"Will he do it?" Landau whispered.
Kinsman turned and looked up at the Russian. The 558
.
I braces made it a painful operation. "You mean will he kill Americans? We'll find out pretty damned soon." You started this as a move to end war, he raged at himself, and it's turning into a civil war.
"He'd better do it," said Colt.
Perry came back to the screen. "I've got to get down to the comm center. They've got the shuttle on the standard frequency, but I can't run all the parts of the show from here."
"Right. Keep this line open," Kinsman said.
But the screen erupted into flickering colors. The only sound from the speaker was a scratchy angry hiss.
"They tumbled to it," Colt said. "Cut the link."
Kinsman turned the chair around. "Hugh, find a phone someplace and tell our shuttle to hold. No telling when we'll be there—if ever. Then see who you can find in the UN chain of command . . ."
"Christ! On New Year's Eve?"
"Can't be helped! We've got to get some muscle around that shuttle. It's our link home, and ..." A sudden surge of pain made him gasp.
"Chet!"
Landau reached for him. Kinsman pushed the Russian away. "No ... I'm all right." He tried to catch his breath. "Hugh, for God's sake—we need De Paolo. Find him. Find some foreign diplomats. Marrett, news reporters, anybody. We've got to get the word out about this. Don't . . ." The pain hit again, searing flame across his ribs and down both arms. "Don't let them keep this a secret."
Harriman bit his lower lip. But he nodded and rushed toward the door.
Landau forced Kinsman's chair down to a reclining position. The ceiling seemed to be spinning. Kinsman heard the phone making funny noises, then a voice calling tinnily, "Colonel Colt! Colonel Franklin Colt!"
Landau's face was hovering over him. It was blurred, but very serious. Intent. So damned somber. Wonder if he's that way in bed with Jili. He must smile sometime.
"This is Colt."
"One moment. Colonel. Priority call from Washington."
"Great. Just what I need."
