The Lie Read Free Page A

set a man free of those holding him or, failing that, to kill him. Perhaps worst of all, the man
     in question, Stefan Tutsikov, was one of the few out here in this Balkan charnel house who was on the side of the angels.
    Even Cortlandt had been sympathetic. “I don’t like having to stick you with this one,” the director had told him. “But I know
     of no one else I’d trust it to, or who could do it as well.”
    Unabashed flattery. Yet Paulie had felt himself respond like Pavlov’s dog. Tommy Cortlandt’s face had offered more than his
     words. It always did. That marvelous face, with its ice-blue eyes and the look of a born conspirator.
    Paulie Walters had never met Stefan Tutsikov, and he had seen him only a few times from a distance. He thought of him now
     sitting in that Serbian staff car with four armed guards, and he wondered what he was thinking. All things considered, Paulie
     knew his chances of getting Tutsikov away from his guards alive were depressingly small.
    Unfortunate.
    Unlike most of the other political leaders in the area, Stefan Tutsikov was neither foolish, angry, self-serving, nor simply
     bent on age-old ethnic revenge and murder. That covert American support had been behind him had nothing to do with how Paulie
     felt. The man was just good. To abandon him to the certain torture and death that awaited him in Belgrade would be a lot crueler
     to Tutsikov and far more deadly to those he would surely betray under electric prodding than any bullets Paulie might have
     to pump into him.
    The pink glow of dawn was spreading over the mountains as Paulie Walters rounded a curve and saw the staff car’s brake lights
     brighten in the distance at one of the irregularly spaced rest stops along the road. It consisted of a low, rustic building
     with washrooms and a few scattered picnic tables and benches. Drawing closer, Paulie saw three huge trailer trucks lined up
     in the parking area: he assumed the drivers were asleep in their cabs.
    Reaching under the passenger seat, he lifted out the blue-steel machine pistol he favored when the odds were this much against
     him.
    He slowed as he made his approach on a long descending grade. The pines stood tall and dark on both sides; the sky was cloudless
     and getting lighter and redder above.
    All four guards got out of the car and entered the building with their prisoner. Pretty stupid as far as good security went,
     thought Paulie, but that much better for him. Tutsikov had walked in with his hands behind his back, so he was handcuffed.
    Cutting off the motor, Paulie rolled the last hundred meters and quietly came up alongside the staff car. He heard voices
     and laughter from inside the rest room. He glanced off to the right where the three tractor-trailers were parked. Nothing
     moved.
    Setting the machine gun on full automatic, Paulie draped the sling around his neck and got out of the car. He took a sheathed
     hunting knife from his belt and ripped open two of the staff car’s tires. Then he entered the rest room.
    A pale white light froze the guards and their captive into a tableau.
    Three of the guards stood at the urinals, their backs to Paulie. The fourth guard and Stefan Tutsikov were off to one side,
     with the guard busy unlocking his prisoner’s handcuffs.
    “Nobody move.” Paulie Walters spoke more than rudimentary Serbo-Croatian.
    They turned to look at him. One of the soldiers at the urinals was smoking a cigarette and it dropped from his mouth. They
     all wore holstered sidearms. The only naked gun was in Paulie’s hands. He saw that Tutsikov was free of his handcuffs.
    “Come over here beside me,” he told him. “The rest of you, facedown on the floor.”
    The four guards glanced around at one another. No one wanted to be the first to do it.
    Paulie leveled his machine pistol at the three in front of the urinals. “You guys really want to die with your little pretties
     in your hands?”
    They dropped facedown on the floor