Shadow of the Condor (27 page)

"With help."

It took three minutes and several stages before Malcolm lay flat on the bed. First a very slow sit-up. Then standing, leaning heavily on Sheila for support. A few tentative steps to the side of the bed, then sitting again. And a nice, easy lowering. She raised his feet to the bed, then sat beside him.

Malcolm closed his eyes. His breathing and pulse were almost normal again. Although he had no recollection of it, he knew he must have followed at least some of the correct procedures for a break-fall or he would have been seriously injured. Perhaps the tortuous sessions with McGiffert had paid some dividends after all. They certainly hadn't helped him defeat a smaller female opponent.

Except for general soreness in his back and arm Malcolm felt fairly good when he opened his eyes. At least he was still alive. The first thing he saw after he blinked to clear his contacts was Sheila staring down at him. The first thing he noticed about her was her eyes: Red lines crossed the whites, and in the comer's he saw drops of liquid barely held in.

You're crying," he said softly. He slowly raised his right hand to touch her cheek. "You're crying."

Sheila said nothing. She turned her face into his hand. He felt the tears trickle down his wrist. She sobbed, softly at first, then deeper and louder, like an animal under heavy, painful exertion.

Malcolm shifted slightly, carefully keeping her face cupped in his hand. He tried to pull her face toward him, to look at her, but she used what strength she had left to resist him. She was too weak to resist when he pulled her down beside him on the bed. He carefully wrapped his an-ns around her, pulling her as tightly to his still-sore body as he could. Her sobs came closer together now, and her body rose and fell in the effort. Tears wet almost her whole face.

Malcolm had no idea how long they lay like that. Eventually Sheila's sobs ceased, but she still clung silently to him. When she had made no sounds for some time and the tears had ceased to flow on his arm, he carefully tilted her face until they looked at each other.

"You stupid fool," she whispered, "you silly, stupid fool. I might have killed you! I might have hurt you very badly!"

"But you didn't," Malcolm replied, conscious that he was whispering too, for no apparent reason. "You didn't. You cried instead."

Sheila pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit it, al most as if she were about to cry again. Malcolm gently touched her cheek, and her mouth became normal once more. She stared at him fixedly in silence. Then, slowly, he moved closer to her and softly kissed her. When he opened his eyes again, she still stared at him. He kissed her once more, lightly, tenderly, then moved his face alongside her and held her close. She hesitated briefly, then he felt her arms tighten around him. He held her for several minutes before he kissed her again. This time she kissed him back. Her lips parted slowly and he felt her breathing increase its tempo. Her lips tasted of salt from the tears, and a sweet-sour sweat smell filled his nostrils. They kissed again, and again, each time more deeply. Her fingers twined through his hair as he slowly, gently closed his hand on her firm breast.

She sat up on the bed. Her hands moved rapidly and her blouse and bra fell to the floor. Seconds later her shoes, pants, panties and socks joined them. Malcolm barely had his shirt off and his pants undone before she turned back to' him. Her hands flew over his body, her mouth smothered his face. He gently squeezed the firm, hard flesh of her breasts, felt her nipples stiffen. He ran his hand down her flat stomach until he cupped her groin. She moved furiously, pulling his underwear down, and mounting him almost before he realized it. She crouched above him, moving, moving, moving, then he ceased analyzing what was happening until after they exploded.

They made love once more that hour, only this time more slowly, more carefully.

"What do we do now?" she finally asked. Her head lay on his chest.

"I don't know. I don't know," Malcolm replied truthfully.

"I know one thing," she said finally. She sat up and smiled down at him almost regretfully. He stroked her hair "I have to check in with Chou. And I'll have to tell him about the Russian going to ground."

Malcolm watched her for several seconds -before he said, "I suppose so." Sheila kissed his hand gently and shifted to get off the bed. He caught her before she was standing. She turned back to face him, and he said, "But what about this?"

"I don't know," she said. "Right now ... well, right now it just is. And no matter how much either of us wishes it, things aren't altered."

Malcolm let her go. He lay perfectly still while she talked in Chinese to Chou. Malcolm had no thoughts. He had no idea what she said. When she came back to the bed, she told him Chou ordered them to continue as before. He said it would be best to follow Carl's orders.

"He also said he might come down to see us," she told Malcolm. "He wouldn't say for sure because he deliberately wants to keep us guessing. Good tactics. He's interested in what we found out about the Robinsons and Kincaids, but he says the time to move hasn't come yet. We just have to wait.

Malcolm didn't really care what Chou thought about the mission just then. Malcolm had only one thought. "Did you tell him about us? About this?"

Sheila looked at him almost as if she were about to cry again. She bit her lip, then violently shook her head from side to side. "I didn't, I didn't tell him, I didn't! Oh, Malcolm, I didn't tell him and"~-she paused to smile sardonically. 'I should have! I was supposed to!"

Malcolm said nothing as he pulled her close.

The rain beat against the windows all night long.

The Red Queen made no resistance whatever, only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green: and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter-,and fatter-and softer-and rounder-and-

"So far we have no word. The
North Dakota
and
Montana
police have an APB out for him on a robbery charge, with orders to locate and observe. One of them may try to be a hero and bring him in, but we stressed that he is only to be found, then we're to take it from there. I've flooded the area around the missiles with agents, and the police are warning local motels and hotels to report any suspicious single men." Kevin paused. The old man still hadn't chewed him out for losing Rose. That worried him.

"Exactly how did Rose slip away?" The old man's voice A on the other end of the phone line didn't seem to contain malice.’’

'Simple enough," replied Kevin. "He had been setting us up for it ever since he left
Chicago
. He got us accustomed to him pulling -in at rest stops. That allowed him to see who drove by and set us up for a switch. After the call to Woodward, Rose pulled into the first rest stop he found with one other car in it. While we were watching his blip on the radar screen, he was over the hill forcing an old man and woman to, give him their car. It took only a second for them to transfer his luggage, and they all drove away together in the old couple's car. We watched the original blip. "By the way, the old man he kidnapped thinks one of Rose's bags contained some type of machine. Rose made him treat it very carefully, and the man said it looked as though the bag was built around something rather than something put in a bag. "After forcing the old man to drive him about fifteen miles, Rose had him pull off on a country road. He bound them with tape from their first-aid kit and left them in a gully. It took the old man an hour to hop to the highway and another thirty minutes before someone found him. The APB carries a description of the stolen car, but I wouldn't be surprised if Rose has switched again.

"He dumped the couple off just south of Underwood. Four major highways are within a couple miles of there. Rose could have gone in any direction on them. The maze of the country roads out hera doesn't help either.

"I'm guessing he's headed for the missile site where Parkins died. We have all sorts of patrols checking the most likely routes to that area, but my hopes aren't up. It's an awful lot of country. If he stays in the area, we'll eventually get him, but I'm worried that he’ll complete his mission and then vanish. I'm mad, upset and feel stupid all at the same time. I'm also sorry, sir, very, very, sorry."

"Kevin," the old man comforted firmly, "don't blame yourself. You had a very difficult task and Rose is obviously a very skillful opponent. Perhaps, with hindsight, we could see other options we might have taken, but crying over our mistakes now will do us no good.

"Besides, we haven't failed yet. I am sure Rose hasn't completed his mission. I feel it in my bones. And I think at this point we should concentrate on stopping him from completing that mission.

"Keep your orders to the local authorities the same. But once you've found Rose, I want you and our people to move in and neutralize him. If you could arrange a capture of him that didn't get him into bureau hands for, say, two or three hours, I think we will still come out of this ahead of the game."

"I understand, sir."

"I thought you would. Just in case we are successful with that contingency, I'm flying Dr. Lofts out to Malmstrom Air Base. With helicopters kindly provided at the general's orders, Lofts should be able to get to Rose within an hour if the capture is anywhere near the missile site. If not, could you arrange for Rose to be brought to a suitable location for 'preliminary examination!’'

"I think so, sir. The bureau men with me are fairly cooperative. They've officially told me they don't want to blow the case against Rose because of any procedural goofs, but unofficially they've indicated they -really don't care if he ever comes to trial. Their
Washington
office wants the headlines, but the field men are more interested in nailing Rose's ass but good. He's made them look awfully bad."

"Don't worry about the
Washington
end. I think I can take care of that. After all, we're giving them the truck driver and the
New York
woman. What more do they need? And by the way, Kevin, you know you have the Army teams-stationed at Malmstrom as a backup?"

"Yes, but if we find Rose first, I doubt I'll need them. I don't think Rose is prepared for war. You still have them on special security duty?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. And of course, I have Condor as a backup.’’

The old man laughed slightly.. "I'm afraid our Condor hasn't been as productive as I haA hoped. He's performed well, but nothing like his previous stellar accomplishments. Perhaps that's just as well. Breaking him in slowly should keep him from flying from us. If you get a chance, bring him in at the end somehow. Let him Watch, but don't let him get involved in any rough stuff. I'm not sure how he would handle it."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir. What's he doing anyway?"

"'Wrapping up that ridiculous survey. He gave Carl some more farmers to check out. Carl said Malcolm indicated they probably meant nothing. Carl's having a routine check done anyway. Condor is waiting by the phone for that and any other . word from us. I felt it was best to keep him out of the area until we know where Rose is. After all, we don't want Condor laying an egg and spoiling our show for us, do we?" The old man chuckled softly at his own joke.

Kevin wasn't in a humorous mood, but he tried to force some levity into his reply. He failed. "No, sir," he said grimly, "we don't"

….

Nurich headed west along two-lane U.S. 200 after dumping the old couple in the field. He had considered killing them to ensure their silence and extend his security, but he decided that executing them would put him in a harder bargaining position if he were caught. True, the old couple might die accidentally in the field, but the man looked tough enough to make it to help in a reasonable length of time. And if they died, they died.

Nurich drove as hard and as fast as he dared. He had no way of knowing how much time he had. He didn't even know for sure that he was indeed shaking pursuers. Despite Woodward's warnings and his own premonitions, it wasn't an established fact that the Americans were on to him. But Nurich didn't want to bet they weren7t. By midday he had cut back to the main interstate 94, crossed the border into southern
Montana
and was less than eight hours from his mission site. He drove on, despite the tension and the pressures. He knew he needed to switch cars, and the opportunity came shortly after he left the interstate at Glendive, Montana, to cut northwest on another two-lane highway.

She drove a Volkswagen largely because of the gas economy and partially because she thought it was cute. She was thirty-seven years old, wife to a considerate if mildly unnoticing husband, mother to three girls (aged ten, eight and five), and on her way to an overnight bridge tournament in Havre, 240 miles from her Glendive home. She also was raised in the protective womb of American womanhood and had no idea how to fix a flat tire. But, since she was only a few minutes from her home in friendly
Montana
, she had no fear that the minor problem would do more than delay her. Someone she knew or could trust was bound to come along sooner or later and fix her problem, so she sat in her car, pulled slightly off the side of the road, smiling and planning strategies for card games she would never play.

The nice middle-aged man was so helpful. He carefully listened to all her plans as he fixed her tire. She even joked with him about how she never checked in with her husband, just to keep him from thinking she couldn't do without him. It was a little game they played. By now the children were old enough that they didn't mind not hearing from Mommy every night, so that didn't matter. She really appreciated the way the nice salesman kept watching for traffic too. Not that there was much to watch for. No cars passed them during the time he fixed her flat. He carefully put the tools away in the little trunk (she never could get used to a trunk in the front of the car!) and turned to face her. She had just started to thank him when she saw the huge gun in his hand.

The wornan drove wretchedly, but Nurich wasn't too worried. He was just glad she wasn't a screamer. She had paled almost fainted at the sight of the gun, but she hadn't screamed. That had been a good sign. She also reacted quickly to his orders. He didn't have to tell her-twice as she transferred his bags from the old couple's car to the Volkswagen.

Nurich played with her terror as they drove, first soothing it, then fanning it. It took an hour before her conversation moved beyond rapidly affirmative monosyllables. He realized she had an equal fear of rape and death, possibly fearing rape even more than death. That amused him, and he thought he could use it to his advantage. The terror of being soiled for her husband and children would motivate her more than mortal danger.

Nurich looked at her carefully as she drove. She was rather plain and trifle bony for his likes. Something about her made Nurich think of the woman who lived in the flat below him in
Moscow
. She had recently been widowed and had entertained Nurich several times. He had given some thought to marrying her, but his profession was not conducive to or compatible with such institutions. The thought of his Russian neighbor warmed Nurich and he sighed. The American housewife would have been considerably relieved if she had known Nurich considered rape outside the line of duty, a sport of pigs, not of men. As long as she did what she was told, her chastity was safe with him.

Nurich had her drive to Kremlin, a small cluster of buildings along U.S. 2, the major east-west highway -running parallel to the Canadian border. In many places U.S. 2 is less than thirty-five miles from the border. Nurich chose Kremlin for no particularly strategic reason. The name amused him. Kremlin is off the highway and had one very decrepit motel with all the units vacant. Nurich correctly guessed that most of the few people who use the motel do so for illicit and often illegal love affairs of one kind or another. Few tourists stay in this whistle-stop when the small city of
Havre
is less than an hour's drive to the east and
Shelby
, Malcolm's base community, is thirty minutes to the west.

Nurich ordered the woman to pull off the main road after they had driven through and scouted-Kremlin. Her hands tightly grasped the wheel; she stared straight ahead.

The old couple carried a bottle of fine brandy wrapped in the cushioning protective gauze of their first-aid kit. The brandy had been a present from their daughter. Nurich gave the brandy little thought when he took the first-aid kit with him in the woman's car. He had been interested' primarily in the tape to bind the housewife. But as they neared the motel, he realized the brandy could help build his cover. Now he handed her the open bottle.

"Drink some."

The trembling woman almost dropped the bottle. The first tentative swallow, made her choke.

"More," Nurich commanded, "only this time slosh it around mi your mouth before you swallow it."

The woman obeyed. Nurich made her drink almost half the bottle in quick, burning swallows.

"Now take some of it in your hand. Rub it on your face and let it dry."

The woman looked at him questioningly, but obeyed. Nurich took the bottle from her. He rinsed his mouth out with the fiery liquid, then spit the liquor out the window. He rubbed some into his clothing and on his face. The car reeked of brandy. Nurich was pleased with the drunken image the sweet odor gave, but he wished the old couple had carried a different liquor: He hated brandy. He looked outside the car windows and into the rearview mirror. They were off the main highway, pulled into a country-road intersection. It was dark, and he saw no lights from approaching traffic. Kremlin's few lights were a good half mile away.

Nurich studied his captive carefully. The eerie half-light glow from the instrument panel seemed to magnify her fear. She wore a simple brown suede suit with a white blouse under the jacket.

"Take off your jacket," he commanded, "and the blouse and bra too. Then put the blouse back on."

The woman cringed away from him. She pressed her body against the door. She slowly turned to look toward him, not at him. "Please," she begged, "I ... please don't

‘’I can pay you-"

Nurich cut her pleas short. "Listen to me. We are going to check into that motel. I want him to think we are adulterers. The more we look the part, the better. The desk clerk will smell the brandy. If it's a man, he'll pay attention to you. I want him to notice you as a woman, nothing else. If you -don't do exactly as I say, or if you try something stupid when we confront the motel clerk, I will kill whoever is in there. And then I will do things to you so unspeakable no man could want you for anything ever again. You remain safe and unharmed only as long as you completely o6ey my orders. You have no chances except those I give you. Do you understand?"

Slowly the woman nodded yes. By now the brandy was combining with her fear, drawing her into a totally submissive stupor. She quickly took off her clothes. She held her naked upper torso with her arms for a brief second, then dressed again as Nurich had commanded. When she finished she looked back at him.

He moved quickly so she wouldn't have time to react. He pulled her close to him, roughly pressing his mouth against hers. She froze and he felt the revulsion pass through her body. Good, he thought. When he drew away from her, her lipstick was on his face and what remained on her Ups was smeared. He had also violently mussed her hair. He reached in front of her and switched on the dome light.