Mirror Image

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Repair of the uplink cable was hampered by the fact that the tips of Corporal Fodor's fingers were numb from the cold. Squatting beside the dish, he'd had to cut away an inch of casing with a pocketknife in order to expose enough wire to twist and poke into the contact. The fact that two of the civilians were watching him, discussing better ways of stripping wire, didn't help.

When Fodor finally finished, he handed the receiver to the Lieutenant, who was standing directly behind him. Fodor's movements were not triumphant, but quick and economical.

"Nikita," General Orlov said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, General. We're clearing away a tree—"

"I want you to stop."

"Sir?" Nikita asked.

"I want you to call in your command. You're not to engage the American soldiers, do you understand?"

Icy air blew through the window, against his back. But that wasn't what made Nikita cold. "General, don't ask me to surrender—"

"You won't have to," said Orlov. "But you will obey my orders. Is that clear?"

Nikita hesitated. "Completely," he replied.

"I'm in contact with the American commander," Orlov said. "Keep the line open and I'll give you further—"

Nikita didn't hear the rest. There was a dull clunk on the wooden floor of the train. He turned away from the phone and saw the grenade roll toward him slowly; an instant later it erupted in a flurry of intensely bright flashes and loud pops. The people in the car began to shout and he heard another thud, followed by the hiss of escaping gas.

Even as he drew his pistol and made his way to the door at the front of the car, Nikita couldn't help but think about how clever this was: a flash grenade to make them shut their eyes, followed by tear gas to make sure they kept them shut— but without the optic damage that might have resulted from taking the gas in open eyes in such a tight space.

No permanent disfigurement to take to the United Nations, the Lieutenant thought angrily.

Nikita guessed that the Americans were attempting to smoke his soldiers out and capture them in order to make off with the money. No doubt the attackers had already scattered, to positions in the surrounding countryside, and it wouldn't pay to send troops after them into the dark. But the commandos wouldn't get him, and they wouldn't get his cargo. As he felt his way through the dark with his left hand, he cursed his father for believing the Americans could be trusted… that they, and not General Kosigan, had Russia's best interests at heart.

As he neared the door, Nikita shouted, "Sergeant Versky, cover us!"

"Yes, sir!" Versky yelled back.

When he reached the front of the car and emerged from the rolling clouds of tear gas, Nikita opened his eyes. He saw Versky's men splayed belly-down in the snow, ready to shoot at any sign of enemy fire. Behind him, Corporal Fodor and another soldier were helping the disoriented civilians from the train.

Nikita backed away from the car. He called to a soldier on top who was facing the other side of the train.

"Private Chiza, do you see anything?"

"No, sir."

"How can that be?" Nikita yelled. "The grenades came from that side!"

"No one approached, sir!"

This was impossible, Nikita thought. Those hand grenades were lobbed in, not fired from a rocket launcher. Someone had to have been close to the train, and then it occurred to him that if someone was, there would be footprints in the snow.

His frozen breath trailing behind him, Nikita trudged through the deep snow toward the engine to look on the other side.