yelled, "Katrina!" and through the sound of loud bangs I heard her say, "Yes."
"Open your door. And stay inside."
"Okay!" she yelled.
I gave her a two-second head start before I threw open my door. Her door was on the other side of the car, and the second it opened, it became a bullet magnet as the three shooters tried to hit whoever rolled out. I leaped out my side, and as soon as I hit the ground I scrambled for the front of the car. I could feel chips of concrete striking my legs, but I made it.
I got on my belly and scooted until I could peek around a tire. The shooters still stood casually out in the open, unaware I had a weapon, believing they were invulnerable. One was calmly changing magazines while the other two nonchalantly plunked away at our car.
The obvious choice was to take out the two who were firing. I pushed the semiautomatic selector on the M16, stuck it around the corner, took quick aim, and swept it across the two shooters. The first folded over like he suddenly got a bad bellyache, while the second was flung backward and landed on the concrete.
The guy reloading scurried behind his car--I fired two shots, but missed. At least I think I missed, although I saw no movement and there was no firing. I had expended about ten rounds, and the M16 had a twenty-round magazine, so I had maybe ten bullets left. Harassing fire wasn't an option.
I aimed my weapon in his direction and yelled, "Katrina, get out of the car!"
I hoped she was still alive to hear me. Five or so seconds passed and there was nothing, no sound from her, no movement.
Then I saw her land on the cement and scramble in my direction. At nearly the same instant, I saw the Russian pop over the top of his car, and I fired a quick burst. I had no idea whether I hit him. I was too fixated on the little round cylinder he'd thrown that was sailing in our direction.
I jumped up, tackled Katrina, and ended up on top of her. Then came the explosion. The thing about being in a narrow street is that sound does not escape. A loud boom sends its first shock wave into your eardrums, followed by an almost instantaneous aftershock from ricocheted waves.
My ears were ringing as I rolled off Katrina. She had her hands over her ears, and her elbows and knees were bloody from the effects of my tackle. Something in my left leg stung as I got up and dragged her to the front of the car.
I sat and tried to appraise our situation. The smell of cordite was heavy in the air, and there was a fair amount of smoke, but all I could hear was a loud ringing. I looked over at Katrina, and her lips were moving, but I couldn't hear a word.
What next? Check to see if the last shooter was dead? Wait right there and hope he didn't have another hand grenade and better aim?
After all the noise and racket, surely the Moscow police had to be on the way. Katrina was staring down at my leg and pointing at a spot below my knee. When I pulled up my trouser leg, blood was pumping out in tiny spurts, an indication a significant vein had been punctured. She slapped a palm over the wound and tried to stem the flow.
She began tugging on her dress sleeve, trying to rip it, until I finally reached over and gave her a hand. I yanked too hard, because I nearly tore off the whole top of her blouse.
She tied the cloth around my leg. Three or four minutes had passed, and while I was still too deaf to hear any sirens, no police had shown up yet. I worked my way around the side of the car and ducked in long enough to drag out Mel's body. I tugged his corpse around to the front of the car, flipped him over, and found his cell phone. I didn't know the number to the embassy, but it was one of those fancy Motorola models where you push a few buttons on the side and pretty soon his favorite numbers pop onto the screen.
I handed it to Katrina. "Call the embassy."
Or that's what I think I said. It might've been "order a pizza" for all I know, because it's damned hard to speak when