He squeezed through the small vent, hung for a moment, then dropped to his feet. The guard immediately grabbed his shoulder and shoved him into a swivel chair. Then the second guard, who had waylaid Carter on the roof, dropped into the car and took up a position by the back door. Kobelev set his vodka glass on the bar and picked up the Luger. He ejected the clip from the butt, then turned and fired into the wall, the bullet in the firing chamber making a chunk sound as it splintered the paneling. "You did mean business," he said. Cynthia sat in front of the bar, her head slumped forward, seemingly unconscious. She was held into her wheelchair with sashes of bedsheet. "Really, Carter, I 'm rather disappointed. You've taken all this entirely too personally," he went on. "What have you done to Cynthia?" Carter asked harshly. "Cynthia?" Kobelev looked over, eyebrows arched, as though he'd forgotten completely she was there.
