other."
"Same as last night," Roberta said.
"Then we'll have to assume they're still in there. You go back a car, get off the train, then walk up to the other end of this car, being careful not to let anybody see you. Then we go in together. I'll rush this door and take out the first guard. You rush the other door and draw the second's attention. With the first guard out of the way, we'll have him in a crossfire. But don't shoot unless you absolutely have to. We still don't know if Kobelev is in there, and I'd rather not advertise the fact his support troops have dwindled down to almost nothing."
Roberta nodded, taking the light machine gun Carter offered her. They synchronized watches. "Five minutes," he said.
"You sure you trust me not to screw this up?" she asked.
"Get out of here! Let's not start that whole thing again!" She turned and slipped out of the car.
Carter watched the digital display on his wrist until the five minutes had elapsed, then burst in the door at the exact moment Roberta shouldered her way in at the other side. The car was empty.
"They've been here," said Roberta. "Here's Kobelev's pipe. It's still warm."
"And Cynthia's wheelchair. At least they're letting her up. But where the hell is everybody?"
"Outside I heard voices at the front of the train."
"Let's have a look."
They went through a club car similar to the one they'd just left, except it had no bar. It, too, was empty, although it had been recently occupied. The following car was the coal tender, which they climbed over to get to the engine compartment. This was also deserted, even though the fire doors stood open and a fierce coal fire glowed inside.
The voices were clearly audible now, and Carter thought he recognized Kobelev's. He leaned out the engineer's window and saw the Russian standing in front of the engine, his hands on his hips, his white hair pressed down by a thick fur addyel. He was watching two of his guards, the engineer, and the fireman all plying coal shovels to the mound of snow that blocked the track. He was shouting orders, admonishing them to dig faster. Beside him stood a slender woman with black hair. She looked at first like Tatiana, but he guessed it must be Cynthia because under the man's overcoat that hung from her shoulders like a tent, she seemed to be wearing nothing more than a robe and nightgown.
He leaned a little further out the opening and leveled the Luger at the Russian.
He was just about to pull the trigger when a bullet ricocheted off the side of the engine, inches from his hand.
Carter ducked back out of sight, Roberta by his side. "Where is he?" she asked.
"Above us. Somewhere forward."
She popped up, took a quick look, and fired a short burst from the machine gun. Her shots were quickly answered with an equally short burst that sent bullets whining off the walls of the compartment.
"You all right?" she asked, crouching down again and looking at Carter's hand, which he was shaking as though he'd been stung.
"Just metal splinters. Dammit! I should have realized. He posted guards in the rear because he thought I had something to do with the avalanche. Of course he d post another above the train to keep an eye on the whole thing in case I got by the first two."
There were more shots, this time from the other side and lower, coming up through the space between the coal tender and the engine, putting deep silver marks in the boilerplate just over their heads.
"Carter!" came a shout from the direction of the second set of shots. "I hope you weren't intending to run away with my train. Thanks to you, it isn't going anywhere."
"Neither are you, Kobelev!" Carter shouted back.
There was more firing, this time from both directions at once, and Carter and Roberta huddled in a comer so as not to be caught by a ricochet.
"Give yourselves up!" shouted Kobelev. "We have you pinned down. Besides, we still have your friend."
"But we have the train!" retorted Carter. He crawled through the coal dust on the floor and peeked out at Kobelev's position. They were using the large boulders the avalanche had kicked down for cover. He rattled off two shots that made heads duck. The answering volley came from the guard on the other side, ringing off the metal floor and kicking up coal dust on all sides of him. He barely managed to roll toward the fire doors for safety.
Roberta slid over and put a hand on his leg. "What are we going to do?"
Carter took a quick look around the cab. It was an old engine, manufactured in Germany probably before the turn of the century. The German labels for the different handles and gauges had long since worn off, but the controls looked simple.
"If worst comes to worst," he said, "we can back out of here, although it'd be tough on these grades. But the way I see it now, it's a stand-off. We'll just sit and wait."
"What if they rush us?"
"How much ammunition have you got?"
She checked the machine gun's magazine. "Thirty — maybe forty rounds," she announced, slamming it back into place.
"We can hold them. They may have the numbers, but we've got the fire. They're stuck out in the cold."
But the cold didn't remain cold. As the day wore on, the sun outside grew warmer while the fire under the boiler grew cooler. And with the area between the tender and the engine a no-man's-land of crossfire. Carter was unable to get to the coal. The fire went from red hot to smokey gray and finally, by midafternoon, to speckled black embers with streaks of red beneath the ash — far too low to get up steam if they needed to make a quick exit.
The lengthening shadows toward evening found Carter and Roberta huddling in front of the furnace for warmth, one watching one door, one watching the other. It had been a long day, filled with shouts and threats and even an occasional shot being fired, but nothing was resolved.
"I'm hungry," Roberta said at last.
"It's hard to be cold on an empty stomach," Carter said. He was thinking about Cynthia. He hoped Kobelev had provisions out there.
"I'm still hungry."
"Wait a minute," said Carter, noticing the familiar shape of a black metal box stashed under the driver's seat. He slid toward it, and a shot hit the seat back, making it ring like a gong. He snatched the box and beat a hasty retreat.
"It looks like a lunch box," Roberta said excitedly.
Carter popped it open. Inside were four stale hot-cross buns, some waxed wrapping from buns already eaten, and a half a thermos of tepid coffee. The driver had a sweet tooth.
With the coming of darkness coal became easier to obtain. Carter made the trip between tender and engine several times without being fired upon, and soon the cabin was warm enough to allow them to undo their coats. Roberta searched through the lockers opposite the driver's and found a fire ax, a box of flares and a medical kit. She promptly set to work changing the dressing on Carter's shoulder, while Carter sat with the machine gun on his knee watching both exposures.
"How long are we going to have to stay here like this?" she finally asked.
Carter looked up at her and shrugged. "I don't know. It's up to them, really." He laid the weapon aside. Roberta had repacked the first-aid kit, and she sat on her haunches looking at him, their faces very close.
Slowly Carter leaned toward her, then stopped. Her nostrils flared, and it seemed like she would bolt at any moment.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She glanced outside. "Do you love her?"
"Who?" Carter asked, genuinely confused.
"Cynthia."