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of where they were going or what was happening. By the time he reached the hut
where Ryan was held prisoner, he had eight of his guards trailing after him.
The snow was already lying way over the ankles, piled higher in drifts, three
and four feet deep against exposed walls.
Visibility was down to less than twenty feet, and Zimyanin wasn't surprised
not to be challenged.
But when he saw the open doorway, swinging in the strong wind, the black hall
with inches of snow lying inside it, the Russian halted, holding up his hand
as a warning to the others.
"Wait!"
The group of men, all carrying M-16s, gathered around him. It was close to
midnight, and the slave-labor camp seemed to be sleeping.
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"The man who saved the boy," Zimyanin shouted. "He is a most dangerous
criminal element. A man who could free himself from the strongest what is the
word? Strongest gulag. He has, I think, escaped. We must find him. Must."
"Just one man, Major-Commissar?"
The cold eyes turned to the speaker, who took two stumbling steps backward,
mouth closing like a steel trap.
"Two of you around the back. Four go to the room where the injured boy is
kept.
The rest come with me. How many men should be here?"
"Three, Major-Commissar."
"Then where& " He stopped as one of his guards suddenly reappeared around the
side of the building. "What? Why haven't you gone to the back of "
"They're just& " He pointed with his hand.
"Who?"
"Three that was on guard."
"Chilled?"
"All blasted through the back of the neck. Close up. See the burns."
Zimyanin took several rapid, short breaths. "Go on around the back."
"Want to see them?"
"No. I have seen the corpses of the stupid many times. Do as I say. The rest
come with me."
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But he knew what he would find in the room where Ryan Cawdor had been held
prisoner.
THE DOOR HAD OPENED slowly and in the half-light Ryan had been able to see a
hand, wearing a leather gauntlet, come into the cell, holding a large-caliber
pistol.
It was an image of death that he'd often seen in his darkest dreams, and he
tried to get to his feet, ready to take any last chance that might present
itself.
Then he realized what kind of gun the hand was gripping the .38-caliber
Undercover that he'd stolen from the armory for Kate Webb.
"Ryan?" she whispered.
"Yeah."
"I got the key to let you out."
"The sec men?"
She was kneeling, fumbling with the key, dropping her gloves on the floor.
"Deal was I'd suck them and they'd let me see you."
"And?"
"First time I did what he wanted and the bastard wouldn't keep his word. Said
come back and do it for his friends."
Ryan could feel a cold wind blowing from the open door. He tried to move
around to make it easier for the young woman to free him. The only good thing
was that, in the brawl and the confusion of the cave-in, nobody had thought to
search him.
The SIG-Sauer and the panga were still safely hidden under his heavy clothing.
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"Yeah, go on telling me."
"Three dumb fucks. Stood there. I said to get their cocks out ready and line
up.
Stood there. Pathetic little maggots, in the cold, around the side of the hut.
Drew the blaster& Got it."
He shook the chains off his wrists, freeing himself completely, drawing his
own automatic.
"You reloaded your blaster?"
"No."
"Do it."
"Now?"
"Yeah. How many you fire?"
"Three."
"Chilled them all with three rounds." Ryan was impressed.
"They near shit themselves. One bullet back of the neck. I made the shits
kneel in front of me."
"Didn't hear a sound."
"Blowing a blizzard outside."
"You did real well." He grabbed her and gave her a quick kiss on her cold
cheek.
"Now what? Rescue Dean?"
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