Sigma One (41 page)

Kamarov moved to the window and watched as Illya bled to death in front of him before he let the lifeless form drop. Only when he heard the body hit, did he turn around only to see the same two Americans who had escorted him Parlier from the airport standing in the doorway.

Both men had heard the window shatter and Kamarov's scream. They entered only seconds before Kamarov released Illya's body and had watched it fall out of sight. Neither could believe what he had just witnessed and stood there temporarily stunned. Neither was ready for that or what was to happen next.

Kamarov had sensed their entry earlier before turning to face them. When he did, he saw they had their guns at their sides, and knew they would use them if he did nothing to stop them. He had no real fight with these American agents, but he had few choices. Before either could raise his weapon, he stared directly at them and mentally ripped their guns from their hands. Then with a quick jerk of his head, he telekinetically propelled the weapons through the gaping hole in the window through which he had disposed of Illya moments before.

Both agents didn't understand what made their guns disappear, but they knew one thing--without them, they were still highly trained in hand to hand combat and there were two of them and only one Kamarov. They had their orders and instantly lunged forward.

Kamarov didn't move. He simply watched as they came charging ahead. When they were just one step away, he closed his eyes again. Both men instantly doubled over in pain and grabbed their splintering shin bones as they fell, hitting the floor only inches from Kamarov's feet.

Kamarov ignored their agonized screams and opened his eyes. Then, carefully, he stepped over the two fallen agents and went into the hall. He had spared them this time. It would have been just as easy for him to have propelled them out the window to their deaths, but he felt leaving them behind to tell the others who would surely take up the chase would be wiser. It would make them think twice about following him.

Andre reached into his pocket before leaving and felt for his vile. It was still intact. When he got to a safe place he would inject himself to counteract the effects his telekinetic outburst brought with it. He couldn't do it now. The drug would make him sleep and he knew he had to get away. He was thankful he had not forgotten it and had kept the vile with him earlier. It would help him. He hated the personality changes he experienced afterwards almost as much as he hated using his power destructively.

When he got to the elevator, he turned quickly and looked to see if there were any more guards who might be following him.

The hallway was empty.

He was alone.

He could escape.

But where would he go?

He didn't know, but wherever it was,
he would surely be hunted down, if not by his own people, then by the Americans. Of that, he was certain. He knew when the KGB men failed to check in, a backup team would be sent. In fact, they were probably on their way now. He had been held prisoner for far too long for a change of guard not to come.

Had it been eight---ten----hours? He had lost track of time.It was then the grief of his parents' death overcame him.

He lunged at the wall striking it again and again until his knuckles bled. Then he buried his head in his hands and wept. Tears mixed with blood ran down his wrists and spattered on the carpet.

Five minutes passed before he could control himself. He then punched the elevator button and waited for its arrival. When it finally came, he got in and punched the button which would take him to the main floor. There he would lose himself in the crowd until he had time to decide what his next move would be. He knew one more foreigner wouldn't be noticed on the gaming level.

Huxley had been in the bathroom shaving when Kamarov launched Illya through the window and hadn't heard the glass breaking over the sound of the running water in spite of the fact he was only two rooms away. Because of the closed door, he didn't hear the US agents' muffled screams for help either. He did hear the ululant cry of the sirens on the ambulance that had been summoned to the hotel, though; brought to scrape what the ambulance drivers had been told was "just another jumper who had cashed in his last chips," off the pavement.

As he finished shaving, Huxley began to think.
And to worry. Agents Gunter and Stearns were late.

He put down his razor and looked at his watch again. He had spoken to FBI Headquarters in IA and was told to expect their arrival in seven and a half hours, give or take a half an hour. Now it was going on nearly eight and a half, and the Bureau normally was very precise about their time estimates. If the plans had changed, they would have notified him. But they hadn't. And that worried him even more.

He left the bathroom and went into the bedroom and immediately glanced at the phone which sat silently on the bed stand.

"Ring, damn it. Ring!" he said and began to pace back and forth as if his impatience would make it happen.

It didn't, and after three fruitless trips back and forth in front of the bed, he went to the bed stand and picked up the receiver and hastily dialed the front desk.

Matters couldn't be worse. The phone rang three times and then a recording came on. Just what he wanted to hear.

He slammed the receiver down and left and headed toward the elevator. He was already halfway down the hall and out of earshot when his phone finally began to ring and entering the elevator when Agent Stearns hung up on the other end.

Stearns turned to Gunter who was standing next to Debbie and Burt, the pair handcuffed to one another as a precaution. Both of them held their heads low and kept their hands close to their sides as they had been instructed to do--this to avoid any public scrutiny.

Stearns eyes glared at his companion. He didn't like being late, and wouldn't have had it not been for Gunter who had insisted on stopping for dinner at the airport to stuff his already over-stuffed frame with food. Gunter disgusted him and some of that disgust came through now.

"You wait here with them," he said gruffly pointing to Debbie and Burt. "I'm going to go to the desk and find out which room Huxley is in." With this last comment, he looked quickly at his watch and shook his head. God he hated being late!

Burt, on hearing Huxley's name, raised his head. For the entire eight and a half hour trip to Vegas, neither agent had told them where they were going, or why they were being transported, in spite of his continued demands for answers. Now he thought he knew the reason.

Under normal circumstances, Stearns would have made Gunter take his two prisoners aside while he called especially when his orders came from the spook side of the business, that being their name for The Agency. But, these weren't normal circumstances. He'd never been sent to escort a college kid and his sweetie under lock and key, and he'd never had to work with such a dolt as Gunter. The combination had caused him to slip up. No matter, he figured the two would find out soon enough anyway who they were going to see and thought it didn't matter if they heard or not.

But it did matter. To Burt anyway.

He turned to Debbie and whispered into her ear. "Huxley! Stearns said he was going to find out which room he was in!"

Debbie didn't make the connection immediately and replied, "so?"

"So that means he's still alive. That means I didn't kill him!"

Debbie forced a smile, which was hard for her to do. For hours she had remained calm outside, but inside she was furious at Burt and the two agents. She let her feelings be known.

"I really don't care at this point, Burt. Even if this Huxley is alive, the men who have us must have known that all along, and they still brought us here handcuffed. Why would they do that if you hadn't done anything? Tell me that? You haven't told me everything, have you?

Burt looked at her but was unable to speak.

"Well?" She insisted.

Burt hesitated slightly. "No. I didn't tell you everything." His voice was barely audible. He was ashamed for lying to her and spoke softly to cover that shame.

Debbie continued her assault. "What else haven't you told me? Don't you trust me?"

He trusted her alright, but he knew he shouldn't tell her. The stakes were just too high. They weren't brought here because he attacked Huxley. He might have thought that at first, but now with Huxley alive, that couldn't be the reason. Then he thought maybe the other older guy at the NSF might have died. That might explain things, but Burt remembered hearing the old guard's moan, and he knew he hadn't hit him that hard. If anyone should be dead, it should be Huxley. It was his head he cracked on the desk.

No, it had to be something else. It had to be about the experiment Huxley had made him perform. Huxley wanted him for that. He was sure of it now. And because of it, telling Debbie would be like signing her death warrant. He had seen things back at the lab and read things in the NSF computers that he knew were highly sensitive. That was it! What he knew was important-- very important--not what he'd done to Huxley or the guard. He knew what Huxley's game was and knew he was valuable to him, but only if he cooperated. That's why they wanted him so badly: to make him cooperate. And it was because of what he'd seen that the two agents had to bring Debbie along--not just to keep her from going to the local police and telling them about him. They wanted to find out how much she knew. They had to assume he had told her everything even if he hadn't.

And now, if he didn't tell her, she would accuse him of not caring. It was a hard choice to make, yet the decision came easily. He had to stay silent, no matter how much she pleaded for answers.

Debbie grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Well, are you going to tell me?"

Burt took a deep breath, knowing what he was going to say would hurt, but hoping her trust in him would outweigh whatever sting his denial would bring.

"I can't! I just can't! You've got to trust me, Debbie. I can't tell you. It would be too dangerous if I did. The less you know the better. I'm sorry."

She withdrew her hand from his and turned sharply away, but not before she looked at him long enough to allow him to see the hurt and anger in her eyes.

Burt looked away too and saw Stearns out of the corner of his eye disappear as he strode toward the front desk.

As soon as his boss was out of sight Gunter turned quickly to Burt. There was a look of desperation in his eyes. He had to take a leak. Now!

Without hesitation or saying a word, Gunter reached behind him for his spare set of handcuffs. Hurriedly he grabbed Burt's free wrist and immediately snapped them on. The pain in his crotch was unbearable.

"Follow me," he told Burt as he started for the men's room. "I've got to go, and I can't leave you here alone."

Burt didn't have time to argue for instantly, the pudgy agent turned and yanked both he and Debbie behind him as he made his way through the crowd.

When they arrived at the entry, Gunter fumbled in his front pocket for the key all the while pumping his stocky legs up and down like a schoolchild trying to hold his water.

He released Debbie's handcuff from Burt and then quickly reconnected the free end to a brass railing which separated the entry into the men's room from the row of slot machines nearby.

"You wait here," he said to Debbie as he turned dragging Burt with him. "We'll be out in a minute."

Before they got two steps, Burt pulled back, slowing, but not halting the stocky agent. "Listen, Gunter. I don't have to go, and I sure as hell don't want to stand next to you while you do. Unhandcuff me and leave me here with Debbie on the rail. We're not going anywhere!"

Gunter didn't have time to think about the offer. His back teeth were floating. He pivoted and yanked Burt back to the railing where Debbie was waiting. There he took one look at the rail to ensure it was secure, something he should have done earlier when he left Debbie but didn't. Satisfied of its strength, he unlocked the handcuff holding him to Burt, and reconnected it to Debbie's wrist. He then scuttled away as fast as his pudgy legs would carry his squatty frame.