hair close-cropped... the hotel's private police officer.
They raced past the startled Marseilles-who turned abruptly away-and proceeded down the long corridor that led to Scofield's room. The Frenchman took out a gun.
At the other end of the hallway, below a red Exit sign, a heavy door with a crash bar was pulled back. The figure of Prague stepped out, nodding at Marseilles. In his right hand was a long-barreled, heavy-caliber automatic, in his left what looked like... it was... a grenade. The thumb was curved, pressing on the lever; the firing pin was outl And if he had one grenade he had more than one. Prague was an arsenal. He would take whoever was in the area, as long as he took Beowulf Agate. A grenade hurled into a dead-end corridor, a swift rare into the carnage be- fore the smoke had cleared to put bullets into the heads of those surviving, making sure Scofield was the first. No matter what the American had thought of, he was cornered. There was no way out through the gauntlet.
Chapter Nine
Unless Prague could be stopped where he was, the grenade exploding beneath him. Vasili pulled the Graz-Burya from his pocket and pushed the swinging door in front of him.
He was about to shoot when he heard the scream... screams from a man in panic.
"Get out of herel For Christ's sake, I've got to get out of here!" What followed was madness. Two men in hotel uniforms came running out of the corridor, one turning right, crashing into Prague, who propelled him away, beating him with the barrel of his gun. Prague shouted at Marseilles, ordering him down the corridor.
Marseilles was no fool-any more than Amsterdam was; he saw the grenade in Prague's hand. The two men screamed at each other.
The elevator door closed.
It closed. The light went off. It had been on Hold!
Beowulf Agate had made his escape.
Taleniekov spun back behind the metal doors; in the confusion he had not been spotted. But Prague and Marseilles had seen the elevator; it obviously prodded the immediate recollection of a second man in a dark red jacket, running straight ahead, without panic, knowing what he was doing... and carrying something under his left arm. Like Vasili, the two executioners watched the lighted numbers above the elevator door, expecting, as Taleniekov expected, the letter L to light up. It did not.
The light reached 3. It stopped.
What was Scofield doing? He could be running in the streets in seconds, finding safety in the crowds, heading for any of a hundred sanctuaries. He was staying at the killing ground! Again, madness!
Then Vasili understood. Beowulf Agate was coming after him.
He looked through the circular service window. Prague was talking wildly.
Marseilles nodded, holding his finger on the left elevator button, as Prague ran back toward the staircase and disappeared beyond the door.
Taleniekov had to know what had been said. It could save seconds--if he could learn in seconds. He put the Graz-Burya in his pocket, burst through the swinging door, the gray silk scarf bunched high around his neck, the gray hat firmly down on his head, his face obscured. He shouted.
".41ors-vous avez dicouvert que1que chose par hazard?" In Marseilles' excitement, the swiftness and the deception had their effect. The black overcoat, the gray blur of silk and fur and the French spoken with a Dutchman's guttural inflections; they were enough to confuse the image of a man he had met only once, briefly in a coffee shop. He was stunned; he ran toward Taleniekov, shouting in his native tongue, the words so rushed they were barely clear.
"What are you doing here? All hell has broken loosel Men are yelling in Beowulf's room; they break down doors! He got away. Prague has.
Marseilles stopped. He saw the face in front of him and his stunned expression turned into one of shook. Vasili's hand shot out, gripping the weapon in the Frenchman's hand, twisting it with such force that Marseilles screamed aloud. The gun was pried out of his fingers.
Taleniekov slammed the man against the wall, hammering his knee into the Frenchman's groin, his left hand tearing at Marseilles' right ear.
"Prague has what? You have one second to tell mel" He crashed his knee up into the Frenchman's testicles. "Now!" "We work our way to the roof. Marseilles choked the answer, spitting it out between clenched teeth, his head thrown back in pain. "Floor by floor... to the roof." "Why?" My God! thought Vasili. There was a metal airduct connecting the hotel to