into their dark, temporary cell. Taleniekov propped a chair underneath the knob and kicked it until it was wedged firmly between the metal and the rug. He turned to the Hollander.
"You have exactly five seconds to explain how it's to be done," he said, raising the automatic diagonally across the executioner's face.
"You'll have to be clearer," came the professional reply.
"By all means." Vasili slammed the barrel of the GrazBurya downward, ripping the flesh of the assassin's face. Blood spread; the man raised his hands. Taleniekov bent over the chair and cracked both wrists in rapid succession. "Don't touchl We've just begun. Drink it! Soon you'll have no lips. Then no teeth, no chin, no cheekbones! Finally, I'll take your eyesl Have you ever seen a man like that? The face is a terrible source of pain, puncturing the eyes unendurable." Vasili struck again, now arcing upwards, catching the man's nostrils in the swing.
"No.... No! I followed orders!" "Where have I heard that beforeT' Taleniekov raised the weapon; again the hands were raised and again they were repulsed with blows. "What are those orders, Dutchman? There are three of you and the five seconds have passed!
We must be serious now." He tapped the barrel of the Graz-Burya harshly over the Hollander's left eye, then the right. "No more timel" He pulled the weapon back, then shoved it knifelike into Amsterdam's throat.
"Stop!" screamed the man, his air cut off, the word garbled. "I'll tell you.... He betrays us, he takes money for our names. He's sold out to our enemies!" "No judgments. The orders!" "He's never seen me. I'm to draw him out." "Howr, "You. I've come to warn him. You're on your way." "He'd reject you. Kill you! A transparent device. How did you know the room?" "We have a photograph." "Of him. Not of me." "Both of you, actually. But I show him only his. The night manager identified him." "Who gave you this photograph?" "Friends from Prague, operating in Washington, with ties to the Soviet.
Former friends of Beowulf Agate who know what he's done." Taleniekov stared at the man from Amsterdam. He was telling the truth, because the explanation was based on partial truth. Scofield would look for flaws, but would not reject Amsterdam's words; he could not afford that luxury. He would take the Dutchman as hostage, and then position himself.
Waiting, watching, unseen. Vasili pressed the barrel of the Graz-Burya into the Hollander's right eye.
"Marseilles and Prague. Where are they? Where will they be?" "Besides the main elevators there are only two exits from the floors. The staircase and the service lift. One will be stationed in each." "Wh-ich are where?" "Prague on the staircase, Marseilles on the service lift." "What's the schedule? By minutes." "It's floating. I approach the door at ten past twelve." Taleniekov glanced at the antique clock on the hotel room desk. It was eleven minutes past twelve. "They're in position now." "I don't know. I can't see my watch, the blood's in my eyes." "What's the termination? If you lie, I'll know it. You'll die in a way you've never dreamed of. Describe itl" "Zero-lock is five minutes past the half hour. If Beowulf has not appeared in either location, the room is to be stormed. Frankly, I don't trust Prague. I think he'd throw Marseilles and myself in first to take the initial fire. He's a maniac." Vasili stood up. "Your judgment exceeds your talents." "I've told you everything! Don't strike me again. For God's sake, let me wipe my eyes. I can't see."
"Wipe them. I want you to see clearly. Get up!" The Hollander rose, his hands covering his face, brushing away the rivulets of blood, the Graz-Burya jammed into his neck.
Taleniekov stood motionless for a moment, looking at the telephone across the room. He was about to speak with an enemy he had hated for a decade, about to hear his voice.
He would try to save that enemy's life.
Scofield spun away as the lethal blade sliced into his shirt, blunted by the steel of his gun concealed under the starched cloth only minutes ago.
The old woman was insane, suicidal! He would have to kill her and he did not want to kill her!
The gun.
He said four shells had been fired, two were left. She knew differently!
She was coming at him again, the knife crisscrossing in slashing diagonals; anything in its path would have to be touched, scraped-under normal circumstances a meaningless scratch, but not with this blade. He aimed the