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"Can't be."
"I don't see anything," said Suvorov, moving closer.
"His alpha activity is a clear nine-to-ten-cycle-per-second set of waves that shouldn't be there if he was in his programmed sleep stage."
"Vice President Margolin's waves are increasing too."
"We'd better call Dr. Lugovoy-" The words hardly escaped his mouth when Suvorov cut him down with a savage judo chop to the base of the skull. In almost the same gesture, Suvorov swung a crosscut with the palm of the other hand into the throat of the second psychologist, crushing the man's windpipe.
Even before his victims hit the floor, Suvorov coldly gazed at the clock. The blinking red numbers displayed 11:49-eleven minutes before Lugovoy was scheduled to exit the laboratory in the elevator. Suvorov had practiced his movements many times, allowing no more than two minutes for unpredictable delays.
He stepped over the lifeless bodies and ran from the monitor room into the chamber containing the subjects in their soundproofed cocoons.
He unlatched the top of the third one, threw back the cover and peered inside.
Senator Marcus Larimer stared back at him. "What is this place?
Who the hell are you?" the senator mumbled.
"A friend," answered Suvorov, lifting Larimer out of the cocoon and half carrying, half dragging him to a chair.
"What's going on?"
"Be quiet and trust me."
Suvorov took a syringe from his pocket and injected Larimer with a stimulant. He repeated the process with Vice President Margolin, who looked around dazedly and offered no resistance. They were naked, and Suvorov brusquely threw them blankets, "Wrap yourselves in these," he ordered.
Congressman Alan Moran had not yet awakened. Suvorov lifted him out of the cocoon and lain him on the floor. Then he turned and walked over to the unit enclosing the President. The American leader was still unconscious. The latch mechanism was different from the other cocoons, and Suvorov wasted precious seconds trying to pry open the cover. His fingers seemed to lose all feeling and he fought to control them. He began to sense the first prickle of fear.
His watch read 11:57- He was beyond his timetable; his two minute reserve evaporated. Panic was replacing fear. He reached down and snatched a Colt Woodsman .22-caliber automatic from a holster strapped to his right calf. He screwed on a four-inch suppressor; and for a brief instant he was not himself, a man outside himself, a man whose only code of duty and unleashed emotion blinded his perception. He aimed the gun at the President's forehead on the other side of the transparent cover, Through the mist of his drugged mind, Margolin recognized what Suvorov was about to do. He staggered across the cocoon chamber and lurched into the Russian agent, grabbing for the gun.
Suvorov just sidestepped and pushed him against the wall. Somehow Margolin remained on his feet. His vision was blurred and distorted, and a wave of sudden nausea threatened to gag him. He flung himself forward in another attempt to save the President's life.
Suvorov smashed the barrel of the gun against Margolin's temple and the Vice President dropped limply in a heap, blood streaming down the side of his face. For a moment Suvorov stood rooted.
His well-rehearsed plan was cracking and crumbling apart. Time had run out.
His last fleeting hope lay in salvaging the pieces. He forgot the President, kicked Margolin out of the way and shoved Larimer through the door. Heaving the still unconscious Moran over his shoulder, he herded the uncomprehending senator down the corridor to the elevator.
They stumbled around the final corner just as the concealed doors parted and Lugovoy was about to step inside.
"Stop right where you are, Doctor."
Lugovoy whirled and stared dumbly. The Colt was held rocksteady in Suvorov's hand. The eyes of the KGB agent blazed with a contemptuous disdain.
"You fool!" Lugovoy blurted as the full realization of what was happening struck him. "You bloody fool!"
"Shut up!" Suvorov snapped.
"And step back out of the way."
"You don't know what you're doing."
"I'm only doing my duty as a good Russian."
"You're ruining years of planning," Lugovoy said angrily.
"President Antonov will have you shot."
