Without remorse - Tom Clancy [334]
'Shit!' He turned, and called, 'There's nobody here!'
'What?' Bobby's head came up in the opening to look, but Fred was now checking the cars out for someone crouching there.
* * *
Kelly told himself that patience was almost always rewarded. That thought had enabled him to fight off the buck fever that always came when you had a target in your sights. As soon as his peripheral vision caught movement at the opening, he brought the gun left. A face, white, twenties, dark eyes, looking at the other one, a pistol in his right hand. Just a target now. Take him first. Kelly centered the crosshairs in the bridge of the nose and squeezed gently.
Smack. Fred's head turned when he heard a sound that was both wet and hard, but when he did, there was nothing there. He'd heard nothing else but that wet, sharp sound, but now there was also a clatter, as though Bobby's chair had slipped off the desk and he'd fallen to the floor. Nothing else, but for no apparent reason the skin at the back of his neck turned to ice. He backed away from the edge of the roof, looking all around at the flat, rectangular horizon just as fast as his head could turn. Nothing.
The gun was new, and the bolt still a little stiff as he drove the second round home. Kelly brought it back to the right. Two for the price of one. The head was turning rapidly now. He could see the fear there. He knew there was danger but not where or what kind. Then the man started moving back to the opening. He couldn't allow that. Kelly applied about six inches of lead and squeezed again. Pingggggg.
Smack. The sound of the impact was far louder than the muted pop of the shot. Kelly ejected the spent cartridge and slammed in another as a car approached on O'Donnell Street.
Tucker was still looking at Bobby's face when his head jerked upwards, hearing the thud of what had to be another body, rattling the steel-bar joists of the roof. 'Oh, my God ...'
CHAPTER 37
Trial by Ordeal
'You're looking much better than the last time, Colonel,' Ritter said pleasantly in Russian. The security officer rose and walked out of the living room, giving the two men privacy. Ritter was carrying an attache case, which he set on the coffee table. 'Feeding you well?'
'I have no complaints,' Grishanov said warily. 'When can I go home?'
'This evening, probably. We're waiting for something.' Ritter opened the case. This made Kolya uneasy, but he didn't allow it to show. For all he knew there might be a pistol in there. Comfortable as his imprisonment had been, friendly as his conversations with the residents in this place were, he was on enemy soil, under the control of enemies. It made him think of another man in a distant place under very different circumstances. The differences ate at his conscience and shamed him for his fear.
'What is that?'
'Confirmation that our people are in Hoa Lo Prison.'
The Russian lowered his head and whispered something Ritter didn't catch. Grishanov looked up. 'I am glad to hear that.'
'You know, I believe you. Your letters back and forth to Rokossovskiy make that clear.' Ritter poured himself some tea from the pot on the table, filling up Kolya's cup also.
'You have treated me correctly.' Grishanov didn't know what else to say, and the silence was heavy in him.
'We have a lot of experience being friendly to Soviet guests,' Ritter assured him. 'You're not the first to stay here. Do you ride?'
'No, I've never been on a horse.'
'Ummhmm.' The attache case was quite full with papers, Kolya saw, wondering what they were. Ritter took out two large cards and an ink pad. 'Could I have your hands, please?'
'I don't understand.'
'Nothing to worry about.' Ritter took his left hand and inked the fingertips, rolling them one at a time in the appropriate boxes on one card, then the other. The procedure was duplicated with the other hand. 'There, that didn't hurt, did it? You can wash your hands now, better to do it before the ink dries.' Ritter slid one of the cards into the file, substituting it for the one removed. The other