"You made a very grave error in judgment," he was saying to her. "I don't yet know precisely what you were expecting to accomplish, but whatever it was, I can assure you I am not a man who tolerates disloyalty."
His expression was strangely distant as he raised the pistol and fired, one precise round, a dull thunk barely audible above the din of the hangar.
Vance watched in dismay as Vera Karanova stumbled
backward, her dark eyes uncomprehending. It was a gangland-style execution, quick and preemptory, the time-honored way. No appeals or due process.
He'd been hoping merely to gain some time for Androv, not cause her to be murdered on the spot. Now Tanzan Mino turned to him, still gripping the pistol. His face was distorted in irrational fury. "Perhaps I made a mistake just now, Dr. Vance. What do you think?"
"Probably a pretty serious one."
"Yes, now that I reflect on it, I'm inclined to agree. The culprit we seized red-handed was you. You are the one I should be making an example of." He was raising the Walther again.
It began so quickly he almost didn't realize it was happening. From out of the swirl of mist that engulfed Daedalus /'s landing gear a white-haired old man appeared, grasping a pistol. Tanzan Mino turned to stare, just in time to hear him yelling—in Russian.
"Release him. Release my son. I order you." He was closing on the group, about twenty feet in front of them, brandishing the weapon uncertainly. Vance couldn't make out what caliber it was, but he doubted it mattered. Andrei Androv clearly had no idea how to use it. His was an act of desperation.
Then another realization clicked.