The boy understood. He reached for the machine gun, laid it and the candle on the floor, and offered his back for me to climb. I reached up, got my hands spread on the upper surface of the opening and lifted myself out.
I rested for a moment. I was on the roof of the rooms near the outer wall. The grounds appeared to be empty. I stretched an arm back down the shaft and felt the barrel of the gun the boy was handing up to me. I pulled it out, hearing the slap of his bare feet running down the tunnel. He was heading back to Noah.
Crawling to the edge of the roof I discovered my missing man, the fourth Russian — on his stomach behind the parachutes, his gun ready on the door behind which Mitzy watched. He wasn’t far away. As individuals, the enemy are never impressive. This one was young, slight, but dangerous because of the lethal toy in his hands. I called to him in Russian, wanting him to face me.
“Up here.”
He turned. I fired. He jerked and rolled. Mitzy appeared at the door, saw the body and walked toward it. I jumped off the roof.
In that fraction of time a fifth parachutist lunged from behind an open door, ramming a heavy revolver against Mitzy’s neck. To kill him I’d have to shoot through her. He was looking at me.
He called in fair English, “Throw away the gun.” Then he said something to the girl.
I let my gun fall. He gave an order: “Come this way, not close. Stand against the wall facing it.”
I crossed past them. His uniform was of better material, better tailored than what the others wore. He had the mark of an officer and a walkie-talkie hung from his belt.
Even at the distance I could heard Mitzy’s ragged breathing. He held her tighter and she gagged.
He laughed. “One chance for you both. Tell me where Dr. Fleming is. If you don’t, I shoot first her, then you.”
My stiletto was on the floor out of reach.
Mitzy’s voice rasped through her teeth. “Tell him to go to hell.”
I turned slowly, not to startle him. He cursed me.
“I didn’t tell you to move.”
I pretended to be frightened. It was easy. I chattered, “Don’t shoot. I’ll tell you. He’s hiding. I’ll get him.”
Mitzy swore at me, a thorough job. But I knew that if I could pass the catacomb’s door, I’d find guns there. It didn’t come off. The Russian knew they were there too. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He could use both Mitzy and me as a shield and walk to where I’d pointed. Then, using us as protection, he’d demand that Fleming give up. But suppose Fleming didn’t give a damn about our lives and shot through us to get to the enemy? That was a possibility he couldn’t risk.
So he tried another tack. He’d realized Mitzy was important to me by the way I laid down my gun the minute he’d grabbed her. He sneered.
“Yes. Go bring him. If there is a trick, the woman dies at once.”
I had to play it out. He was a head taller than the girl and I trusted my aim with the Luger to blow his block off while he watched the door I’d gone through.
“Walk slowly,” he told me. “With your hands high. Do not bend down. I will watch.”
We marched toward the catacombs. Just before I reached the steps he told me to stop, wanting to accustom his eyes to the change of light; then he told me to go on. He didn’t follow me any further. The stairs and the chamber below me felt like I was walking in India ink A soft footfall preceded me and at the bottom a hand was laid on my arm. Noah’s voice whispered against my ear.
“I saw and heard. Come with me.”
He kept hold of me, steering me ahead of him. I whispered to him what I had in mind, and his fingers tightened on my wrist.
“It will not work. You could not see behind you. There is too much risk that he would see a shadow in time to pull the trigger. We will try another way.”
The word “shadow” gave Noah an idea. At least that’s what he told me. He lit a candle, the glow dim in the large room. The light fell on an open box filled with small wooden dolls. Noah picked out one, pierced its chest with a long thin needle he’d also found in the box, then held it high in the air. His lips moved in silent prayer.
Good lord — all this while Mitzy stood outside with a nervous soldier aiming a gun at her neck.
The old man presented his prize for approval to me, walked around in a circle, and padded toward the stairs.
I had a glance at Tara’s wide eyes and open mouth and of Fleming’s expressionless face. I trailed along after Noah. This I had to see. Besides, I had to free Mitzy and she was where the old man was heading.
Mitzy and the soldier were standing in the gloom just behind the door, both of them in shadow. Noah and I stopped far enough down the steps to be out of sight. I watched the Russian’s head turn from the stairwell to the outer door. Mitzy was angled between them, easy to pivot toward one or the other. I groaned without sound. No way. No way at all to take that sharpie by surprise.
The old man tossed the doll. It landed with a tiny click on the stone in the beam of sunlight. The man’s head snapped toward the sound. I expected a shot right then to break the girl’s spine. There was none. There was a frozen moment while I cursed Noah under my breath. No trick, the Russian’d warned. Without any doubt, that doll on its back, propped up by the needle point through its back, was the trick of the century.
There was a sudden violent movement in the shade. Both the man’s arms were flung wide, his fingers spread as though an electric current had slammed through him. The gun clattered to the floor. He staggered back, made a convulsive grab at his chest with both hands, twisted, then curled down into a limp heap and didn’t move again.
Mitzy had scooped up the gun before I got there. She stood with it hanging at her side, looking from the soldier to the doll. I rolled the man over. He was dead. His face a grimace of pain, eyes bulging. The classic look of a massive heart attack.
Here was a man on a new edge of nerves, killed by fear. I knew it. I was positive of it. Of course I was. A soldier who’d seen four friends killed in an ancient pirate stronghold reeking of legend. A man all alone with enemies. Tense to the breaking point. And out of nowhere flies a symbol of death, landing at his feet. Why wouldn’t his heart stop?
It couldn’t but did it? I looked at Noah.
The old man was busy with the bodies. He dragged the five dead soldiers over by the parachutes. Two lay against the pile of cloth, ankles crossed, arms folded behind their heads. The third was propped against the wall, knees folded, arms crossed, his head resting on his hands. The fourth was arranged the same way, and the officer sat in the woven chair Fleming had used. They presented the picture of a group that had successfully completed its mission and was now resting, waiting.
I got the message. If Fleming had been taken prisoner, he’d have to be taken away. The detail would have to be picked up too. There would be a helicopter along soon. Very good. Let it come. Let it put down here. The pilot would be alone since all available room would be needed for the passengers. I could handle him and we’d have wings. All I needed was the walkie-talkie on the officer’s belt.
I went for it. Noah finished working, straightened and studied the sky. He drew a deep breath. He made a full turn, sniffing, then smiled.
“Wind is coming. It may help us later if we should need it.”
He passed with a sidelong look that dared me to challenge his voodoo performance. Then he headed for the catacomb. Mitzy and I waited for the plane.
It was a half hour before we heard the flap of the chopper. It came over, circled, shredding air, and a rattle of Russian spat out of the microphone. He wanted to know if the doctor was in hand. I didn’t have to lie in answering. I said Fleming was alive and we had him. The pilot laughed, broke contact and began to come down.