Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Now I lay me down to sleep and pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if... if I die before I wake... I pray... pray..." Rick shook his head in desperation. "Can't recall what... Yes. Pray the Lord my soul to take. That's it. It's done."

Apart from Ryan Cawdor, watching the top of the stairs in the main part of the dacha, everyone else was down in the gateway control room, circling Rick Ginsberg. The freezie lay on his back, furs across his legs, body wrapped in the poor remains of the Stars and Stripes. The pyrotab rested between his trembling hands, and the two large cans of gasoline were at his side.

Doc Tanner had gone straight to the lock to check that the handle worked. He pumped it up and down, doing everything but close the door to the actual chamber, which would trigger the whole device, assuming it still did function.

"You have done well, Richard," he praised in his deep, sonorous voice. "Exceedingly well, if I may make so bold."

"Thanks, Doc. Just don't test it too hard. If it works the once, that's all it..." A coughing fit prevented him from finishing the sentence.

Zorro kept close to the heels of Doc's worn and cracked knee boots, his belly flat to the floor, head low as though it knew that things were tough and getting tougher.