The Istanbul Decision (20 page)

"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."

"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.

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.

"Kobelev had Tatiana, so he fled on foot. He said if you had me maybe you would let him go."

"He must be dreaming! My orders are to kill him. I'll do it. He must know that. Which way did he go?"

She pointed up the track.

Carter followed her finger and shook his head, wondering what on earth Kobelev wanted in that direction. "How long ago?" he asked.

"Two hours. I don't know. Maybe a little longer."

Roberta broke in sympathetically. "You must be frozen clear through."

Carter and Roberta each gave her an arm and helped her up the ladder and into the engine room. While Cynthia warmed herself and got Roberta to tell her all that had happened while she'd been unconscious. Carter rummaged through the train, looking for anything he might be able to use in his pursuit of Kobelev. Within ten minutes he was back, his arms full.

"A gold mine," he muttered as he dropped it all with a clatter on the engine room floor. "Apparently, avalanches are fairly common along this section of track, and the train carries ample equipment in case the crew has to hike out of here."

On the floor were several pairs of snowshoes, three pickaxes, tents, an emergency stove, a bundle of flares, more coats and mittens, and two heavy-duty flashlights.

"There was even a shortwave radio," he said.

"Working?" asked Roberta hopefully.

Carter shook his head. "Sabotaged. Probably the first thing Kobelev did when he got on board. Oh — I found one other thing." He produced a large folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "A map," he said, spreading it on the floor. "According to this, there's a town about twelve miles down the line. Doesn't look very big, though."

"It's got a phone no doubt, or a radio," said Roberta.

"You think that's where he's headed?"

Roberta nodded. "If I were him, I'd want to get out of here the quickest way I could."