He would be damned if a lawless raider was going to dictate terms. Nikita swung his gun aroundquickly, intending to shoot whether the other man fired or not. But the man lying in the corner suddenly came to life, locking his legs around Nikita's torso, flopping him onto his back, and holding him there as the other man entered and disarmed him. Nikita grappled with the men, but the pain in his leg kept him from standing or putting up much of a fight. The newcomer knelt on Nikita's chest, pinning him, and used the bottom of his boot to kick the throttle forward, driving the speed of the train back up again. Still camped on Nikita's chest, he pulled off what looked like a rappelling belt and lashed the ankle of Nikita's good leg to a handle just below the window. The Russian could neither reach it nor escape, and for the second time that night he felt ashamed.

The two of them planned this together on the roof of the cab, he thought bitterly. And I stumbled into it like a sports club novice.

"Our apologies, Lieutenant," the man said in English as he stood and raised his goggles.

A third man reached the cabin and, after shouting in, was told to enter. He swung in through the window.

The new arrival tended to his companion's wound by the light of the coals, while the other man-- obviously the group's leader-- bent to look at Nikita's wound. While he did so, Nikita reached out with his left arm to try and push the throttle. The leader grabbed his wrist and the Russian tried to kick at him with his free foot, but the pain was too great.

"They don't give medals for suffering," the man said to Nikita.

As Nikita lay there panting, the leader pulled an empty rope bag from around his shin, used a small knife to cut off the strap, and slipped the band around the blood-soaked leg, just above the wound. He gave it a firm pull. He used another length of strap to bind his hands and tie them to an iron hook on the floor of the train.

"We'll be leaving the train in a few minutes," the man said. "We'll take you off and see that you get medical attention."

Nikita had no idea what he was saying, nor did he care. These men were the enemy, and one way or another he was going to stop them from doing whatever they planned.

His hands behind him, he used his thumbnail to dig the glass stone from his regimental ring. It had been designed to come free like that. It had also been designed so that a halfinch blade would pop up from beneath the stone when it came out. And with no one watching his hands. he began to saw against the leather strap.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Tuesday, 4:27 P.M., St. Petersburg