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metal trough that ran all around the case.
"No," Rick said quietly, looking around for some means of escape.
"Yes," Ryan hissed. "Us getting chilled won't help Old Glory."
"Can't," the freezie insisted.
The one-eyed man reached out and gripped him by the arm very casually, fingers
tightening like chromed steel clamps.
Rick whimpered, legs weakening, and he nearly fell. Only Ryan's hand held him
upright. "Please," he begged.
"We go and we do it. Do it good. Then we get out. And we think of some way of
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Axler,_James_-_DeathLands_9_Red_Equinox getting back in here, Rick.
Un-derstand?"
"Yes, yes. Just let go of& Oh, that was real shitty."
"Saved three lives, friend. And one of them was mine."
"But not the flag," the freezie muttered. "That's the bottom of the fucking
tube, Ryan."
"When we come back after the tools, lover," Krysty suggested, "mebbe we could
collect the flag at the same time."
"Could be." Ryan nodded.
With the narrowed eyes of the guards scanning every-one's face, there was no
way of cheating. Ryan swallowed hard as he neared the head of the line,
feeling the dryness in his mouth. He eased Krysty ahead of him, staying close
to Rick in case the freezie lost his nerve at the last mo-ment. If that
happened, he'd already decided to push him aside, grab Krysty and make a run
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for it.
But the line moved so fast that the moment had come and gone almost before
they realized it.
Ryan concentrated on looking at the flag. There was a large card notice,
barely readable, which he assumed told the Russians where the Stars and
Stripes had come from. By the burn marks along one ragged edge he guessed it
could have been from the ruins of the U.S. Embassy in the ville.
Ahead of him, Krysty snarled, hawked and spit vigor-ously.
Rick hesitated for a cold fraction of a second, then managed a creditable
amount of spittle. Ryan performed blankly and unemotionally, moving to follow
the others across the hall toward what he guessed must be an exit.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of the guards take the small black
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Axler,_James_-_DeathLands_9_Red_Equinox voice-trans from his lapel and press
it against his ear, obviously finding some difficulty in hear-ing what was
said in the center of the echoing building and speaking urgently into it. He
listened again, then snapped his head around, eyes raking the crowd.
Ryan knew.
One of the reasons he'd lived as long as he had in the Deathlands, on the
sharp edge, was that he never ignored a hair-prickling feeling.
He moved a few steps ahead, collecting Rick with one hand, bumping into
Krysty, brushing aside the angry mumbles from the people in the line.
"Think they got an ace on the line at us," he whispered. "'Out. Fast."
ZIMYANIN TAPPED his gloved fingers gently against the edge of the desk, his
voice deceptively soft as he talked to the quivering official in charge of the
museum.
"One minute, you say?"
"No more, Comrade Major-Commissar. I promise you of that."
Zimyanin nodded. "And your people are sure? Sure of these three?"
"Oh, yes. Yes indeed. Yes, there is no doubt of it, Com-rade Major-Commissar."
"My own patrols were on the streets. Threw up blocks. But no sign. Perhaps
they are still in here? No?"
"No, Comrade Major-Commissar. We closed it imme-diately and it has been
searched from top to bottom and from bottom to top and from side to side and
from& " His voice faded and died as he realized he'd run out of op-tions.
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Axler,_James_-_DeathLands_9_Red_Equinox
"I believe you, Comrade."
The official was more terrified than he'd ever been of this bald man with the
long mustache and eyes like chips of river ice who strutted in his office, his
voice caressing like a silken whip. The room seemed too small, the air too
thick and choking. The man wanted desperately to go to the rest room, but
didn't dare to mention it.
Zimyanin ticked off the points. "Tough-seeming outlander. One eye. Tall woman
with very red hair. A third man. Nobody noticed much about him. One woman said
she thought he nearly fell over, and two of the visitors said they thought
they heard the outlanders talking in " he glanced down at his notes, " ah,
yes.
Talking in a strange way. And they've vanished like smoke. Such a shame your
communication system worked so slowly and so badly, Comrade. Such a great
shame."
"Indeed, yes, Comrade Major-Commissar. I shall make sure it's improved."
"No."
"No?"
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"No."
"But it is not good and you& " The words again drifted into stillness. The
pressure on the official's bladder was becoming intolerable.
"You have good furs, Comrade?"
Was this a trick question? "I think so, Comrade Major-Commissar," he replied
cautiously.
"Good. The winters out on the Kamchatka Peninsula are cold, Comrade. The
summers are also cold. But the win-ters& ah, they are very cold."
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Axler,_James_-_DeathLands_9_Red_Equinox
"Why would& you don't surely& ?"
"It's bleak work scraping frozen shit out of the middens of the mutie camps,
Comrade."
"But& "
Zimyanin rarely indulged himself in anything approach-ing a joke, but he was
feeling good, certain now that his intuition had been correct. There were
Americans in the ville. He would find them and capture them.
"Yes, Comrade, the middens. But you must look to the bright future."
"The future? Bright, Comrade Major-Commissar?"
"Yes. After ten years of good behavior they will allow you to use a brush."
It was only as the sec officer walked from the room that the official realized
he had pissed himself.
"CLOSE ISN'T THE WORD, Ryan." The freezie panted, dou-bled over against a
tumbled brick wall, fighting for breath.
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