sounds coming from his throat. The killer fired again. And again, and again, the bullets entering Blackburn's neck and chest and groin, the eruptions of blood mingling with the glistening colors of the paint.
The man nodded to the girl from Athens; she rushed to the door, opened it and said in Greek, "She'll be downstairs in the room with revolving lights. She's in a long red dress, with diamonds around her neck." The man nodded again and they rushed out into the corridor.
The major's thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected sounds that seemed to come from somewhere inside the brownstone. He listened, his breath suspended.
They were shrieks of some kind... yelling... screams. People were screaming!
He looked up at the house; the heavy door flew open as two figures ran outside and down the steps, a man and a
woman. Then he saw it and a massive pain shot through his stomach: the man was shoving a gun into his belt.
Oh, my God!
The major thrust his hand under the seat for his Amy automatic, pulled it out, and leaped from the car. He raced up the steps and inside the hallway.
Beyond, through the arch, the screams mounted; people were running, several up the staircase, others down.
He ran into the large room with the insanely revolving colored lights. On the floor he could see the figure of the slender woman with the diamonds around her neck. Her forehead was a mass of blood; she'd been shot.
Oh, Christ!
"Where is he?" he shouted.
"Upstairs!" came the scream from a girl huddled in the corner.
The major turned in panic and raced back to the ornate staircase, taking the steps three at a time, passing a telephone on a small table on the landing; its image stuck in his mind. He knew the room; it was always the same room. He turned in the narrow corridor, reached the door and lunged through it.
Oh, Jesus! It was beyond anything in his imagination, beyond any mess he had seen before. The naked Blackburn covered with blood and painted obscenities, the dead girl slumped over him, her face on his genitals. It was a sight from hell, if hell could be so terrible.
The major would never know where he found the selfcontrol, but find it he did. He slammed the door shut and stood in the corridor, his automatic raised. He grabbed a woman who raced by toward the staircase, and shouted.
"Do as I say, or I'll kill you! There's a telephone over there. Dial the number I give you! Say the words I tell you, the exact words!" He shoved the girl viciously toward the hallway phone.
The President of the United States walked grimly through the doorway of the Oval Office and over to his desk. Already there, and standing together, were the Secretary of State and the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
"I know the facts," said the President harshly in his familiar drawl, "and they turn my stomach. Now tell me what you're doing about them?" The Director of the CIA stepped forward. "New York Homicide is cooperating. We're fortunate insofar as the general's aide remained by the door and threatened to kill anyone who tried to get past him. Our people arrived, and were at the scene first. They cleaned up as best they could." "That's cosmetics, godamn it," said the President. "I suppose they're necessary, but that's not what I'm interested in. What are your ideas?
Was it one of those weird, kinky New York murders, or was it something else?" "In my judgment," answered the Director, "it was something else. I said as much to Paul here last night. It was a thoroughly analyzed, pre-arranged assassination. Brilliantly executed. Even to the killing of the establishment's owner, who was the only one who could shed any light." "Who's responsible?" "I'd say KGB. The bullets fired were from a Russian Graz-Burya automatic, a favorite weapon of theirs." "I must object, Mr. President," said the Secretary of State. "I can't subscribe to Jim's conclusion; that gun may be unusual, but it can be purchased in Europe. I was with the Soviet Ambassador for an hour this morning. He was as shaken as we were. He not only disclaimed any possible Russian involvement, but correctly pointed out that General Blackburn was far more acceptable to the Soviets than any who might immediately succeed him." "The KGB," interrupted the Director, "is often at odds with the Kremlin's diplomatic corps." "As the Company is with ours?" asked the Secretary.