“That’s all you needed?” He was surprised.
“It’s enough to send me home, yes,”She took the icon from him and looked at the plump smiling face. “A happy looking man.”
“He married well.”
She grinned at him and turned off the torch. “Someday you’ll be on an icon, too, if that’s the criterion!”
They turned back to the high altar silhouetted against the flickering candlelight. The shot, when it came, seemed to set all of the gilt frames humming. Jessica spun around and peered into the gloom behind her, then just as suddenly hit the floor as she realized what a target she made. And that she was standing there alone.
Ilya lay slumped over the altar. She waited for a moment, then crawled slowly toward him. She eased up beside him.
“Jess, I’m losing blood.”
“I know, dear, most of it’s going in my shoe. Oh, for the days when ladies wore petticoats. You’re lucky I still wear a bra. I think we can get a tourniquet.” She began taking off her sweater.
“I knew I’d find a way to get your clothes off.”
“God, you do pick the times to get raunchy. I ought to leave you here, you dirty old man.”
“I’m not old,” he gasped as she moved his leg and slit the pantleg. She struggled with the fabric, finally pulling the bra around and twisting it tightly.
“And the chances of your aging are dim unless you shut up. Let me get my sweater back on.” Her teeth were chattering and she was shaking with cold and tension. Her voice was muffled as she pulled the sweater over her head. “Has it struck you as odd that no one has come to see what all the commotion is?”
“Between my blood and your, ah, guts, my attention has been fairly riveted…but, yes, you’re right. You’d think someone would have come…one of the monks.” His voice trailed off.
“Ilya! Don’t pass out! Take a deep breath and try to breathe normally. In, out. Good. At least the bleeding is slowing. I’ve got to get you out of here and you’re going to have to help. Don’t talk!” as he opened his mouth. “There’s a hotel above the monastery. We’ll have to try to get to that.”
His eyes were closed and his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Leave me here and go get help.”
“And come back to find they’ve finished the job? I’d have a fine time explaining that. Do you have a gun?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Of course not! I’d really have fun explaining that.” She used her pencil torch. His color was poor and his lips had a bluish tinge.
She prayed inwardly and kept up a running commentary as she prepared to move him. “What do you think, a Farewell to Arms or For Whom the Bells Toll? Definitely a Hemingway plot we’ve stumbled into. If I only had my little Orphan Annie code ring. Although the only thing it ever spelled out was Ovaltine. As a matter of fact, we could use some Ovaltine. Ilya, I’m going to try to lift you now. Can you help?”
He nodded without opening his eyes. Suddenly she froze. From the back of the church there was the sound of movement, the soft brush of the big wooden door against the floor, a slight rush of air. She touched her fingers lightly to his lips and moved in front of him. There was little light from the two candles at the front of the church and she felt sure they were in deep enough shadow to be invisible; she was also sure that anyone actually looking for them would eventually find them. She put her lips to Ilya’s ear and breathed, “Where is the gun?”
Almost imperceptibly his right hand moved. She slid her hand into the jacket pocket and touched metal. He opened his eyes as she pulled the gun out of his pocket and rested it on his stomach. She kissed him lightly and mouthed, “I’ve got it.” They waited, but there was no sound in the church. A minute went by, excruciatingly slowly; she dared not move. The arm holding Ilya was beginning to quiver. Perhaps if she crawled away from him she could draw attention and pursuit to another part of the church. It was too small. Only the fact that it was packed with artifacts gave them any cover.
There was the faintest whisper of sound. Gum soles on the stone floor?
A voice, a piercing whisper, penetrated the gloom. “Miss Winter?”
She let out her breath in a long sigh, her body drooped with relief. Still clutching the gun, she moved back slightly from Ilya. “Will you excuse me? I believe my prince has come. Stefan?”
“Miss Winter. Are you all right? We heard a shot.”
“We?” She stood up now and could see him standing six feet away. “Who is with you?”
“Karl is here; he is watching outside.”
“Did anyone come out of the church?”
“I saw no one.”
Ilya’s hand touched her foot—cautioning. Still, they had to risk it. She could think of no reason why Stefan or Karl should shoot Ilya, or her. There was always the chance she had been the target, but they couldn’t sit here and wait.
“I’m all right, Stefan, but my friend is hurt. Could you get Karl and give us a hand? We’ll have to carry him.”
He stood gaping at her, not budging. She could have throttled him.
“Stefan,” she reached out with her hand, “Come and look. A body on floor, blood in pool. Will you go before there are two bodies on the floor, one of them yours?”
He stammered apologies until she gave him a gentle shove. “Go, we’ve got to move him.”
He fled, bumping into candlesticks in the near darkness.
“The prince of pieces,” she said drily, kneeling beside Ilya. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling slightly. She checked the makeshift bandage. Blood was still seeping through.
The door opened and Karl came forward cautiously. “Jessica?” Stefan tells me you need help.”
Some of her anxiety leaked into her voice as she said, “Colonel Christov is here, Karl. He’s been hurt and we have to move him. Could you look for something to carry him on? I think there are some folding chairs over in the corner.”
She broke off as he hurried over to the area she had indicated. Thank God for unflappable Karl who didn’t stand dithering. He was quickly successful; there was the sound of falling objects and Karl appeared next to her holding a wooden chair folded flat.
“Sorry,” he said. “This one seems to have been holding the stack up.”
She grinned at him. “Not to worry; anyone who doesn’t know we’re here now is deaf. Or dead,” she continued grimly. “Well! Let’s see what we can do here.” She took the chair and laid it on the floor.
“Ilya,” she said gently, “Can you help us? Can you put your arm around Karl’s neck? He can lift you a little so I can get the chair under you.”
Ilya nodded, but it was obvious that he was weaker.
“Karl, can you reach under him and lift him—just a little The bleeding might start again. There!” She pushed the chair under as quickly as she could without jarring the injured man. “We’re going to have to hold his head and feet. There aren’t enough of us. Where’s Stefan?” She was getting frantic; she could see him going into shock.
“He’s standing watch outside,” Karl said.
“Well, get him,” she said abruptly. “There’s not going to be anything to guard in a minute.”
He walked to the door and called softly. “Stefan?” There was a muffled sound and a shadow appeared in the door. Karl explained the situation in a low voice as they walked back toward Jessica and Ilya. She was kneeling beside him, trying to tuck her jacket around him. She rose as they stood beside her. “I’ll hold his head and shoulders if you two can each take a side of the bottom of the chair. Karl, that leg has to be held as straight as possible. Let’s see if we can get him up.”
The two men got into position and waited as Jessica supported Ilya’s head and shoulders. As she nodded, they began to raise the chair. He groaned as the movement jarred his leg and her grip tightened. They moved forward slowly, avoiding obstacles and trying not to bang against the pillars as they maneuvered the awkward burden toward the door. The door was a fresh problem, but they managed finally to get through.
/>
“Where are we taking him?” Karl said.
“I think we should try to get to the inn up the hill. There should be someone there, and we can at least get him warm and bandage the leg.”
The road was full of rocks and deep ruts and was simply a dirt lane at the best of times. In the dark with a fragile cargo, it was a mine field. None of them had an extra hand for a torch, there was no moon and none of the lights the city dweller took for granted,
“I wish we were cats,” Jessica grunted as Stefan hit a particularly deep rut and almost fell. It was not a great distance, but it seemed interminable as they stumbled along.
Finally, Jessica could see the outline of the building on their right and hear the rush and tumble of the river. A sliver of light was visible under the front door. She continued to move forward, but her mind was on the light. She had been so busy getting Ilya out of the church she had lost sight of what she might be taking him into. She slowed down and stopped at the edge of the walkway which led to the front door. She had Ilya’s gun, and couldn’t reach it. She was walking into a room which might shelter the man who had already attacked once.
“Jessica?” Karl’s voice pulled her back, “Are you all right?”
She shrugged. The only alternative to entering the inn seemed to be standing there in the cold with a man rapidly going into shock.
“Yes,”she said finally, “I’m all right. Stefan, see if you can bang on the door with your foot. It looks like someone may be up.”
They moved forward and Stefan managed to turn until he could reach the door. He gave a sharp rap on the bottom of the doorway and the door swung open. They began moving through the narrow opening, trying not to bump the man they carried so awkwardly. He was now unconscious and Jessica was torn between her apprehension and caution and a growing panic. She had to get him flat and warm. They were well into the building now and she paused again to look around. The light was coming from a candle on one of the tables in the dining room. The entire first floor seemed to be full of tables.
“If we have to, we can put him on one of the tables. Do you suppose there are any beds on this floor?”
It was Karl who answered. Stefan had not spoken since they had begun the long trek up the hill.
“I think we must take him up the stairs, Jessica. I have not been here often, but I believe on this floor there are only dining facilities.”
“Do you know where the stairs are?”
They both looked around, but this time it was Stefan who spoke. “To the left. There is a hallway and a cloakroom. I have seen a stairway.”
They moved as quickly as they could through the shadowed room. The hallway, when they reached it, was totally dark, but Stefan ran his hand along the wall until he found a switch. The light was bright, and for a moment they stood blinking at one another. As Jessica glanced down at Ilya, however, his pallor sent her moving with new urgency. The stairs were narrow and as difficult to negotiate as the dark roadway had been. Finally, they reached the top and paused again. Jessica turned toward the first door and struggled to open it. A linen closet. She sighed and they kept moving. Another door, another struggle to balance Ilya’s head and free a hand. Success. The door was open and they could see a single bed in the corner of the tiny room. They balanced the makeshift stretcher on the side of the bed and gently moved the man over. His breathing was rapid and shallow. She looked around quickly for extra blankets, remembered the linen closet. She dashed out, grabbed a sheet and two light blankets, and hurried back into the room. The two men were sitting slumped in chairs, exhausted by the strain of that last effort on the stairway. She was close to collapse herself, but she had to get a better bandage on that leg and get him warm somehow. She wondered if the inn ran to hot water bottles. She tore the pants leg away, wiped the blood away with a piece of the sheet. She made a better bandage with strips of the same sheet. She dared not remove the tourniquet. Now to get him warm. Several hot water bottles would have been just the thing. Or her beloved electric blanket. Barring that…what the hell? She lay down beside him, careful not to jar the leg, pressed up against him so that she was partly covering him. She took both his hands, which by this time were icy, and put them inside her sweater, gasping a little at the shock. She turned her head, “Karl can you tuck us in here for a minute?”
He got up and arranged the blankets Jessica had found around them, and sat down again. She lay there for ten minutes. Finally, she raised herself on one elbow and looked down at Ilya. His hands were beginning to warm slightly and she thought his color might be a little better. His eyelids fluttered and then opened; he gave a weak but cheeky grin. She grinned back, profoundly relieved, but all she said was “Lecher!” His eyes closed again and she turned hers to the two men sitting near the end of the bed.
“Would you two like to explain what you’re doing here?”
Karl glanced at Stefan, then back to Jessica. There was a pause and finally he said, “We are not alone.”
She sighed. “Today I saw Harry Lime,” she murmured. Karl frowned. “The Third Man,” she said, “Harry Lime was the Third Man.”
Karl shook his head. “There are four of us.”
“Horsefeathers,” she said giggling, “It’s not the Third Man, it’s a Marx Brothers movie.”
Karl looked at her with concern. Was she going into shock too? She saw the look and tried to get a grip on herself.
“All right, sorry,” she said. “Who is here?”
“Jim.”
“Jim? James the Uninvolved?” She couldn’t help it, she giggled again. This time it was Ilya who managed a light pressure with his hand against her ribs. She patted him reassuringly and swallowed the laughter. They were right, of course. It was close to hysteria.
“And?”
“Your young friend, Sandy.”
She stared at him, no laughter to stifle now. “Sandy? Sandy is here? Where?”
Karl was a little shaken by her vehemence. “I’m not sure. I thought they would both have been here. This is where we left them.”
Which explained the light. And left an awful lot unexplained.
“Where are the people who run the inn? And the priests?”
Karl was saved from replying by a sound on the stairs. Before they could do more than stiffen and look at one another, Jim appeared in the door, followed by a triumphant looking Sandy. If either of them was surprised to see Jessica in bed with the Chief of Bulgarian State Security, he had the grace not to mention it.
For her part, she raked Sandy with a pregnant glance. “This is your idea of clearing the field?” She turned her attention to Jim.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “I really thought I could count on you to stay cool. Did we or did we not have a conversation about involvement in which, correct me if I’m wrong, you took a negative position?”
He shrugged. “What are friends for?”
She included all four of them in her ire as she looked around the room. “I wish to hell I knew! Did it ever occur to any of you that this just might be none of your business?”
They looked at one another uneasily. Clearly, it had not.
She eased away from Ilya, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“Will he be all right?” Karl asked.
“I think so.” She glanced down at Ilya. “I only wanted to get him warm, not overheat him.” He did not open his eyes, but the eyelids flickered and the ghost of a grin drifted across his face.
“Now that we’re all here,” she looked at Karl, “We are all here, aren’t we? You didn’t bring your sisters and your cousins and your aunts?”
He nodded briefly.
“Then we’ve got to get Colonel Christov to a hospital.”
This was Sandy’s moment.
“I think I can take care of that, Miss Winter… Jessica. I can fly the helicopter.” He tried hard to be cool—just the facts, ma’am.
She grinned at him, not fooled at all. “Oh, you can? You are resourceful,” was all
she said. “Good, then you can fly Colonel Christov and me back to Sofia…” She paused as Sandy shook his head decisively.
“There won’t be room for both of you. Not with him on a stretcher.” His voice was firm and confident at last. He had a skill she didn’t possess. Let her trail along after him for a while. He was going to be in charge, whether she liked it or not. Jessica looked at the man on the bed. There was nothing else she could do for him. Perhaps it would be best if she weren’t there when he arrived at the hospital. The confrontation lasted less than a minute.
“You think this is man’s work?”
“Well,” it came out explosively and he toned it down. “Well, I could certainly manage it myself, if you don’t want to come.”
She helped them prepare a more efficient and comfortable makeshift stretcher. She hated to move him again so soon, but she didn’t know whether the bullet was still in the leg. Getting some medical attention was the highest priority. Someone had to remove that tourniquet. She was reluctant to let him out of her sight; a situation she took pains to hide, not altogether successfully. Sandy was inclined to take umbrage at the slightest hint that he might not be fully capable of managing the transfer on his own. She was torn between amusement and sympathy for his prickly sensitivity and a gnawing fear heightened by her fatigue that whoever had shot Ilya wasn’t going to give up. Still, she couldn’t insist on going with them without humiliating Sandy and causing problems at the other end. Sandy didn’t deserve that. He’d done a good job. All she could do was cover them until they got off.
It was much easier carrying Ilya with the better stretcher and two more pairs of hands. The helicopter was sitting in the road between the monastery and the inn. Sandy had a large torch and by its glare the machine loomed above them like an enormous insect. They removed the passenger seat and managed to clear a space large enough to accommodate the stretcher.
Jessica perched on the side of the machine and leaned in. “I’ll come visit you every day. I’ll scandalize the hospital staff.”
He opened his eyes and grinned. “You make an, um, interesting bed warmer.”
“I hope,” she said tartly, “Your English is deserting you in your hour of need.”
No Work for a Woman Page 16
