Both wore workmen's clothes, but carried guns. Blade recognized the guns as Soviet-made dart throwers. And both the gunmen moved with the assured competence of men as fully professional as Blade himself.

Blade sidestepped the men so fast they had no chance to draw a bead on him. He darted across the path of the left-hand man, then closed. The man dropped into fighting stance and tried to bring his gun around. But he could not turn fast enough to match Blade's lightning reflexes. Blade's hands darted out and clamped shut. The man spun around again, but this time he let out a scream as Blade twisted his arm out of its socket. Then Blade's foot came up, smashing into the small of the man's back and sending him flying across the room.

He did not hit his comrade, but he did make the other flinch back and lose the aim he was drawing on Blade. Before the dart gun could swing to cover him and fire, Blade had closed with the second man. The edge of his right hand came down like an executioner's axe, and the gun went flying. It landed within easy reach of Elizabeth, but the man made the mistake of looking at Elizabeth for a fraction of a second too long. In that moment Blade leaped high in a karate spring-kick, driving his left foot into the man's stomach. Like a cannonball the man flew backward to crash into the wall. And like a half-empty sack he sagged limply down onto the floor.

Blade pivoted as he came down, then lunged at the dart gun. His fingers closed on it as new sounds exploded outside. Five gunshots erupted in rapid succession, two shotgun blasts, a brief sputter of automatic weapons. There was the unmistakable whoooom of a gasoline tank igniting, and a second later a long and terrible scream. The scream ended in a squashy thump, and after that came silence.