Without remorse - Tom Clancy [259]
'And I've told you how to kill American pilots - '
'Only if they attack my country can I hurt them. Only if they try to kill my people, Robin! Only then! Do you wish them to kill my family?'
'It's not like that!'
'Yes, it is. Don't you see? This is not a game, Robin. We are in the business of death, you and I, and to save lives one must also take them;'
Perhaps he'd see it in time, Grishanov hoped. He was a bright man, a rational man. Once he had time to examine the facts, he would see that life was better than death, and perhaps they could again be friends. For the moment, Kolya told himself, I have saved the man's life. Even if the American curses me for that, he will have to breathe air to speak his curse. Colonel Grishanov would bear that burden with pride. He'd gotten his information and saved a life in the process, as was entirely proper for an air-defense pilot of PVO Strany who'd sworn his life's real oath as a frightened and disoriented boy on his way from Moscow to Gorkiy.
The Russian came out of the prison block in time for dinner, Kelly saw. He had a notebook in his hands, doubtless full of the information he'd sweated out of the prisoners.
'We're going to get your sorry red ass,' Kelly whispered to himself. 'They're gonna put three willie-petes through that window, pal, and cook you up for dinner - along with all your fucking notes. Yeah.'
He could feel it now. It was, again, the private pleasure of knowing what would be, the godlike satisfaction of seeing the future. He took a sip from his canteen. He couldn't afford to dehydrate. Patience came hard now. Within his sight was a building with twenty lonely, frightened, and badly hurt Americans, and though he'd never met any of them, and though he only knew one by name, his was a worthy quest. For the rest, he tried to find the Latin from his high school: Morituri поп cognant, perhaps. Those who are about to die - just don't know. Which was just fine with Kelly.
'Homicide.'
'Hi, I'm trying to get Lieutenant Frank Allen.'
'You got him,' Allen replied. He'd been at his desk just five minutes this Monday morning. 'Who's this?'
'Sergeant Pete Meyer, Pittsburgh,' the voice replied. 'Captain Dooley referred me to you, sir.'
'I haven't talked to Mike in a while. Is he still a Pirates fan?'
'Every night, Lieutenant. I try to catch some of the games myself.'
'You want a line on the Series, Sarge?' Allen asked with a grin. Cop fellowship.
'Bucs in five. Roberto's real tough this year.' Clemente was having a career year.
'Oh, yeah? Well, so are Brooks and Frank.' The Robinsons weren't doing so badly either. 'What can I do for you?'
'Lieutenant, I have some information for you. Two homicides, both victims female, in their late teens, early twenties.'
'Back up, please.' Allen got a clean sheet of paper. 'Who's your source?'
'I can't reveal that yet. It's privileged. I'm working on changing that, but it might take a while. Can I go on?'
'Very well. Names of victims?'
'The recent one was named Pamela Madden - very recent, only a few weeks ago.'
Lieutenant Allen's eyes went wide. 'Jesus - the fountain murder. And the other one?'
'Her name was Helen, sometime last fall. Both murders were ugly, Lieutenant, torture and sexual abuse.'
Allen hunched forward with the phone very close to his ear. 'You telling me you have a witness to both killings?'
'That is correct, sir, I believe we do. I got two likely perps for you, too. Two white males, one named Billy and the other named Rick. No descriptions, but I can work on that, too.'
'Okay, they're not my cases. It's being handled downtown - Lieutenant Ryan and Sergeant Douglas. I know both names - both victims, I mean. These are high-profile cases, Sarge. How solid is your information?'
'I believe it to be very solid. I have one possible indicator for you. Victim number two, Pamela Madden - her hair was brushed