The Matarese Circle - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,66

been disarmed by a misplaced shot. Killed by an echo.

The Browning automatic clattered down the staircase. He dove for it, yet even as he did so he knew it was too late. The killer below came into view, struggling to his feet, the large barrel of his gun rising, directed at Scofield's head.

It was not Taleniekov, not the face in a thousand pboto,graphs, the face he had hated for a decadel It was the man from Prague, a man he had used so often in the cause of free-thinking people. That man was going to kill him now.

Two thoughts came rapidly, one upon the other. Final summations, as it were. His death would come quickly; he was grateful for that. And, at the last, he had deprived Taleniekov of his trophy.

"We all do our jobs," said the man from Prague, his three fingers tightening on the handle of the gun. "You taught me that, Beowulf." "You'll never get out of here." "You forget your own lessons. 'Drop your weapons, leave with the crowds.' I'll get out. But you won't. If you did, too many would die." "Padazdit!" The voice thundered from above, no crash of a door preceding it, the man who roared having intruded swiftly, silently. The executioner from Prague spun to his left, ducking, swinging his powerful gun up the stairs at Vasili Taleniekov.

The Russian fired one shot, drilling a hole in Prague's forehead. The Czech fell across Scofield as Bray lunged for his gun, grabbing it off the step, rolling furiously down around the bend in the staircase. He fired wildly up at the KGB man; he would not permit Taleniekov to save him from Prague only to preserve his trophy.

I'll see you take your last breath.

Not herel Not nowl Not while I can movel And then he could not move. The impact came and Scofield only knew that his head seemed to have split wide open. His eyes were filled with blinding streaks of jagged white light, somehow mingling with sounds of chaos. Sirens, screams, voices yelling from distant chasms far below.

In his rolling dive to get out of Taleniekov's line of fire, he had crashed his skull into the sharp steel edge of the corner railing post.

A misplaced bullet, an echo, an inanimate shaft of structural steel. They would lead him to death.

The image was blurred but unmistakable. The figure of the powerfully built Russian came running down the stair-

case. Bray tried to raise the gun still in his hand; he could not. It was being crushed under a heavy boot; the weapon was being pried out of his hand.

"Do it," whispered Scofield. "For Christ's sake, do it now! You've won by an accident. It's the only way you could." "I've won nothing! I want no such victory. Comel Movel The police are here; they'll be swarming up the staircase any moment." Bray could feel the strong arms lifting him up, pulling his arm around a thick neck, a shoulder shoved into his side for support. "What the hell are you doing?" He was not sure the words were his; he could not think through the pain.

"You're hurt. The wound in your neck has opened; it's not bad. But your head is cut, I don't know how severely." "What?" I "There is a way out. This was my depot for two years. I know every inch of the building. Come! Help me. Move your legs! The roof." "My case...." "I've got it."

They were in a large, pitch-black metal enclosure, steady blasts of cold air causing the corrugated sides to rattle, the near-freezing temperature producing audible vibrations. They crawled along the ribbed floor in darkness.

"This is the main air duct," explained Taleniekov, his voice low, aware of the magnified echo. "The unit serves the hotel and the adjacent office building. Both are comparatively small structures, owned by the same company." Scofield had begun to find his mind again, the sheer movement forcing him to send impulses to his arms and legs. The Russian had torn a silk scarf apart, wrapping one half around Bray's head, the other around his throat.

The bleeding had not stopped, but it was contained. He had found part of his mind, but there was still no clarity in what was happening.

"You saved my life. I want to know why!" "Keep your voice down!" whispered the KGB man. "And keep moving." "I want an answer." "I gave it to you." "You weren't convincing." "You and 1, we live only with Res. We see

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