cc.fireice-第32节

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　Seven　people　were　pictured　in　the　photograph。　From　the　facial　resemblance　they　shared；　the　two　adults　and　five　young　people　appeared　to　be　posing　for　a　family　portrait。　Standing　on　the　left　side　was　a　bearded　man　wearing　a　military…style　visored　cap　and　a　ceremonial　military　uniform　trimmed　with　fancy　piping。　Medals　adorned　his　chest。
　
　A　thin；　pale…faced　young　boy　in　a　sailor　suit　stood　in　front　of　the　man。　Next　to　the　boy　were　three　girls　in　their　teens　and　another　girl　slightly　younger；　all　gathered　around　a　seated　middle…aged　woman。　The　children's　features　bined　their　father's　wide　forehead　and　the　broad　face　of　their　mother。　In　the　foreground　was　a　low　column　like　those　used　for　museum　display。　Resting　on　top　of　it　was　a　magnificent　crown。
　
　The　crown　was　massive　and　obviously　not　designed　to　be　worn　for　very　long。　It　was　heavily　encrusted　with　rubies；　diamonds　and　emeralds。　Even　in　the　black…and…white　photograph；　the　gemstones　crowding　the　surface　glittered　as　if　they　were　on　fire。　A　two…headed　gold　eagle　surmounted　the　globe。
　
　〃That　little　bauble　must　be　worth　something；〃　Zavala　said。　He　leaned　closer　and　studied　the　somber　faces。　〃They　look　so　unhappy。〃
　〃They　could　have　had　a　premonition　of　what　awaited　them；〃　Austin　said。　He　ran　his　hand　over　the　embroidered　altar　cover。　〃R　as　in　Romanov。〃　He　glanced　around　the　funereal　chamber。　〃This　is　a　shrine　to　the　memory　of　Tsar　Nicholas　II　and　his　family。　The　boy　in　the　picture　would　have　been　in　line　to　wear　that　crown　if　he　and　his　family　hadn't　been　murdered。〃
　
　Austin　plunked　into　the　chair　facing　the　altar；　and；　as　he　leaned　back；　a　deep　chorus　of　male　voices　poured　from　hidden　speakers。　The　religious　chanting　welled　throughout　the　chamber　and　echoed　off　the　walls。　Austin　shot　out　of　the　chair　like　a　jack…in…the…box；　his　revolver　at　the　ready。　The　haunting　music　stopped。
　
　Zavala　saw　the　look　of　alarm　on　his　partner's　face　and　stifled　a　laugh。　〃A　bit　jumpy；　my　friend？〃
　〃Cute；〃　Austin　said。　He　pressed　his　hand　against　the　back　of　the　chair　and　the　chanting　resumed。　It　stopped　when　he　removed　his　hand。　〃A　pressure…activated　switch　turns　on　the　tunes。　It　gives　a　whole　new　meaning　to　the　term　'musical　chair。'　Care　to　try　it？〃
　〃No；　thanks。　My　musical　taste　runs　more　to　salsa。〃　〃Remind　me　to　rig　a　Barcalounger　up　to　my　collection　of　progressive　jazz。〃　Austin　glanced　at　the　door。　〃We're　done　here。　Even　a　rat　wouldn't　be　dumb　enough　to　be　caught　in　a　trap　like　this。〃
　
　They　left　the　somber　confines　of　the　Romanov　shrine　and　returned　to　the　staircase　they　had　climbed　from　the　submarine　pen。　They　went　up　another　level　and　found　themselves　in　a　barracks　similar　to　the　one　below。　Whereas　the　lower　dormitory　was　neat；　here　blankets　were　bunched　on　the　dirty　mattresses　as　if　thrown　there　in　a　hurry。　Cigarette　butts　and　plastic　cups　littered　the　floor。　There　was　the　stale　smell　of　sweat　and　rotting　food。
　
　〃Phew！〃　Zavala　said。
　
　Austin　wrinkled　his　nose。　〃Look　on　the　bright　side；　we　won't　need　bloodhounds　to　pick　up　the　trail。〃
　
　They　followed　a　wide　corridor　that　slanted　upward　like　the　ramp　in　an　underground　parking　garage。　After　a　few　minutes；　fresh　air　blew　against　their　faces；　replacing　the　foul　odor　emanating　from　the　barracks。　Natural　light　ing　from　a　bend　in　the　passageway　began　to　fill　in　the　spaces　between　the　puddles　of　illumination　from　overhead　bulbs　spaced　in　the　ceiling。
　
　The　passageway　ended　in　a　steel　door　that　had　been　left　ajar。　A　short　ramp　led　to　the　interior　of　what　appeared　to　be　a　warehouse　or　garage。　The　concrete　floor　was　stained　with　oil　and　spotted　with　the　droppings　of　small　animals。　Austin　picked　an　old；　yellowed　copy　of　Pravda　out　of　a　pile　of　rubbish。　The　beetle…browed　face　of　Leonid　Brezhnev　glowered　from　the　front　page。
　
　Austin　tossed　the　newspaper　aside　and　went　over　to　a　window。　Not　a　shard　of　glass　remained　in　the　metal　frame；　giving　him　an　unimpeded　view　of　several　nearby　steel　structures。　The　warehouse　was　part　of　the　plex　of　abandoned　buildings　Austin　had　first　seen　from　the　air。　The　corrugated　exteriors　were　streaked　with　rust；　and　the　seams　on　the　walls　and　roofs　had　buckled　with　age。　Concrete　walks　linking　the　plex　were　overgrown　with　tall　grass。
　
　Zavala　caught　Austin's　attention　with　a　sharp　whistle。　He　was　looking　out　from　the　opposite　side　of　the　warehouse。
　
　Working　his　way　around　the　rubbish；　Austin　crossed　over　and　peered　through　the　window。　The　warehouse　sat　on　a　rise　overlooking　a　large　weed…grown　field　that　was　roughly　rectangular　in　shape　and　depressed　a　few　feet；　like　a　giant　soap　dish。　The　rusty　framework　of　a　soccer　goal　jutted　from　the　grass　at　one　end。　Austin　guessed　that　the　area　had　once　been　an　athletic　field　used　for　R&R　by　visiting　submarine　crews。
　
　Now；　horsemen　were　strung　out　along　the　perimeter　of　the　field　on　three　sides。　Only　the　side　nearest　the　warehouse　and　the　other　buildings　was　open。　Austin　recognized　the　gray　tunics　and　black　pants　worn　by　the　gang　of　Cossacks　that　had　shot　him　out　of　the　sky。　There　were　at　least　three　times　as　many　riders；　now　all　facing　into　the　field。
　
　〃You　never　told　me　this　was　a　polo　club；〃　Zavala　said；　in　a　bad　imitation　of　a　British　accent。
　
　〃I　wanted　to　surprise　you；〃　Austin　said；　focusing　on　a　frightened…looking　group　of　people　huddled　in　the　center　of　the　field。　〃We're　in　time　for　the　last　chukker。　Follow　me　and　I'll　introduce　you　to　the　chaps　I　met　the　last　time　I　was　here。〃
　
　Austin　and　Zavala　slipped　out　of　the　warehouse；　dropped　to　their　hands　and　knees　and　wriggled　snake…style　until　they　came　to　the　edge　of　the　field　where　the　grass　thinned　out。　Austin　pushed　aside　the　grass　for　a　better　look　as　three　horsemen　broke　away　from　the　others；　one　from　each　side。　With　a　series　of　bloodcurdling　yells；　the　Cossacks　galloped　toward　the　huddled　people；　then　broke　off　their　charge　at　the　last　second　and　circled　like　Apaches　attacking　a　wagon　train。　With　each　pass；　they　came　closer。　The　horses　kicked　up　fountains　of　dirt　and　the　riders　leaned　out　of　their　saddles　and　brought　their　whips　down　in　slashing　blows。
　
　Austin　quickly　figured　out　the　one…sided　rules　of　the　game。　The　Cossacks　were　trying　to　break　the　group　apart　so　they　could　run　them　to　ground　individually。　The　field　had　been　left　unguarded　on　one　side　to　tempt　someone　to　make　a　break　for　freedom。　But　the　strategy　wasn't　working。　With　each　charge；　their　prey　bunched　closer　together；　like　zebras　being　stalked　by　hungry　lions。
　
　Yelping　loudly；　the　riders　galloped　back　to　the　edge　of　the　field　and　took　their　place　in　line　again。　Austin　expected　another　attack；　maybe　with　more　riders。　Instead；　a　lone　horseman　broke　from　the　ranks　and　put　his　mount　into　a　trot　as　if　he　were　out　for　a　Sunday　ride。
　
　Austin　shielded　the　binocular　lenses　with　his　hands　to　prevent　the　sun　from　reflecting。　The　rider　was　dressed　in　the　familiar　mud…colored　belted　tunic；　baggy　black　pants　and　boots　and　fur　hat；　although　the　day　was　warm。　Cartridge　belts　crossed　his　chest。　He　rode　a　big　dark　gray　horse　with　wide　flanks　and　shoulders　like　a　draft　animal。
　
　Austin　studied　the　man's　long；　unkempt　red　beard　and　let　out　an　evil　chuckle。　The　last　time　he'd　seen　the　giant　Cossack　was　over　the　barrel　of　a　flare　gun。　〃Well；　well；　we　meet　again。〃
　〃Is　that　clean…cut　chap　a　friend　of　yours？〃　Zavala　said。
　
　〃More　a　passing　acquaintance。　We　had　a　glancing　encounter　not　too　long　ago。〃
　
　Taking　his　time；　the　Cossack　put　his　mount　into　a　parade　strut　and　circled　the　field；　showing　off　for　the　other　horsemen；　who　cheered　him　on。　Then　he　drew　his　saber；　raised　it　high　and　let　out　a　hoarse　yell。　Digging　his　spurs　into　his　mount；　he　charged　toward　the　center　of　the　field　like　a　bowling　ball　rolling　down　on　tenpins。　At　the　last　second；　he　brought　the　horse　to　a　skidding　stop　and　pulled　back　on　the　reins。　The　big　horse　reared　up　on　its　hind　legs　and　pawed　the　air。
　
　The　people　huddled　in　the　field　scrambled　to　avoid　the　flailing　hooves　and　to　escape　the　crushing　weight　of　the　giant　animal。　In　the　confusion；　one　man　tripped　and　fell；　and　became　separated　from　the　others。　He　got　up　and　tried　to　regain　the　relative　safety　of　the　pack；　but　the　Cossack　saw　the　opening　and　wedged　his　horse　between。　The　man　feinted　to　the　right　and　made　a　dash　to　the　left。　The　Cossack　anticipated　the　move　and　herded　the　man　like　a　cowpoke　culling　out　a　steer　for　branding。　Seeing　no　alternative；　the　man　sprinted　for　the　unguarded　side　of　the　field。
　
　The　runner's　face　was　set　in　a　determined　expression；　even　though　he　must　have　known　his　two　legs　were　no　match　for　the　horse's　four。　The　Cossack　made　no　move　to　give　chase　and　continued　to　put　his　strutting　mount　through　its　paces　for　the　benefit　of　his　rades。　Not　until　the　runner　was　halfway　to　the　edge　of　the　field　did　the　rider　wheel　his　horse　around。　He　spurred　his　horse　into　a　trot；　then　into　a　ground…eating　canter。　Raising　his　sword　again；　he　urged　his　mount　into　a　full　gallop。
　
　Alerted　by　the　pounding　hoofbeats；　the　runner　thrust　his　chest　out　like　a　sprinter　at　the　finish　line　and　pumped　his　arms　to　wring　out　the　last　ounce　of　speed。　No　use。　As　the　horse　thundered　by　him；　the　Cossack　leaned　over　to　one　side　and　the　s