"No," he said. "We're good friends, that's all."
"Oh," Roberta said, and she was in his arms, careful not to press against his wound, and they were kissing, her lips soft, warm and moist.
They parted and she quickly pulled her sweater and turtleneck off, then undid her bra, her breasts firm and high, her nipples already hard. She pulled off her boots and trousers as Carter quickly got undressed, and soon they were lying nude in each other's arms in front of the warm firebox.
"This is crazy," Carter said. "Kobelev could decide to send his people in here at any moment."
"I know," Roberta said, gulping her words. "But it's been so… long…"
"Shut up, Lieutenant Commander," Carter said gently. She lay back as he kissed her breasts, then worked his way down her flat stomach, and lower, all else forgotten for the moment.
Much later the stars appeared in the oblong of sky between the cabin's roof and the top of the coal tender, and the wind picked up. Carter noticed the pressure had pushed the boiler near the danger point. He fumbled with the various valves and spigots, squinting at the faded German instructions in the dark until he finally located one he thought would do the trick and opened it, slowly at first. Steam billowed out of the big tank with a hiss that bordered on a full-throated scream, filling the cabin with the moist stench of rusted metal. He watched the gauge until the indicator dropped to a safe level, then shut it off, cutting the horrible screeching short and leaving in its wake a dead silence, eerie and unnerving. His eye caught Roberta's, and he realized they were both thinking the same thing.
"It is quiet," he said. "Too quiet. You wait here."
"Where are you going?" she demanded.
"See if I can take out that one guard. At least that'll give us a little room to maneuver." He stuffed his Luger into his belt and zipped his coat.
"Be careful," she said. It was an order, not a plea.
Fifteen
He eased out into the exposed area at the rear of the cabin, anxiously listening for the crackle of machine gun fire, but there was nothing except the hum of the wind across the opening. He glanced questioningly back at Roberta, then scampered down the narrow metal ladder and ran for the far end of the train, keeping to the shadows. The moon was at its zenith and with the help of the snow was lighting the landscape with a pale, opalescent daylight, which fortunately also created deep shadows.
He reached the last car, mounted another narrow ladder, and climbed to the roof. From here he leaped onto a rock shelf. The snow had been melting here all day and had refrozen, covering the rocks with a glasslike smoothness. He balanced carefully, trying to keep his weight directly over his feet, then rose up and latched on to an evergreen branch on the slope above. He took a step, balanced for a split second while he grabbed the next branch, then stepped again. In this way he was able to move mincingly, like a man on a tightrope, except that with only one good arm there was a gap when he moved from one branch to the next that left him vulnerable to falling. Several times he did almost fall, each time waving his hand frantically back and forth to keep himself upright until by some miracle it landed on another spiny twig and he was able to continue.
This little drama was being played out within easy range of Kobelev's people, and Carter kept expecting the report of a rifle to come thundering over the snow along with the bullet that would crease his skull and send him toppling twenty feet to the tracks below or split his spine or whatever. But it didn't come, and he began to wonder if Kobelev had gone.
The rock shelf ended in a steep snowfield, prismatic in the moonlight, at the end of which protruded a finger of rock. This was where Carter expected to find him, and indeed something was leaning against the base of it, either a pack or a bundle — or a man. If it was a man, he was dead or asleep.
Carter pulled out his gun and made his way cautiously across the snow, but the surface of the field had frozen to a thin veneer of ice that cracked like glass underfoot. His footfalls sounded like depth charges in the stillness. Christ! How could he not hear me? Carter thought. But mercifully the wind was blowing up the mountain instead of down, carrying the crunch of Carter's footsteps out into the night.
As he drew closer he saw it definitely was a man hunched over with his arms folded in front of him.
He came still closer — to within pistol range — and thought surely now the man would see him. He stopped, ready to hit the snow if the man made a move. But nothing happened. It was as if the man were sleeping… or dead. He crept closer.
Finally, at a distance of about seventy-five feet, Carter realized the man was awake but slowly freezing to death. He was wearing only a light Windbreaker and no hat or gloves. His face was unearthly pale, his lips quivered, and his bald head was mottled with splotches of stark white. His eyes stared blankly forward, and although Carter had crossed his line of vision, the pupils remained unfocused.
With a sigh Carter let Wilhelmina fall limply to his side. It was no use killing a man who was already half dead. He would take him back to the train, have Roberta tie him up, and stick him in one of the back cars.
The man's eyes suddenly lit with the last remaining spark of realization of what was going on. He swung the big automatic rifle around, commencing fire at the beginning of his arc.
A spray of bullets went wide to Carter's left, spitting up tiny glistening geysers in the snow. Carter responded with a shot from the hip, cleaving the man's forehead dead center so forcefully and fast that it snapped back and his rifle discharged three shells harmlessly into the air. Then the man's big hulk slumped face-first into the snow, leaving little question as to the state of his health.
"Damn! cursed Carter under his breath. He hadn't wanted to kill him. He lifted the corpse with the toe of his shoe. Snow was melting in rivulets on the still-warm face, and the eyes were open. It couldn't be helped. He picked up the rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then he stuffed Wilhelmina into his parka pocket and headed back toward the train.
Roberta was watching for him as he came up the tracks. "Nick!" she whispered hoarsely. "I heard gunshots."
"I wasn't on the receiving end," he said.
"Is he dead?"
"Very." He quickly climbed the ladder into the engine compartment. "Not that he stood much of a chance," he went on bitterly. "He was practically frozen stiff when I got there. Someday I'd like to find out what Kobelev does to these people to warrant such loyalty."
"Where do we go from here?" asked Roberta.
"We haven't heard anything from the other side for quite a while, have we?" said Carter, walking to the other side of the engine.
Roberta shook her head.
"Kobelev!" Carter yelled. The words echoed down the mountain.
There was no answer.
"Come on," said Carter, motioning to Roberta.
Carter took the frontal assault, climbing down out of the engine directly in line with Kobelev's position. Roberta went the other way, around the big boiler tank and over the tracks to try to outflank him. But again their precautions proved unnecessary. When they rounded the boulders, they found nothing but a wide area of churned-up snow and, in the middle, a slender girl with black hair wearing a man's too-large overcoat, lying on her side, trussed up like a roped calf. She was squirming and making muffled noises behind the cloth in her mouth, her relieved eyes telling them how glad she was to see them.
"Nick!" she shouted when they untied her. For a moment they sat in the snow holding each other without moving. Roberta crouched on her haunches.
"Why did they leave you behind?" Carter asked.