ASTHE ELEVATOR ROSE, Suvorov reversed the gun and smashed out the overhead light with the butt. Moran moaned and went through the motions of coming to, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head to clear the fog. Larimer became sick and vomited in a corner, his breath coming in great croaking heaves.

The elevator eased to a smooth stop and the doors automatically opened to a smothering rush of warm air. The only light came from three dim yellow bulbs that hung suspended on a wire like ailing glowworms. The air was dank and heavy and smelled of diesel oil and rotting vegetation.

Two men stood about ten feet away, engaged in conversation, waiting for Lugovoy to make his scheduled progress report. They turned and glared questioningly into the darkened elevator. One of them bels an attache' case. The only other detail Suvorov noted before he shot them each twice in the chest was the Oriental fold of their eyes.

He slung his free arm under Moran's waist and hauled him across what seemed like a rusting iron floor. He kicked Larimer ahead of him as he would a remorseful dog that had run away from home. The senator reeled like a drunk, too sick to speak, too stunned to resist. Suvorov pushed the gun inside his belt and took Larimer's arm, guining him.

The skin under his hand felt goosefleshed and clammy. Suvorov hoped the old legislator's heart wasn't about to give out.

Suvorov cursed as he stumbled over a large chain. Then he stopped and peered down an enclosed ramp that stretched into the dark. He felt as if he were inside a sauna; his clothes were turning damp with sweat and his hair was plastered down his forehead and temples. He tripped and almost fell, regaining his balance just before he was about to sprawl on the cross slats of the ramp.

Moran's dead weight was becoming increasingly burdensome, and Suvorov realized his strength was ebbing. He doubted whether he could lug the congressman another fifty yards.

At last they left the tunnel-like ramp and staggered out into the night. He looked up and was vastly relieved to see a diamondclear sky carpeted with stars. Beneath his feet the ground felt like a graveled road and there were no lights to be seen anywhere. In the shadows off to his left he dimly recognized the outline of a car.

Pulling Larimer into a ditch beside the road, he gratefully dropped Moran like a bag of sand and cautiously circled around, approaching the car from the rear.

He froze into immobility, rigin against the shadowless landscape, and listened. The engine was running and music was playing on the radio. The windows were tightly rolled up and Suvorov right assumed the air conditioner was on.

Silent as a cat, he crouched and moved in closer, keeping low and out of any reflection in the side-view mirror on the door. The inside was too dark to make out more than one vague form behind the wheel. If there were others, Suvorov's only ally was the element of surprise.