by Nick Carter
"They kicked all the passengers and crew off in Budapest. Not that any of them were too sorry to leave. But Tatiana is back!"
"I saw her getting on the train at Györ. Where's Cynthia?"
"Up front. Second car back from the engine."
"She's still alive?"
Roberta nodded. "I was just so relieved to see you. When they stopped because of the avalanche, I thought I'd die here. And then it occurred to me that it might be you. I didn't believe it, but thank God I was right. What the hell happened to your arm?"
"Little problem in Györ. Our friend Kobelev is always thinking. He figured I might remember his grandmother, so he laid a trap for me. Damn near worked."
She unzipped the parka and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh, Nick!" she exclaimed when she saw it. "You need help."
"Later."
Her eyes danced away from his, out across the car, the lids batting back tears. "I made a mistake, Nick. I'm sorry. I guess because you 're a man you get to be the big hero. At any rate, when I got here I realized there wasn't much I could do, so I lay low. Last night when everyone was asleep, I thought I'd take a chance. I crept into the salon car up front and found Kobelev sleeping, unguarded for the moment. I had the drop on him, but then my damn gun jammed. I just made it out of there."
"You were lucky you weren't captured, too."
"You know something, Carter?" she asked indignantly, her shame turning to anger at last. "Throughout our entire association you have given me absolutely no credit whatsoever. When you first met me, you mistook me for a whore, then you shuffled me down to the train station to wait like a little girl while you went to intercept Kobelev at his grandmother's. Now you tell me you don't think I'm capable of a simple operation of the kind I've been trained to do."
"All right," he said, trying to calm her. "I apologize, too. I made a mistake in Austria, and I should have taken you with me in Györ. I could have used you. So now we're even. Let's bury the hatchet. We don't have time to squabble among ourselves."
"I'll forgive you if you promise an apology in full when all this is over."
"Done. Now let's go find Kobelev."
They worked their way through the remaining cars of the train, the pullmans, the sleeping cars, a shower car, the dining car, and the kitchen where Nick had fought Shurin; all were deserted. When they reached the small salon car where Carter had had his initial confrontation with Kobelev, they conferred quietly outside the door.
"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 b
eneath 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.
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 pock
et 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.