I grinned at him. "The way Naldi talked, there'll be more damage than that if they're allowed to go through with the damn test. Wegmann's doing us all a big favor." I let him stew a moment longer; then I held out the little gun. "Can you shoot one of these things? First, can you walk?"
"Don't worry about me," he said, getting to his feet.
"Amigo," I said, "about people who try to run me off mountain roads, my worry-quotient is infinitesimal. Five minutes from now you can fall down dead and I'll never miss you. But in the meantime, can you knock that marksman out of the tower before he gets more than one running shot at me?"
He looked at me f or a moment. Then he grimaced. "I thought you said… Ah, hell. I'll do the running. You shoot."
"You can hardly stand up," I pointed out. "Besides, a runt like you'd bog down in the snow. I've got more road clearance. Let's hope he's a lousy shot at moving targets. I'll head so he has to expose himself to take a bead. Get him when he makes his try. Okay?"
He took the nickel-plated pistol. "With this? Well, if it won't shoot that far, maybe I can throw it. What's the time now?"
I took my watch off and gave it to him. "You're so nervous about the time, you keep track of it. Give me a minute, first, while I tie up my specimen."
"Make it thirty seconds," he said.
I used the odds and ends of rope to do a reasonable job on Gunther, who still didn't seem very interested in the proceedings. Espionage and sabotage are not our concern, Mac had said. I had no business at all haring off to make a target of myself, leaving my job unfinished. It was an inexcusable neglect of duty, a regrettable display of sloppy humanitarianism, or something, and I felt pretty good as I finished tying the knots and got to my feet. A man's got to p it every now and then.
"Want a Band-Aid or something before we go?" I asked Romero.
He shook his head. He seemed to be waiting for me to attend to something else. When I frowned at him questioningly, he gestured towards Gail.
I said, "Don't be silly. I told you about her. Come on.'
He looked startled. I saw Gail's eyes go wide. She may not have caught the words from where she lay, still tightly bound, but she got the meaning all right. I was surprised at both of them. What I was doing with Romero was a breach of orders and a display of poor judgment; I certainly wasn't going to compound it by turning loose a female who'd already betrayed me once-a woman who, even if her loyalties were in the right place now, had no training, no experience, and could only get in the way.
I mean, even looking at it from her point of view, she was safer right there, tied up to keep her out of trouble and mischief. The fact that she'd given us a hand just now didn't buy her any voting stock in the corporation.
I turned my back on her and went to the door. It all went like clockwork from there. I went leaping through the snow like a gazelle; the rifleman leaned out and got his shot but missed, and Romero, using the doorjamb of the hut for a rest, got a two-handed grip on the little revolver and picked him off like a pipe in a shooting gallery. The sniper swayed against the railing up there. The rifle slipped out of his hands and came down butt first into the snow at the base of the tower.
This was a little bonus I hadn't expected. I dropped the belt I was carrying for want of a better weapon, grabbed up the rifle, worked the bolt and was ready when the church door opened. Romero was ready, too. The man in the doorway, hit twice, never even twitched as he fell.
I went in over his body. A second man fired and made a run for the tower stairway. I fired from the hip and missed; I never can get used to a rifle in close-range work. Romero, coming in behind me, shot at the disappearing legs and-from the sound of the yelp-nicked one of them. The little man could shoot. I looked at the bank of instruments along the wall and raised the rifle butt. Romero caught my arm.
"No," he said. There was a thoughtful look on his face. "Not that way."
Somebody up in the tower took a shot downward through the rotten roof. The bullet hit the dirt floor behind us. We moved closer to the instrument board. More shots were fired, all misses. I guess they were afraid of scrambling their own circuits with a misplaced bullet.
"Make up your mind, amigo," I said.
Romero's face was greenish white. I'd never seen a live man look so ready for burial. I remembered that I owed him an apology for some derogatory thoughts I'd had about security men. A few little guys like this made up for a lot of Peytons. He slipped his hand under his waistband, feeling around in an absent way and brought it out with blood on it. Well, I'd already guessed that. When deer, elk or man hunches up like that when shot, it's always in the guts.
"You've got your job," he said. "I've got mine, to protect…" He stopped, as pain hit him. I guess the numbness was wearing off. "To apprehend…"
"Sure," I said. "Well, if we smash this thing, we protect. We can apprehend later."
He shook his head. "Wegmann talked about it," he said, looking at the rows of knobs and switches. "He told me… he told me… He was proud of it. I told you that."
"Yes," I said. Somebody took another shot through the roof and missed again. "You told me."
"He showed me around… I don't know just what we'd have to cut or smash to make absolutely sure… A lot of it's only for monitoring. There's only one thing… one thing…" He drew a cautious breath. "Hell, I'm wandering. Get out of here, fast. You've got about five minutes."
"Wegmann?"
Gunther might be my job, but still I didn't feel right about leaving Wegmann.
"Give me the rifle," Romero said. "I can hold him in the tower long enough, until…" He grimaced with pain. "He'll be taken care of. I give you my word. They'll all be taken care of. I know just how to do it. Just run like hell and leave it to me."
I said, "It sounds like an attractive proposition, Senor Romero."
"Mister," he said.
"Sure," I said. "Mister."
"Get clear," he said. "As far as you can. See you in hell or somewhere."
I ran. I mean it was his job, and he talked as if he knew what he was about. I had my own work to do. Somebody took a couple of shots at me from the tower, but it takes a damn good pistol shot to hit a running target at any range. I hurled myself through the door of the generator hut and brought up short.
Gail was still on the floor, approximately where I'd left her, still bound. By her hands lay a small penknife, open. Beside the penknife lay some pieces of rope, but that was all. There was no sign of Gunther. I went quickly to the door, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. There were, however, some marks in the snow. I studied these for a moment and saw where they led. I grinned slowly.
I went back to Gail and cut her loose. She sat up and started to rub her wrists, not looking at me. I pulled her to her feet. For a tall and lovely lady, she looked remarkably like a truant kid, standing there defiantly, her face filthy with dust and tears, her sweater grimy and awry, her silly sexy pants smeared with dirt and grease from the engine-room floor.
"So you helped cut him loose," I said. "And he left you here to rot, just like I did. Smart man. He knows you, too."
"Matt, I-"
"Never mind," I said. "Now we run. Make for the truck and pay no attention to those jerks in the tower. They'll just be shooting at us with pistols, very inferior weapons. Think nothing of it. We've only got a couple of minutes, so we'll do our praying later. Okay?"
They did their best with what they had, but it wasn't enough. I saw Gail falter once as a bullet tugged at her sleeve; I had a bad moment when she fell headlong, but that was just a slip in the snow. She was up again and running instantly. I got a hole in one pants leg. Then we were out of pistol range. Laboring towards the truck at a slower rate, we saw bloodstains in the snow ahead of us. There were also stains on the white camouflage canvas covering the truck.