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CHAPTER 41

“WAKE UP, TOVARICH!”

Joe Zavala floated in a netherworld just below consciousness, but he ake enough to know that the cold liquid being poured on his lips tasted like antifreeze He spit the liquid out The roar of laughter that followed his instinctive reaction jerked him into full consciousness

Hovering over Zavala was a bearded face with a fourteen-karat grin Zavala saw a bottle again being tilted toward his lips His hand shot up, and he clarip around the man’s thick wrist

A startled expression ca-quick rin quickly returned

“You don’t like our vodka?” the et Americans drink whiskey”

Zavala unclenched his fingers The beardedfrom it He wiped his lips with the back of his hand

“Not poison,” the et you?”

“Nothing,” Zavala said “But you can giveup”

The e of the bunk Zavala looked around at the cramped quarters

“Where am I?” he asked

“Where are you?” the man said

He turned, and, in a language Zavala recognized as Russian, translated the question for the benefit of three other siht space There was laughter and the vigorous nodding of shaggy heads

“What’s so funny?” Zavala asked

“I told them what you said, and what my ansill be, that you are in hell!”