gun at her head and squeezed the trigger; there was nothing but the click of the firing pin.
He lashed his right foot out catching her between her breast and her armpit, staggering her for an instant, but only an instant. She was wild, clutching the knife as if it were her passport to life; if she touched him, she was free. She crouched, swinging her left arm in front of her, covering the blade that worked furiously in her right. He jumped back, looking for something, anything he could use to parry her lunges.
Why had she delayed before? Why had she suddenly stopped and spoken with him, telling him things that would make him think? Then he knew. The old hawk was not only vicious, but wise; she knew when she had to restore dissipated strength, knew she could do it only by engaging her enemy, lulling him, waiting for the unguarded instant... one touch of the coated blade.
She lunged again, the knife arcing up from the floor toward his legs. He kicked; she whipped the blade back, then slashed laterally, missing the kneecap by centimeters. As her arm swung left with the slash, he caught her shoulder with his right foot and hammered her backwards.
She fell; he grabbed the nearest upright object-a floor lamp with a heavy brass base-hurling it down at her as he kicked again at the hand that held the stiletto.
Her wrist was bent; the point of the blade pierced the fabric of her maid's uniform, entering the flesh above her left breast.
What followed was a sight he did not care to remember. The old woman's eyes grew wide and thyroid, her lips stretched into a macabre, horrible grin that was no smile. She began to writhe on the floor, her body convulsed and trembling. She rolled into a fetal position, pulling her thin legs into her stomach, the agony complete. Prolonged, muffled screams came from her throat as she rolled again, clawing the rug; mucus disgorged from her convoluted mouth, a swollen tongue blocking passage.
Suddenly there was a horrible gasp and a final expulsion of breath. Her body jerked off the floor spastically; it became rigid. Her eyes were open wide, staring at nothing, her lips parted in death. The process had taken less than sixty seconds.
Bray leaned over and lifted the hand, separating the bony fingers. He removed the knife, stood up, and walked to the bureau where there was a book of matches. He struck one and held it under the blade. There was an eruption of flame spitting so high that it singed his hair, the heat so intense it burned his face. He dropped the stiletto, stamping the fire out under his foot.
The phone rang.
"This is Taleniekov," said the Russian into the silence of the telephone.
It had been picked up but there was no voice on the line. "I submit that your position is not lessened by acknowledging our contact." "Acknowledged," was the one-word reply.
"You reject my cable, my white flag, and were I you, I would do the same.
But you're wrong and I would be wrong. I swore I'd kill you, Beowulf Agate, and perhaps one day I will, but not now and not this way." "You read my cipher," was the answer, delivered in a monotone. "You killed my wife. Come and get me. I'm ready for you." "Stop it! We both killed. You took a brother... and before that, an innocent young girl who was no threat to the animals who raped her and killed herl" "What?" "There's no time! There are men who want to loll yo% but I'm not one of theml I've caught one, however; he's with me now-" "You sent another," interrupted Scofield. "She's dead. The knife went into her, not me. The cut didn't have to be very deep." "You had to have provoked her; it was not plannedl But we waste seconds and you don't have them. Listen to the man I put on the phone. He's from Amsterdam. His face is damaged and he can't see very well, but he can speak." Vasili pressed the telephone against the Hollander's bloody lips and shoved the Graz-Burya into his neck. "Fell him, Dutchmanl" "Cables were sent. The injured man whispered, choking on fear and blood.
"Amsterdam, Marseilles, Prague. Beowulf Agate was beyond salvage. We could all be killed if he lived. The cables made the usual statements: they were alerts, urging us to take precautions, but we knew what they meant. Don't take precautions,