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Providence had smiled upon him.
* * *
Cotton stared over at Ivan. “Do you know about an egg-sucking dog?”
“Sounds highly American.”
“Not at all. They’re everywhere. Even in Russia. Every once in a while a farm dog will acquire a taste for fresh eggs. They’ll kill the chickens to get them, too. They don’t really suck the eggs. More eat them whole. But once a dog gets a taste for egg, there’s no breaking him of it.”
“Sounds like greedy dog.”
“Obsessed. Bewitched. That dog lives to get into other people’s henhouses. And nothing will stop it,” he paused, “short of killing.”
Ivan chuckled. “Your president is the egg-sucking dog.”
He shrugged. “Maybe so. But right now you’re the one I have to deal with. You’re in my henhouse. And if you don’t stop eatin’ my eggs up, though I’m not a real bad guy, I’m goin’ to get my rifle and send you to that great chicken house in the sky.”
He sang the words to a mournful tune he recalled from long ago.
“It’s a Johnny Cash song,” he said to Ivan. “My grandfather used to sing it when he worked.”
“You stalling, Malone?”
“I am.”
“Hoping help will come.”
“That is the plan.”
“Maybe I have help, too.”
“I saw Reinhardt and Munoz heading off. I suppose they could find their way here.”
The gun rested in his right hand, his finger on the trigger, his eyes locked on Ivan’s body, watching for any move.
“You say this lake thick with salt?” Ivan asked.
“Pure brine. But clear and pretty, I’ll say that. They keep the brine here, then pump it to the surface and extract the salt.”
Ivan reached down and, with his free hand, gently stroked the water. “Cold. Like Arctic Ocean.”
It seemed a little nuts to be floating a few yards from his enemy, shooting the breeze, while they were both armed, waiting for the other to act. But he was only going to challenge this demon when he was sure of the outcome. Right now, that was in doubt.
Like everything else.
So be patient.
* * *
Eli waited until Sonia and Czajkowski were in the chamber, past him, subdued by the silence, near the chapel on the opposite wall. Then he stepped out of the blackness and nestled the barrel of his gun to the back of Czajkowski’s head.
The president froze.
“Stay still,” he said to his captive.
Sonia whirled, her gun coming level.
“Drop the weapon,” he ordered.
And he clicked the hammer of his gun to emphasize the point. She stared at him, probably trying to decide if she could take a shot before he pulled the trigger.
“I assure you,” he said, “you can’t.”
She seemed to agree and lowered the gun.
“Drop it to the ground and kick it away,” he told her.
She did as instructed.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he told her.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Cotton split his attention between Ivan and the surroundings. They floated in their respective skiffs, about fifty feet apart, the emerald-tinted lake so clear it appeared as if they were drifting on air. Around a huge wall pillar wrapped a walkway with railings, a wooden gallery running along the upper chamber wall. Ivan had been right. He was stalling, hoping Stephanie was able to convince the locals that she needed their assistance. If anyone could make that happen, she could. But there was still the matter of Reinhardt and Munoz who were loose somewhere on this level.
“What we do?” Ivan asked.
A good question.
Retrieving that packet would go a long way toward easing Stephanie’s problems with the White House. Yes, he disagreed with the entire tactic Fox was trying to employ, and he’d deal with that quandary later. What he could not do was allow Ivan to leave the mine with that information. Sure, Moscow wanted the missiles gone. But as with Fox, there was no telling what else they would want from Warsaw. With that degree of blackmail, which several countries had been willing to pay huge sums to possess, anything could be possible.
“You could give me that packet,” he said. “And we’ll call this whole thing over.”
Ivan laughed. “I could say same to you about your gun.”
Portions of the lake were lit, portions were not. Between those two extremes were areas that gravitated from bright to dark, the flat surface like a mirror. In one portion to the right of Ivan’s boat, he caught the reflection of the wooden railing that spanned one side.
And Munoz.
Who was lurking behind where he floated, higher, on the path that extended from one side of the lake to the other, part of the walkways and tunnels that visitors traversed to admire the lakes. Apparently Ivan’s allies had found them faster than his own. Munoz was staying low, using some of the stonework between the railings as a shield. He assumed the man was armed, and the good thing was he’d have to stand up to make a move.
But there was still the matter of Ivan.
Who had no such hindrance.
* * *
Eli pressed the gun close to Czajkowski’s head.
“Where’s Ivan?” Sonia asked.
“Nearby.”
He needed to keep this woman off guard. She was formidable. And dangerous. She’d shot Jonty with no hesitation. She now knew he was working with Ivan, which meant he could have backup.
“I’m getting out of here,” Eli told them.
“Then leave,” Sonia said.
“It is not that simple.”
He wished it were.
What was happening with Munoz?
Where was he?
* * *
Czajkowski thought of that math professor who’d been kicked and prodded across the filthy floor of Mokotów Prison. He always did when he needed strength. That man, in the face of death, had showed nothing but courage.
And he intended to do the same.
“You’re done,” he said to Reinhardt.
“Brave words from a man with a loaded gun to his head.”
“I’ve lived my life with one right there. Every day.”
“Don’t push him,” Sonia said.
But he intended to do just that.
* * *
Cotton sat still in the skiff, not letting on he was aware they had company. Ivan was trying hard not to glance towa
rd the wooden railing, but it was clear that he was aware of Munoz’s presence, too.
Interesting the situation he found himself in. Floating on a frigid lake of pure salt brine, hundreds of feet underground, amid total silence, two men intent on shooting him. He held the gun, and the reflection continued to offer him a viewpoint that showed Munoz trying to maneuver himself into a better position. He had to take them both out, complicated by the fact that he was sitting in an unstable skiff. The one saving grace was that one of his opponents was likewise handicapped. Reaction time would suffer. Which meant the guy on dry land represented the greater threat.
He needed a distraction.
Something to provide him a few precious seconds to react.
* * *
Eli had to find Munoz and leave.
Staying put seemed like a bad idea. Though he had the situation under control, Sonia Draga represented a problem.
“Move toward the other exit,” he ordered her.
She hesitated.
“Do you really want to test me?” he asked.
“Do as he says,” Czajkowski said to her.
The tone clear and direct.
“This gun is pointed at my head, not yours,” the president said. “Don’t play games with my life. Remember, you work for me.”
He saw that she did not appreciate the rebuke. But the man had a point. She did work for him. It was not her place to take such risks.
“Are you ordering me to do as he says?” she asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Move.”
He tapped Czajkowski’s head with the gun. “Follow her.”
* * *
Czajkowski added a wink to his command, a gesture only Sonia could see that signaled she should play along. There was no way Reinhardt knew of any connection between them other than employer–employee. Of course he had to be wondering why the president of Poland was here, but that could easily be explained because it was his ass on the line. He did catch a moment of concern in Sonia’s eyes before she backed toward the exit, surely wondering what he was going to do next.
