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The sound of the gunshot echoed in the stillness of the night. The mob was gathered around Zak and looking on, and there was no traffic noise to drown out the sound. So the echo seemed to hover for a moment before dissipating into the night. Zak was lying curled up on the pavement, his heart racing, waiting for the aftershock of pain. But the pain never came. What came was a deafening screech of tires and a women’s voice that shouted for everyone to stand back.
When the radio crackled the location where Talanov’s colleague was down, Bixler did a squealing U-turn in the middle of the street. Thankfully, she was not that far away, having been part of the dragnet of patrol cars out looking for Talanov. Speeding down the street, she saw the circle of people two blocks ahead, in the glare of the streetlight. When she was half a block away, she leaned out the window and fired. When she did, she purposely aimed high, above the heads of the mob. She didn’t really want to shoot anyone, but would have loved to see a few of them piss their pants.
The group ducked before scattering in all directions, like flapping chickens. Except for the policeman, who dropped down onto all fours. When he looked up, he saw Bixler and Pilgrim striding toward him, Bixler with her pistol aimed straight for his chest. The policeman stood and raised his hands.
Bixler saw the officer was unarmed although his holster was empty. She scanned the surrounding pavement for his gun but it was nowhere to be seen. Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she turned toward the squad car and ordered the other officer to leave his weapons in the car, get out, and join them. “Check Babikov. Make sure he’s okay,” she said to Pilgrim while the other policeman tossed his pistol into the car and joined Bixler.
While Bixler kept her gun trained on the two officers, Pilgrim ran over to Zak. “Are you all right?” she asked, rolling him gently onto his side.
Bleeding from his nose and mouth, Zak nodded. “Need to get Gorev to hospital,” he said. “I was trying to, but got jumped.”
“Can you get up?” asked Pilgrim, glancing at the protestors circling toward them.
Zak nodded again and Pilgrim helped him to his feet.
“Alex, where is he?” asked Zak.
“We don’t know,” Pilgrim replied. “We came for you.”
“I saw Alex drive by. Tried waving him down but he didn’t see me.”
“Do you know where he went?”
Before Zak could answer, three shots rang out and there was a suspended moment when time seemed to freeze. A mental awareness that she had been hit was Bixler’s first thought. Like an alarm going off. Then came an eruption of blood. Then came the explosions of pain tearing through her in all directions. Then she fell, and when she did, Bixler knew something was seriously wrong. That’s because her legs had just given out, as if the power lines had been cut and there was not a thing she could do to stop herself from falling. With a gargling gasp, she hit the pavement.
After hearing the shots, Pilgrim watched the horrific scene in stunned silence. To her, it seemed like an eternity. In truth, it was just a few seconds. She watched Bixler’s blood spray into the air. Watched Bixler wobble unsteadily for a moment with a confused look on her face. Watched Bixler bend like a willow and fall. With a scream, Pilgrim dropped to Bixler’s side just as two more shots rang out that missed Pilgrim’s head by inches.
Zak saw the muzzle flashes of a pistol being fired from the shadowed darkness to his left. Heard the sound of those shots echoing away into the night. Saw Bixler lying on the pavement and knew Pilgrim was next, kneeling as she was out in the open, in the middle of the street.
Every inch of Zak’s body ached from his having been savagely kicked and beaten. Until, that is, the explosive effects of adrenaline took over and triggered an instantaneous reaction that saw him leap to his feet and do a lightning dive toward the pistol that Bixler had dropped. Tucking his shoulder, Zak grabbed the weapon and did a shoulder roll that saw him come up onto both feet and empty the magazine in the direction of the muzzle flashes he had seen moments ago. A man cried out against the shattering of windows and the sound of a pistol clattering on the sidewalk.
Hearing voices, Zak turned and saw a group of angry young men running toward Pilgrim and Bixler. The hyenas were returning. Dropping the pistol, Zak leaped over the two women like a hurdler and met the first two head-on. He batted away their punches and flattened them both with his fists. He then charged the others like an enraged water buffalo. The rest of the group turned and ran. Zak chased them briefly to make sure they knew he meant business before returning to Bixler’s side.
“Check Gorev,” he told Pilgrim, telling one of the policemen to help her. He then told the other policeman to help him get Bixler to the car.
Lifting Bixler into his arms, Zak carried her to the car while the policeman ran ahead and opened the door so that Zak could place her in the back seat. Scooting in beside her, Zak used his black knife to cut out his sleeves, which he used to put pressure on the two bullet holes in Bixler’s back. One bullet had torn completely through her. The exit wound was just above her breast. The other bullet was still inside her.
“Give me your sleeves,” Zak told the policeman.
The policeman stiffened indignantly. “This uniform is official property of the—”
Zak lifted his black knife and growled, “Don’t make me get out of this car and rip them off of you myself.”
With a huff, the policeman ripped out his sleeves and handed them to Zak, who used them to apply pressure to the hole in Bixler’s chest. “Go. Get out of here,” he said just as the trunk lid slammed. Seconds later, Pilgrim opened the front door and slid behind the wheel.
“Gorev’s dead. I’m sorry,” said Pilgrim.
Zak looked away for a moment then nodded.
“I put his body in the trunk,” said Pilgrim. “And I also picked up this.” She held up Bixler’s service weapon, which she laid in the seat beside her. She then started the engine, shifted into gear, and raced away down the street. Glancing back, she asked, “How is she?”
“Both entry wounds are in the upper back. One is a through-and-through, just inside the medial border of the scapula, so the bullet must have passed between the ribs and out her chest. The other is still in there, probably slowed if not splintered by the density of the scapula.”
“Sounds like you know anatomy.”
“Years of training to live off the land, cook, sew buttons, clean weapons, perform surgery.”
A series of passing streetlights filled the car with intermittent bursts of light. A voice on the police radio issued a demand in accented English for the two female American agents to surrender the Soviet spy they had stolen.
“That was quick,” said Zak.
“Good news travels fast. Bad news, faster,” whispered Bixler, coughing.
“Lie still and be quiet,” said Zak. “One of the bullets may have damaged a lung.”
Bixler coughed again and nodded.
“Thank you for arriving when you did,” said Zak.
“We heard what was happening over the police radio,” said Pilgrim.
“I must admit, until now I have never liked Americans.”
“How many Americans do you know?” asked Pilgrim. She locked eyes with Zak in the rearview mirror.
Zak smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
“I thought so,” she said. “But since we’re confessing, I must admit I’ve never thought much of you Russians, either. Until now, that is. The hospital is just ahead.”
“Why do you do this?” asked Zak.
“You can thank Glenda. Once you’ve earned her respect, she’ll put her life on the line for you and not bat an eye.”
Bixler suddenly started gasping and Zak lifted her up into a sitting position. This caused the fluid in her lungs to drain downward, enabling her to breathe. When she finally caught her breath, she nodded.
“Did you ever locate Melissa?” asked Zak.
Pilgrim stared at Zak in the rearview mirror and Zak responded with a curious stare.
“Are you sure those samples were anthrax?” asked Pilgrim. “I ask because Washington heard from Spain’s Hazmat people, who found no evidence of anthrax anywhere in or around the burned-out café. You can imagine how foolish this makes us look, since Glenda and I were the ones who called in the Hazmat people. We’re now being blamed for creating – and I quote – an outbreak of wild and unsubstantiated rumors. Not only that, Washington had been pressuring Moscow to come clean about your biological weapons program, but after the release of this report, has had to backpedal and apologize. Furthermore, Moscow has denied knowing anything about a defecting doctor.”
Zak did not reply.
“So the official word now is that there never was any anthrax, a position that is certain to be strengthened now that Gorev is no longer alive to contradict that position.”
Zak did not reply.
“So I need to ask you something off the record, Major,” Pilgrim said, “because if Gorev was indeed defecting with samples of weaponized anthrax, then we’ve still got a very big problem because if Noya is still alive, then that anthrax is still alive. Again, this is off the record.”
“What is your question?” asked Zak.
“Should I stop looking for Melissa? If you tell me to quit, I will, and I hope to God you do, because then I’ll know for sure that Noya’s in no further danger. But if you say nothing, you are – quite literally – admitting nothing yet telling me everything I need to know to try and save that young girl’s life. So I’ll ask you again: should I stop looking for Melissa?”
And Zak very pointedly did not reply.
