The Savage Horde

Chapter 12

Paul Rubenstein had given up on the medicinal liquor—he had no desire to get drunk. And the coffee—good by anyone's standard—had proved too much for him as well—two trips to what he'd rapidly learned was called "the head". He had given up smoking many years before—so he sat now, staring at the wall, wondering. And he knew it wasn't a wall—he remembered editing an article years ago that had dealt with ships and boats and a wall was a bulkhead—he thought.

He wondered if Rourke knew—knew that the ship was underway. He realized that even if Rourke had not been told, he would have suspected as much. And he wondered even more about the welfare of Natalia.

He found himself smiling at mention of her name—that a major in the KGB would have found such a warm place in his heart amazed him still. His parents, not directly involved in the Holocaust, had told him of relatives who had been. The SS, the Gestapo—and he rationally realized that the KGB was essentially the same. But the woman—she was different.

If he felt such torture waiting for the outcome of the operation—six hours had passed since it had begun—he could not even imagine what it was Rourke himself felt. A slip of the knife, a misjudgment and a woman that Rourke obviously loved would be dead. Rubenstein shivered—not with cold.

He sat bolt upright. "The operation's over."

He turned around—it was RourKe. "John—is—"

She was dead, Rubenstein thought—otherwise—

"She should make it," Rourke nodded, his face haggard-looking, leaner seeming than Paul had ever seen it. Under the most bizarre conditions, Rubenstein had secretly marveled that Rourke always found the time to stay clean shaven when there was sufficient water available to do so. But now, his face was stubbled, deep lines etched there heightened by the shadow of beard.

"You look like hell," Paul said quietly.

' 'Matches the way I feel—the last bullet. Nine fragments, some of them almost as small as the head of a pin. Had to reconstruct it under a microscope. Made me realize the last time I performed major surgery was a long time ago. The hands are just as steady, but the reflexes I'd learned weren't there."

"We're underway—like they call it. You know that," the younger man told him.

"I felt it—yeah."

"What are we going to do, John?"

"If I got everything and did everything right, Natalia could be up and around in about a week. We can't do anything until then. You meet the captain?"

"Commander Gundersen—yeah—seems okay."

"It's Cole we've gotta worry about—those orders of his—something doesn't sound right about them."

"He wants to start a nuclear war all over again? That's crazy."

"I'm going to see if there's some way this Commander Gundersen can contact President Chambers or Reed. But in the meantime, we're stuck."

"Gundersen's men took my guns—I didn't see any way of arguing it—six of them and no running room."

Rourke nodded soberly. "I took off my pistols when I scrubbed—most of them anyway," and Rourke smiled.

' 'But you were right—trying a shootout in a metal skin in the water—under it now—would have been stupid."

"You're not gong through with this—to find the missiles. Are you?"

"I don't have much choice. We'll be there anyway when this thing surfaces—and if I can contact Chambers and he confirms that Cole is acting in his behalf, then I'll have to. And if I can't contact Chambers—my gut still tells me there's something wrong. Something really wrong with Cole and his outfit. And if Cole is some kind of crazy—or maybe a Russian Natalia wouldn't have known about—or something else—we can't let him get his hands on those six missiles. He was talking about them—eighty megaton capacity for each missile. Nearly five hundred megatons combined."

"What started it between Cole and Natalia?" Rubenstein asked.

Rourke sat down, holding his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up. He picked up the bottle of medicinal liquor—"Looks like it tastes great."

"You get used to it," and Rubenstein felt himself smile.

"Yeah—well—after Natalia's suction has been working for a while—"

"Her what?"

"Got a Levin tube suctioning her until peristalsis resumes—but there's always a chance the suture line I made wasn't complete enough and I might have to open her up again—I should know in about six hours or so—gonna try and sleep."

"I could feel for you, John—doing that—holding her life in your hands."

"A lot of things I've been thinking about lately," and Rourke smiled. "I always get the impression you look to me as the problem solver—don't you?"

Embarassed slightly, Rubenstein only nodded.

"Well—if I'm so smart, how the hell come I'm in love

with my wife and I'm in love with Natalia at the same time, huh?"

Rourke said nothing else, reaching into his shirt pocket and taking one of the dark tobacco cigars and lighting it, his face more lined and tired than before.