Burnt Sienna

1

“Who’s Harry Lockhart?” Sienna’s tone was subdued, presumably to avoid alarming passengers near them on the bus, but her question was obviously a demand.

“I don’t know. I’ve never laid eyes on him. A pilot with that name was supposed to meet us.”

They were in the backseat. The ticket seller at the depot had taken so long agreeing to accept some of the dollars Malone had brought with him from the United States that they had barely gotten to the bus before it moved out. As they left the outskirts of town, dusk thickened, lights coming on in houses. Malone glanced out the rear window to see if any cars seemed to be following them.

Sienna continued to press him. “Who was supposed to arrange for Lockhart to be there?”

“A friend of mine.”

“Except he didn’t. Is he the same friend who told you about what happened to Derek’s other wives?” Her voice was sharper.

“Yes.”

“You planned to get me out of there from the first day you arrived?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you intended to use me against Derek from the start.”

“No,” Malone said. “It wasn’t like that.”

The bus’s motor was beneath them, its raucous vibration muffling their voices.

“Who do you work for?”

“Nobody.”

The back of the bus was cast in shadows.

“You just admitted that you have people providing you with information. You have a group that was supposed to give you backup.”

“It isn’t what you… I’m working with some people, yes, but I don’t work for them.”

“The CIA?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly.

“Jesus.” Sienna threw up her hands. “If Derek finds out, if he thinks I’m cooperating with -”

“I’m not a spy.”

“Damn it, what do you call it, then?”

Their voices had become louder, causing people in the seats ahead of them to look back.

“Calm down. If you’ll let me explain…” Malone said softly.

“That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” The strain of lowering her emotion-laden voice tightened the sinews in Sienna’s neck.

“All right.” Malone took a deep breath, then told her what had happened on Cozumel. “Your husband destroyed most of what was important to me. When my friend turned up and offered me a way to get even, I took it.”

“And used me to pay Derek back.”

“That isn’t why -”

“I trusted you! I thought you were my friend. But all this time, you’ve been lying to me, playing up to me to -”

“I never lied.”

“You sure as hell never told me the truth.”

“Not all of it. But what would you have done if I had told you?”

She opened her mouth but seemed not to know what to say.

“Your husband really was planning to kill you. But if I’d told you how I knew, would you have believed me? Would you have gone with me, or would you have suspected I was trying to trick you?”

She still didn’t know what to say.

“I am your friend.” Malone held out his hand. She didn’t take it.

“I never used you,” Malone said. “I don’t care if you never tell the Agency a thing. All that matters to me is that I got you out of there.”

Sienna was so motionless, she didn’t seem to be breathing. “I don’t know what to believe.”

She looked at him for the longest time. When she finally gripped his hand, it was as if she were on the brink of a cliff, depending upon him to keep her from falling.

2

The bus pulled into Nice around midnight. Given the combination of darkness and glaring lights, Malone wasn’t able to get an impression of the city. Even the salt smell from the sea didn’t register on him, so desensitized were his nostrils by the diesel smell of the bus.

To guard against the risk that Bellasar’s men might be waiting at the bus depot, Malone chose a busy intersection at random and asked the driver to stop. The instant they stepped off, Malone led Sienna into a crowd. “I don’t know what went wrong at the airfield,” he said, “but Jeb and I had a backup plan.”

They went into a late-night convenience store, where Malone used nearly all of his few remaining dollars to buy sandwiches, fruit, bottled water, and a telephone card.

“Now let’s find a pay phone.”

There was one around the corner, and as Sienna anxiously watched, Malone inserted the phone card, then pressed the numbers Jeb had given him to memorize. It won’t be long now, he thought. We’ll soon be out of here.

On the other end, the phone rang twice before it was answered. Pulse rushing, Malone started to use the identification phrase he’d been given – “the painter” – when a computerized voice cut him off. Its French was too hurried for him to understand. The connection was broken. “What the…”

Sienna stepped closer. “Is something wrong?”

“I must have pressed the wrong numbers.”

He tried again, but the same computerized voice cut him off.

“I don’t understand what it’s saying. You try.” He told her the numbers and watched her press them.

Nervous, she listened. Seconds later, she frowned and lowered the phone. “That number’s been disconnected.”

“What?”

“Maybe the CIA doesn’t pay its phone bills,” she said bitterly. “The line’s no longer in service.”

Jeb, you son of a bitch, Malone thought. What are you doing to me? What’s gone wrong?

3

It was almost 1:00 A.M. as they walked wearily at random along narrow, shadowy side streets.

“That hotel up ahead looks good,” Sienna said.

“It sure does.”

But they passed the welcoming entrance, knowing that they didn’t dare check in. Without enough cash to rent a room, Malone would need to use a credit card, but by now, Bellasar would have ordered his computer experts to access the databases of every credit-card company, looking for any transactions in Malone’s name. If Malone used a credit card, Bellasar and his men would storm into the hotel room before morning.

“I brought some jewelry,” Sienna said, “but we won’t be able to sell it until the secondhand stores open tomorrow morning.”

“We might have to wait longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your husband will check to see if any of your jewelry is missing. He’ll anticipate that you’ll try to sell it. We might walk into a trap.”

“Everything seems a trap.”

The fear on her face made him touch it. “Keep remembering you’re not alone.”

“Not alone.”

Around the next corner, they discovered that their aimless path had brought them to a park overlooking the harbor. Between palm trees, a bench invited them. In the distance, yachts gleamed. Faint music drifted from one, a piano playing “I Concentrate on You”; men and women in evening clothes were chatting and drinking.

“Cocktail?” Malone opened one of the bottles of water and handed it to her.

“I could use one.”

“Hors d’oeuvres?” Malone set out the choices of sandwiches: egg salad, tuna salad, and chicken salad.

“That’s quite a selection.”

“The best in town.”

“The service is awfully good. We’ll have to recommend it to all our friends.”

“And leave a generous tip.”

“Absolutely. A generous tip.”

Sienna’s willingness to go along with his attempt at humor encouraged him. As long as their spirit persisted, they weren’t defeated. But as a breeze scraped palm leaves above them, he noticed that she hugged her arms, shivering.

“Take my sport coat.”

“Then you’ll be the one who’s cold.”

“I’ll sit close to you.” He stood and put the coat around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Then he realized how tired he was and eased back onto the bench. He was so thirsty, it took him only a few deep swallows to drink a quarter of a liter of water. The egg salad tasted like the waxed paper it had been wrapped in. The bread was stale. He didn’t care. Under the circumstances, it was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. On the yacht below them, the piano player shifted to “The Days of Wine and Roses.”

“Care to dance?” he asked.

Sienna looked at him, bewildered.

“I couldn’t help thinking about the lyrics to that song,” he said. “About regret and time passing. If we were another couple sitting here, this would be a beautiful night. A moment’s what we make of it, I guess.”

“… Yes, I’d like to dance.”

As they stood and faced each other, Malone felt pressure in his chest. He tried to keep his right hand steady when he put it around her waist. Her left hand trembled a little when she put it on his shoulder. They turned slowly to the distant mournful music that evoked children running through a meadow, never to reach a door to infinite possibilities. Barely able to breathe, Malone drew her closer to him, certain he was going to pass out if he didn’t get more air into his lungs. He felt her breasts rising and falling as she, too, tried to get enough air. Pivoting tenderly with her, he saw the shadowy path behind them, where an elderly man and woman were walking their poodle through the park and had stopped to watch them dancing. The couple looked at each other, then back at Malone and Sienna. Smiling, the man took the woman’s hand and continued walking through the park. Then Malone was aware of nothing around him, only of Sienna in his arms. As the piano brought the haunting melody to a close, Malone recalled the lonely nights of the lyrics. When he and Sienna kissed, he felt as if he were a youngster, light-headed: his first time.

4

They spent the night sitting on the bench. She slept with her head on his shoulder. He kept an arm around her, not sleeping as much as dozing, his troubled thoughts often waking him. Below, the lights on the various yachts gradually went out. The traffic sounds from the city lessened. In a while, he was able to pretend that he and Sienna were in a private universe. But the real world would intrude all too soon, he knew. Bellasar would relentlessly hunt them, and the moment they sold Sienna’s jewelry or Malone was forced to use his credit card, the focus of the hunt would narrow. We have to get out of Nice, he thought. Hell, we have to get out of the country. Out of Europe. But even if they had money, they still couldn’t leave – Bellasar had their passports. Without Jeb’s help, Malone reluctantly confessed to himself, we don’t have a chance.

5

In misty morning sunlight, the thin-faced waiter narrowed his disapproving eyes as Malone and Sienna made their way among the sidewalk tables toward him. Early customers peered up from their coffee and frowned. Malone imagined what he looked like, his clothes rumpled, his cheeks unshaven, his lips and upper left cheek scabbed and swollen. Some homeless people look better than I do, he thought. I bet that’s what the waiter thinks I am. He probably figures I want a handout. Although Malone’s nostrils were too accustomed to the smell for him to notice it, he was also sure that he reeked of smoke from the helicopter crash, and sweat, and fear.

Thank God, Sienna looks better, he thought. In fact, even though her clothes, too, were rumpled and her makeup had worn off, she looked terrific. A few strokes from a comb she’d borrowed from him had given her hair a sheen. Her tan skin glowed. No matter how bad she felt, Malone sensed it was impossible for her to look bad.

“Monsieur.” The waiter raised his hands to keep Malone at a distance. Although his French was too quick for Malone to understand it, the gist was clear. The café had standards. It would be better if Malone went somewhere else.

Sienna didn’t give him a chance to finish. Her hurried question to him included a word that sounded like proprietor. The waiter’s reply, accompanied by gestures, suggested that the proprietor wasn’t necessary to deal with this problem.

Sienna turned to Malone. “Do you remember the owner’s name?”

“Pierre Benét.”

The boss’s name made the waiter pay closer attention. Then Sienna told the waiter Malone’s name, pointing at him as she did, adding something in French that might have been “Your boss is expecting us.”

The effect was immediate. The waiter jerked his head back. A torrent of words from him left Sienna looking shocked.

“What is it?” Malone asked. “What’s he saying?”

“They know who you are, but they weren’t expecting us.”

“What?”

“The operation was canceled.”

“Jesus, not another screwup.”

“Worse than that. They think you’re dead.”

6

“Chase, this is terrible! I can’t tell you how rotten I feel about this!” Jeb said. It was twelve hours later. They were in an apartment above the café, where Jeb, out of breath from having charged up the stairs, looked heavier than the last time Malone had seen him, his blocky face redder than usual. “I was in Washington when I heard. I got here as soon as possible. I don’t want you to think I left you hanging.”

“It occurred to me.”

“Christ.” Jeb slammed his hands against his legs. “Buddy, we’ve been through a lot together. You saved my life. I swear to you – I’d never knowingly fail to back you up. Have they been taking care of you?”

Malone pointed toward a stack of used cups, glasses, and plates on a counter. “Whatever you said to them on the phone, they’ve been coming up every hour, it seems, with food and coffee.”

“My God, your face. What happened to it?”

“You should have seen how bad it looked before I got cleaned up.” Malone explained how he’d received the injuries.

“The bastard.”

“I can think of stronger ways to say that.”

“And what about…” Jeb turned toward Sienna. Malone had introduced her as soon as Jeb had entered the room, but since then, Jeb’s apologies had taken up most of the conversation. He seemed self-conscious, as if trying not to stare at her beauty. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Sienna assessed him. “But after what happened, I’m not exactly filled with confidence.”

“I don’t blame you for thinking I don’t know my job. Please, listen to me for a minute.” Jeb ran a flustered hand through his short blond hair. “Chase, after you picked that fight with Bellasar at Sotheby’s, you disappeared from the face of the earth. The last time anybody saw you was when Bellasar jabbed you with his ring and his men dragged you out of Sotheby’s.”

Sienna hadn’t heard the details of the confrontation. She leaned forward, troubled.

“We know you were driven away in Bellasar’s limo. And after that – poof. Two days later, a body too mangled to identify – I’m talking no fingers and no teeth – was found floating in the East River. The face had been burned with a blowtorch.”

Sienna paled.

“It was dressed like you. It had your height and weight. It had a Parker Meridian room key in its bomber jacket pocket, the same hotel where you were staying. You can understand why we made assumptions.”

“Except Bellasar’s men had already picked up my luggage and checked me out,” Malone said. “When you learned I wasn’t registered there any longer, it should have been obvious the body wasn’t mine.”

“The problem is, nobody checked you out of your room.”

“What?”

“You were still listed as a guest. Your clothes and things were still in your room when we went there.”

“Somebody’s, but not mine. My bag was on Bellasar’s jet. Did you bother to compare the hair samples on those clothes with ones at my home on Cozumel? Did you try to match DNA samples from the body -”

“With what? Chase, your home doesn’t exist anymore! After you left, the bulldozers leveled it. Trucks hauled the pieces away.”

For a moment, Malone was speechless. “But Bellasar told me the bulldozers had stopped. He told me he was going to restore…” His voice became hoarse. “Just like he told me his men checked me out of my hotel room.”

“Even then, I didn’t give up,” Jeb said. “I tried to find out if anybody had seen you get on Bellasar’s jet. No luck. I checked with the airport authorities at Nice to see if they had any record that you’d entered the country. No luck there, either. I waited for a signal from you. Nothing. It’s been five weeks, Chase. For God’s sake, we had a wake for you. I never expected to see you again. I did my best to convince my supervisor not to do it, but he finally pulled the plug.”

Malone peered down at his hands.

“I can understand if you’re pissed at me,” Jeb said, “but what would you have done that I didn’t? I swear to you – it wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

Jeb’s suit was rumpled from the long flight. His eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. His burly frame looked puffy from sitting too long.

“It’s okay,” Malone said.

“Really, I want to put this behind us, Chase. I don’t want you thinking I let you down.”

“I’m not. Everything’s fine. We’re back on track.”

“You’re positive? No hard feelings?”

“None.”

“But in the meantime, my husband’s still looking for me.” Sienna’s stark tone made clear that whatever Malone felt, she herself was not reassured. “I keep worrying that he and his men are going to smash through that door any minute. How are you going to help us?”

For the first time, Jeb looked directly at her. “It’ll be my pleasure to show you I can do my job.”

7

After nightfall, twenty miles east of Nice, a van stopped along the narrow coastal road. Malone and Sienna got out, accompanied by Jeb and three other armed men. As the van drove away, they clambered down a rocky slope to where a motorized rubber raft waited in a cove. A half mile offshore, they boarded a small freighter and set out for Corsica.

“Two days from now, you’ll be transferred to a U.S. aircraft carrier on maneuvers in the region,” Jeb said after using a scrambler-equipped radio to verify the schedule. “From there, you’ll be flown to a base in Italy, and from there” – he spread his hands – “home.”

“Wherever that is,” Sienna murmured.

The three of them sat in the dimly lit galley while their escorts and the crew remained on deck, watching for any approaching lights.

“Can I get you anything?” Jeb asked. “Coffee? Hot chocolate? Something stronger?”

“The hot chocolate sounds good,” Sienna said.

“Same here,” Malone said.

“Coming up,” Jeb said. “And after that – given all you’ve been through, I’m sure you’re exhausted – there are bunks in the stern.”

“I’m too on edge to sleep,” she said.

“Then why don’t we talk about why we’re here.”

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Malone asked.

“I’m not trying to force anything.” Jeb tore open an envelope of hot-chocolate mix. “Whatever Sienna wants.”

The smell of diesel fumes hung in the air.

“It’s okay.” She exhaled wearily. “Let’s get it over with.”

“This is going to take a lot longer than you think,” Malone told her.

The freighter rocked as it passed through waves.

“Chase, I’m trying to make this as pleasant as possible,” Jeb said. “We’ll move at whatever pace she wants.”

“Then I’ll go first,” Malone said, giving her a chance to rest. “I saw two men at the estate.”

Jeb paused in the midst of pouring the hot-chocolate mix into a cup.

“They were Russians,” Malone went on. “One of them brought in several crates of equipment via chopper. When the guards mishandled the crates, the Russian got very nervous, as if he was afraid of what might happen if something inside broke. I managed to get over to the building where the Russians were staying. I got a look through a window. The crates contained lab equipment.”

Sienna frowned, realizing how little she had known about what Malone had been doing at the estate.

“Lab equipment?” Jeb asked. “What for?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“Describe the Russians.”

“I can do better than that.”

“What do you mean?” Jeb’s look of curiosity was matched by Sienna’s.

“Have you got any sheets of paper around here?”

Jeb freed the latches on several drawers and peered inside, finally locating a pencil and a pad of eight-by-ten yellow paper.

Malone ordered his thoughts, then began to draw, calling not so much on his memory of the men’s faces as on his memory of the numerous drawings he had done of them two nights previously. He had reproduced the faces enough times that he had little trouble replicating the strokes that filled in their features. On occasion, when the freighter shuddered from the impact of a wave, his pencil missed its mark, but he quickly erased the errors and added more details.

Time seemed to stop. Only later, when his pencil quit moving and the faces were complete, did he realize twenty minutes had gone by. Silence had seemed to envelope him. Now he shoved the sketches across the table to Jeb. “Look familiar?”

“Afraid not.” Jeb held them closer to the light. “But these are vivid enough, I’m sure somebody in the Agency will be able to identify them. Vivid? Hell, they’re close to being photographs. What you just did – I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Malone turned toward Sienna. “If you’re not tired, I’d like to try something.”

“What is it?”

“I think it’ll save time in your debriefing. But we can wait until tomorrow if…”

“No, you’ve got me curious.”

“Did the man your husband met in Istanbul ever give his name?”

The reference caught Jeb by surprise. He leaned forward. “What man?”

“I never knew the names of anybody Derek did business with,” Sienna said. “Whenever he used me as window dressing, the people he met avoided referring to one another even by their first names.”

“Istanbul?” Jeb asked. “When was this?”

Sienna gave him the details. “It was an important meeting. Derek was very tense about it.”

“We’ve been trying to keep track of your husband’s activities,” Jeb said, “but I had no idea about this meeting.”

“That’s not a confidence booster,” Sienna said.

Jeb looked down at his cup.

Malone readied his pencil. “Describe the man.”

Sienna nodded, understanding. “He was Middle Eastern.”

“Describe the shape of his face.”

She looked across the galley, focusing her memory. “Rectangular.”

“How narrow?”

“Very.”

“Any facial hair?”

“A thin mustache.”

“Curved or straight?”

As Jeb watched, Malone began putting a face to Sienna’s description. Most of his questions were based on geometry – the shape of the man’s lips, his nose, and his eyes. High or low forehead? How old was he? Late forties? Malone put crow’s-feet around the eyes and added wrinkles to the forehead.

“Is this starting to resemble him?”

“The lips were fuller.”

Malone made the correction.

“The eyes looked harsher.”

“Good.”

Malone tore off the page and started a new one, copying details from the first rough sketch, leaving out smudges from erasures and the clutter of needless lines. He went to work on the eyes, adding the harshness that Sienna had mentioned. “What about his cheekbones?”

“He often looked like he’d tasted something sour. His cheeks were sucked in.”

Malone’s pencil moved faster.

Jeb peered over Malone’s shoulder. “Jesus, I recognize this guy.”

“What?”

“When I was assigned against Bellasar, I had to familiarize myself with other black-market arms dealers. This is Tariq Ahmed, his main competitor. A couple of years ago, they agreed on which territories each could have without interference from the other. Bellasar took Africa, Europe, and South America. Ahmed took the Mideast and Asia. Bellasar cheated when it came to Iraq. Ahmed cheated in Ethiopia. But basically they got along, especially when they had problems with other arms dealers trying to take some of their territories. So what did they need to meet about? Is their truce falling apart?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Sienna answered. “My husband never talked about business in my presence. It was only indirectly that I learned how he made his fortune.”

“You’re telling me he never once mentioned a name or a detail about a transaction?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Very little. Once Derek married me, I was just another possession.”

Jeb looked frustrated. Obviously, he’d expected more.

“That’s why I wanted to give you these drawings right away,” Malone said. “They’re the only things of substance you’re going to get out of this.”

“Maybe not. Once we debrief the two of you, it’s hard to say what might turn up – something you remember, some reference you overheard but didn’t understand or think was important.”

“The sooner I do it, the sooner I’m free. First thing in the morning?” Sienna asked.

Jeb nodded.

As Sienna and Malone stood, moving toward bunks in the stern, Jeb added, “Uh, Chase, I wonder if I could talk to you a minute.”

“Sure.”

“On deck.”

“Sure,” Malone repeated, puzzled. He touched Sienna’s shoulder. “See you later.”

She returned his touch, then disappeared into the shadows of the stern.

Malone followed Jeb up the steps to the murky deck. The canopy of stars was brilliant. He couldn’t recall ever having seen so many. A cool breeze ruffled his hair.

“I need a little clarification,” Jeb said.

“About?”

“I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t my imagination. The way you’re so concerned about her… the way you touched her shoulder just now… Do you and she have something going?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not a hard question to understand. Are the two of you emotionally involved?”

“What the hell business is it of yours?”

“Look, as your case officer -”

“Case officer?”

“You haven’t had the psychological training, so let me just tell you it gets messy when an operative becomes emotionally involved with an informant. Among other things, you lose your objectivity. There’s a risk you’ll miss something we need to know.”

“You’re talking as if I work for you,” Malone said.

“Well, isn’t that what we’re doing here?”

“When I went into this, I told you it was personal. It had nothing to do with the Agency.”

“Well, you sure need us now,” Jeb said, “so maybe you’d better rethink your position. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It’s understandable you’re attracted to her. But she’s Bellasar’s target more than you are. If you stay with her, you’re doubling the chances he’ll catch up to you.”

“Not if you do your job.”

Jeb looked toward the pitch-black sea, working to calm himself. “I’m just trying to be your friend. You’re making a mistake.”

“The mistake would be to pass up the chance to be with her.”

“Hey, I’m doing my best to be tactful about this,” Jeb said. “This isn’t the first time this kind of situation’s come up. Nine times out of ten, when an operative gets romantically involved with an informant, the romance collapses as soon as the pressure of the assignment passes. Buddy, you’re setting yourself up for a fall.”

“I think, from now on” – Malone’s voice became severe – “you’d better assume I’m not one of your operatives.”

“Whatever you want.”

“That’s right,” Malone said. “Whatever I want.”

8

The debriefing began the next morning. It continued into the next day, until they were transferred to the aircraft carrier. They had a rest while they were flown to the base in Italy, but as soon as a U.S. Air Force C-130 transport plane took off from there, carrying them toward the United States, Jeb resumed the debriefing. One of the armed escorts assisted him, sometimes questioning Malone, sometimes Sienna, always in separate areas where they couldn’t be overheard. Jeb and the escort sometimes changed places; the idea was that the person being debriefed shouldn’t get accustomed to a particular style of questioning and that one debriefer might take a question the other had already asked and rephrase it in a way that opened the memory of the person being questioned.

It wasn’t an interrogation, although the polite but insistent, seemingly inexhaustible sequence of questions had aspects of one. For Sienna, the daunting task was to reconstruct the five years of her marriage. For Malone, there were only five weeks to account for, but the more he was asked to reexamine, a weariness set in that made him sympathize with how exhausted Sienna, with so much more to try to remember, had to be feeling.

From the start of the debriefing, Malone and Sienna were never allowed to meet with each other. The theory was that they might compare what each had said and inadvertently contaminate each other’s memories, making the two versions conform. Jeb and his associate were the only ones allowed to compare, eager to find inconsistencies and use them to ask more refined questions that would perhaps open new memories.

After the transport plane landed at Andrews Air Force Base, the group was flown by helicopter to a clearing in a wooded estate in the Virginia hills. There, to Malone’s displeasure, he and Sienna were kept apart again, driven in separate cars to a low, sprawling modernistic house made of metal and glass. The house was smaller than Bellasar’s. Its materials and design were not at all similar. But he couldn’t suppress the disturbing sense that little had changed, that he was back where he had started. The gardeners who showed no interest in gardening and who seemed out of place in late March reinforced that conviction – they were guards.

Sienna’s car arrived first. As Malone got out of his, three men were already taking her through the double-doored entrance to the house. She had a chance to look back only briefly, her unhappy gaze fixed on him, reminding him of an anxious animal being put in a cage, and then she was gone. Jeb was nowhere to be seen. Without anyone in authority to object to, Malone allowed himself to be taken inside.

The house had slate floors and beamed ceilings. There were corridors to the right, left, and straight ahead. Malone had no way of telling where Sienna had been put, but he himself was taken to the left, to a bedroom at the far end. The room was spacious, with institutional furnishings. But what Malone paid most attention to was the large single window, which couldn’t be opened and which was unusually thick, suggesting it was bullet-resistant. He looked out toward a swimming pool that still had its winter cover on, leafless treed hills beyond it. He saw a tennis court, a stable, and a riding area, all of which looked as if they hadn’t been used in a long time. He doubted that they’d be used while he and Sienna were there, either. He saw a “gardener” peering up at him. Turning, he studied what might have been a hole for a needle-nose camera lens in the opposite top corner of the room.

His legs ached from having been on too many aircraft. His head pounded from jet lag. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Sienna in two days. Where was she? What were they doing to her? He kept feeling he was back on Bellasar’s estate. “This is bullshit,” he said, directing his remark to where he assumed the hidden camera and microphone were.

He walked to the door through which he had entered, tried to open it, and found it locked. A number pad on the right seemed the only way to disengage the lock.

“Hey!” He pounded on the door. “Whoever’s out there, open up.”

No response.

He pounded louder. “Open the damn door!”

Nothing.

“Fine.” He picked up a bedside lamp and hurled it against the window, shattering the lamp but having no effect on the glass. He grabbed the lamp on the other side of the bed and threw it against the mirror above the bureau, protecting his face as chunks of glass flew. He pulled out a dresser drawer and heaved it down through a glass-topped table in a corner. He hurled a second drawer toward an overhead light fixture, disintegrating it. He yanked out a third drawer and was about to head toward the mirror in the bathroom when a metallic sound directed his attention toward the door.

Someone was turning the knob.

The door swung open.

Jeb stepped into view, shaking his head in displeasure. His suit seemed to constrict his large frame. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Where’s Sienna?”

“When we’re finished, you can see her.”

“No, I’ll see her now.” Malone started past him.

Jeb put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t the time.”

“Get out of my way.”

“Look, we have procedures that need to be followed.”

“Not anymore. Where is she?”

“Chase, you’re making a -”

Malone pushed him aside.

“Stop!”

Malone stalked from the bedroom.

An armed man appeared before him, holding up his hand. “Sir, you’re going to have to go back to -”

“Go to hell.” Malone shoved past him. “Sienna!”

“Stop!” Jeb repeated.

At the foyer, a guard blocked Malone’s way, shoving him back. Malone pretended to lose his balance. When the overconfident guard came forward to shove him again, Malone stiffened the fingers of his right hand and drove them into the man’s diaphragm. Wheezing, suddenly pale, the man sank to his knees. Malone whirled and used the heel of his palm to stiff-arm the other guard, who rushed toward him. Struck in the chest, the man jerked back as if yanked by a rope, then slammed onto the floor.

Malone braced himself, raising his hands offensively against Jeb. “You want some of this?”

“Mr. Malone.”

Malone turned toward a bureaucratic-looking man in his late fifties.

“I think we should talk,” the man said.

9

The man had thinning gray hair and was of average height and weight, but his rigidly straight posture and commanding eyes, seemingly magnified by his metal-rimmed spectacles, gave him a presence out of proportion to his size. Accompanied by two assistants, he had just emerged from a room farther along the hallway. The door remained open.

“Is Sienna in there?”

The man spread his hands. “See for yourself.”

Malone passed the first guard, ignoring the injured man’s attempt to stand. Rapidly, he also passed the bureaucrat and entered the room, which was an office with glass bookshelves, a computer on a desk, and several closed-circuit TV monitors, one of which showed the wreckage in Malone’s room. He didn’t find Sienna in the office, and he didn’t see her on any of the screens.

“I’ve told you what I know,” Malone said as the man entered with his assistants, followed by Jeb, who shut the door. “I didn’t get involved in this to be treated like a prisoner. Where’s Sienna? I want to see her.”

“Yes, your file made clear you have a problem dealing with authority.”

“You want to see a problem?” Malone picked up the computer’s monitor and hurled it onto the floor. The screen shattered. “You want to see another problem?”

“You’re a problem. You’ve made your point. Now let me make mine.”

“Why do I get the feeling we’re still not communicating?”

“Ten minutes.”

“What?”

“You need to understand some things.”

Malone tensed, studying the man, suspicious.

“You’ve had a long journey. Take a seat. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“You’re wasting your ten minutes.”

“My name is Jeremy Laster.”

“I doubt you’d give me your real name, but if that’s how you want it, fine, you’re Jeremy Laster.”

Laster sighed. “Considering your relationship with Mrs. Bellasar” – he put a slight emphasis on Mrs., as if he felt Malone needed to be reminded – “I can understand why you’re impatient to see her, but that can’t be permitted for a while.”

“How long?”

“It’s impossible to say.”

“That’s what you think.” Malone started toward the door.

Laster’s two assistants blocked it.

“I still have nine minutes,” Laster said.

Malone debated whether to try to force his way out, then told Laster, “Use them.”

“You’ve insisted you’re not associated with us. That makes it difficult to confide in you. Within the Agency, we operate on a need-to-know basis. But someone on the outside…” Laster made a gesture of futility.

“Join the Agency and you’ll tell me what’s going on, is that it?”

“Hardly. I’ve seen enough to be sure we don’t want you.”

“I’m glad we agree about something.”

“What I’m trying to do is make clear how unusual the circumstances are that would lead me to explain anything to you.” Laster went over to the desk and picked up a one-page document. “This is a confidentiality statement. It forbids you to disclose what I’m about to tell you. The penalty for violating it is severe.”

“Like an unmarked grave in the woods?”

“Be serious.”

“Who’s joking?” Malone took the document and read it. “So I’m supposed to sign this, and then you’ll tell me what’s going on?”

Laster handed him a pen.

Malone impatiently used it. “Fine. Now talk.”

“At last we’re making progress.” Laster put the document in his briefcase and pulled out a black-and-white photograph of the man Sienna had met in Istanbul. It was similar to Malone’s sketch. “As Mr. Wainright told you, he recognized this man. Tariq Ahmed. Another black-market arms dealer. We’re extremely curious about the purpose for their meeting. And we think the answer involves the two men you saw at Bellasar’s estate.” Laster pulled out two other black-and-white photographs. “Thanks to your accurate sketches, a team from our Russian desk was able to identify them as Vasili Gribanov and Sergei Bulganin.” Laster paused. “They’re specialists in biowar-fare.”

“Bio…”

“In 1973, the Soviets established a biological weapons research and production system called Bio-preparat. Gribanov and Bulganin came on board in 1983. Various scientists had their specialties. Marburg, anthrax, pneumonic plague. Gribanov and Bulganin chose smallpox.”

Malone felt cold. “But I thought smallpox had been destroyed.”

“Eradicated from the general population, yes. The last known case was in 1977. But if it ever came back, the World Health Organization decided that a small amount of the virus ought to be kept frozen for research purposes. The United States has some. So do the Russians. Scientists being what they are, they love to tinker. Gribanov and Bulganin decided that smallpox in its natural form wasn’t deadly enough. They altered its genetic makeup to make it more aggressive.”

“But that’s insane.” Malone’s skin itched as if he’d been infected.

“For eight years, Gribanov and Bulganin worked happily, running their experiments and performing tests. But in 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed, and the research money stopped. They found themselves out of a job. So they offered their skills to another employer.”

“Bellasar.”

Laster nodded. “As it turns out, Ahmed is less thorough in his security arrangements than Bellasar. By intensifying our electronic surveillance on his associates, we’ve been able to learn about the meeting in Istanbul. It seems Bellasar has no qualms about selling a biological weapon to anyone prepared to meet his price, but he doesn’t want to be linked directly to the weapon. What he’d prefer is to sell it to Ahmed and then let Ahmed dispose of it as he wishes. That’s why the meeting didn’t go as smoothly as Bellasar hoped. Ahmed figures that if he’s going to take the heat for making the weapon available, he wants better financial terms than Bellasar is offering. Bellasar’s argument is that Ahmed shouldn’t be greedy, that Ahmed’s already guaranteed a hefty profit when he sells it.”

“To whom?”

“That’s one of various things we’re hoping Mrs. Bellasar will tell us.”

“She doesn’t know.”

Laster only stared at him.

Malone shook his head in disgust. “What’s the weapon’s delivery system?”

“Microscopic powder released via aerosol containers. The best method is to have an aircraft open the containers while flying over a city. Our experts calculate that a half dozen aerosol containers opened on a windy day could contaminate several square miles.”

“But the thing’s uncontrollable,” Malone said. “Before victims start showing symptoms, some of them could get on planes and fly to major cities all over the world. It could cause a global epidemic.”

“Not in this case,” Laster said. “The weapon has a fail-safe feature that prevents it from spreading beyond its target.”

“Fail-safe?”

“What makes the weapon so unique is that Gribanov and Bulganin genetically engineered the smallpox virus so it can’t infect anyone unless it combines with another virus, a benign but rare one.”

“Why? What purpose would that serve?”

“You release the benign virus first. As soon as the target population is infected, the lethal virus is then released. But anyone who hasn’t been infected with the benign virus can’t be infected by the lethal one, which means that even if someone who’s infected with the lethal virus gets on a plane before the symptoms show up, that person isn’t going to start an epidemic in another country, because that other population hasn’t previously been exposed to the companion virus.”

“Unless someone exposed to the benign virus has already traveled to that country.”

“Can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“The benign virus has a six-hour life span when it isn’t combined with the lethal one. It doesn’t travel well. By the time someone flew from Tel Aviv to Rome, Paris, or New York, say, it would have died. Anyone arriving with the lethal virus couldn’t pass it on.”

“Jesus.”

“This is a quantum leap in the notion of what a weapon can be,” Laster said. “Controlled massive destruction of human life without any destruction to property.”

“Why would anybody want to develop a weapon like that?” Jeb interrupted. “How the hell rich does Bellasar need to be?”

“It’s not about money. It’s about power,” Malone said.

Laster nodded. “So our profilers suggested, but their conclusion is theoretical. We’ve never had access to anyone who spent as much time with him as you did. Except for -”

“Sienna.”

“She knows the mechanisms that trigger his emotions. In our efforts to put him out of business, no observation from his wife is too small not to be of value to us.”

“So basically the debriefing could go on forever?”

Laster spread his hands fatalistically.

“You prick.”

“Millions of lives are at stake.”

“That doesn’t mean she has to be a prisoner.”

“Bellasar’s never going to stop searching for her. Do you honestly believe if we let her out of here – I don’t care under what new identity – that he won’t eventually find her? This is the safest place in the world for her.”

“Then why won’t you let me see her?”

“Because, if she feels as powerfully about you as you do about her, the longer she’s away from you, the more frustrated she’ll become. That’ll give us leverage. We’re not sure we can trust her. Maybe she’s having second thoughts about betraying her husband. Maybe she’s withholding crucial information. But if she knows she can’t see you until she convinces us she doesn’t have anything more to tell us, she’ll have greater motivation to confide in us.”

“To call you a prick is being generous,” Malone said. “You want to put Bellasar out of business? Send in a black-ops team and assassinate him. Bomb the hell out of the place. Scorch it to the ground and pour salt all over it.”

“We’d love to.”

“So why don’t -”

“Because we have to make sure the biological weapon is secure. When our team moves in, it’s going to be at the proper time and with the proper information.”

“Sienna and I gave you all the information we have.”

“That remains to be determined.”

“I want to see her.”

“By all means.” Laster pointed toward one of the closed-circuit television monitors.

Malone walked to it and felt his pulse increase. Seen from the back, Sienna peered out a large window similar to the one in his room. The image was black and white and grainy, from an angle that looked down and across the room at her. The lens had a fish-eye distortion. But nothing could obscure her beauty.

“This evening, we’re going to question her again about Bellasar’s sister,” Laster said. “None of us knew about her. We’re eager for more details.”

“Knock yourself out.”

10

When Malone returned to his room, it had been restored, the light fixture, table, and mirror replaced, the broken glass removed. Noticing that the closet door was ajar, he pulled it open and found clothes on hangers: a sport coat, two shirts, a pair of jeans, and a pair of slacks, all of them in his size and all of them new. Yeah, just like at Bellasar’s, he thought.

Through the window, the sky was becoming bleak, a shower approaching, leafless branches wavering in the breeze. He went over and watched specks of rain hit the glass. The room light was off. As the sky became grayer, the late afternoon felt like evening.

I should have made another attempt to reach her. With those two guards waiting for an excuse to get even? he thought. One of Laster’s assistants had been holding something that looked suspiciously like the kind of flat black case doctors kept syringes in. Malone was certain that if he’d made another attempt to get to Sienna, he’d have been sedated.

The way Bellasar had jabbed him with his ring at Sotheby’s.

Calm down, he thought. Get control. Think this through.

Right, he thought. Even if he and Sienna had the freedom to leave this place, what were they going to do about it? Malone had counted on the Agency to solve the problem for them, but Laster had as much as admitted that the Agency didn’t have a solution. Bellasar would keep coming and coming, and a man with his resources would eventually find a lead. In the meantime, every shadow would make them flinch. Even on the most basic level, they needed the Agency to supply them with new identities and documentation. How were they going to keep on the move without new credit cards, driver’s licenses, and passports?

The rain pelted the window. It was gloomy enough outside that Malone could see his troubled reflection in the glass.

Someone knocked on his door. Turning, he saw it opening and noted that the hand coming into view didn’t have a key. He couldn’t help concluding that even though a combination of numbers had to be pressed on the pad next to the door to unlock it from the inside, the door could be unlocked from the outside merely by turning the knob.

Jeb appeared, looking sheepish, holding a six-pack of Budweiser in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the other. “Peace offering?”

“You really let me down.”

“The assignment was taken from my control.”

“Was it ever in your control?”

“I thought so. I was wrong. Can I come in?”

“Since when does anybody around here ask permission of the prisoners?”

“Since now.”

Malone exhaled and waved him forward.

“What would you like?” Jeb set the whiskey and the beer on the bureau.

“Some passports would be nice.”

Jeb frowned.

“A set of new IDs. Just to give me the illusion there’s a future.”

Jeb opened his mouth, closed it, thought a moment, and finally said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I sort of hoped they were already in the works.”

Jeb avoided the subject. “What would you like for dinner?”

“You’re the food director now?”

“Just trying to make you happy.”

“Next thing, you’ll be leaving chocolates on the bed.”

“Hey, this is a shitty deal, I admit. But it’s like what they say about a real prison: You can do easy time or hard time. Why don’t the two of us get loaded, eat a steak dinner, and watch the Lakers game tonight? Things could be worse.”

“… I want to see her.”

“I know, pal.”

“Take me to her.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. For what it’s worth, she’s been insisting to see you, too.”

Malone’s chest ached.

“That’s all she wants. Listen, if the decision was up to me…” Jeb twisted the cap off the liquor bottle. “But Laster’s determined to give her a reason to remember harder. He figures if she has everything she wants, why should she help us?”

“One day, he and I are going to have a long talk about this.”

The rain lanced harder against the window.

“Have you got any glasses?” Jeb asked.

“Maybe in the bathroom.”

Thunder rumbled.

“I’ll go look,” Jeb said.

The next rumble shook the building. The thickness of the window wasn’t enough to shut out a muffled scream.

Jeb froze on his way to the bathroom.

“That wasn’t thunder,” Malone said.

11

“Christ.” Jeb rushed toward the door and jabbed numbers on the pad. When he yanked the door open, Malone was immediately behind him, hearing a commotion down the hallway, urgent footsteps, frantic voices.

“- in back!”

“Breached the -”

Outside, a burst from an assault rifle was followed by a scream and another explosion. Jeb ran along the corridor, yelling to Malone, “Stay here!”

Like hell, Malone thought, then charged after him. In the foyer, the two guards he had struggled with earlier had drawn their pistols, aiming toward the front entrance. Other guards raced along corridors.

Louder gunfire, a third explosion.

I have to find Sienna, Malone thought.

In the foyer, he turned toward the middle corridor, where he saw Laster and his two assistants rush from a room halfway along on the left. Laster’s face was pale as he slammed the door shut behind him, grabbed a guard running past, and blurted questions.

Malone whirled toward the guard he had earlier struck in the stomach. “Give me a pistol.”

Sweat beading his forehead, the guard stared toward the front entrance and didn’t seem to hear him.

“Listen, damn it, I need a pistol!”

“Go back to your room!” Laster shouted, reaching him.

“Where’s Sienna?”

An explosion shook the front doors. Smoke appeared at the end of the middle corridor. Although the exterior of the house was made of metal and glass, reinforced to withstand an attack, the interior’s wooden walls and beams had caught on fire. Outside, the shots intensified. Then suddenly the shooting wasn’t outside any longer. Malone heard an ear-torturing burst from an assault rifle. Rapid single shots from pistols followed. The smoke worsened.

“Go back to your -” Laster started to repeat. Gunfire interrupted him.

“Tell me where Sienna is!”

“I don’t understand how they -” Laster spun toward an assistant. “Get the woman.”

The assistant stared at the smoke churning toward him and backed away.

“Get her!” Laster repeated.

“Where is she?” Malone demanded. “In the room you just left?”

Laster whirled toward the sound of an explosion outside.

“Damn you.” Malone took a deep breath and shoved past. As the smoke enveloped him, it stung his eyes and blurred his vision. For all he knew, it was poison gas, but he didn’t allow himself to think about it. He had to find Sienna. In the swirling haze, he couldn’t tell how far along the corridor he had gone.

He reached a door, turned the knob, and thrust inside. “Sienna!” The room was free of smoke. Sweet air entered his lungs. Then smoke gusted in, but not before he saw that the room was empty. There weren’t even any sheets on the bed.

In the last of the unfouled air, he took another deep breath and lunged back into the smoke-filled corridor, rushing farther. “Sienna!” He shoved open the next door and found another empty room.

From down the hallway, he thought he heard a muffled cry. “Chase!” Was he imagining it? Was he making himself hear what he wanted to hear? He ran to the next door, and this time when he charged in, she was there before him, rushing toward him. Coughing, he wanted to slam the door behind him to prevent the smoke from spilling in, but he realized that he’d be locking them in, that he had to keep the door open. He grabbed a chair and braced it between the door and the jamb.

They held each other. He wanted to keep his arms around her forever, but as nearby gunfire made her flinch, the smoke began to fill the room.

“Help me,” he said. “We need wet towels.”

In the bathroom, he filled the sink with cold water. Sienna grabbed two towels and plunged them in, soaking them.

The gunfire was closer. Smoke reached the bathroom.

Coughing, Malone pressed a dripping towel against his face. Although it was hard to breathe through, the moisture filtered some of the smoke. But that wouldn’t last long, he knew. As Sienna covered her face with the other towel, they made their way toward the door.

He shoved the chair aside, grasped Sienna’s hand, and entered the chaos of the hallway. Someone ran past, not seeing them in the smoke. Shots at the end of the corridor made Malone crouch, forcing Sienna down with him. He led her to the right, toward the foyer, where he had been with Laster and his assistants. Jeb? Where was he?

Unable to see the floor, Malone almost tripped over something. A body. Sienna made a choking sound. He released her hand and stooped toward the corpse. His hand touched warm, sticky liquid on the unmoving chest. He felt a suit and wondered if the body belonged to Laster or one of his assistants. He checked the body’s right hand, found a pistol, and shoved it under his belt. He probed the inside suit pockets and found a wallet, which he also grabbed.

The moment he shoved the wallet into his jeans, he urged Sienna farther along the corridor. The wet towel became harder to breathe through, the smoke too thick. Sienna coughed. But Malone wasn’t afraid that the sound would attract attention to them – there were too many other sounds: shots, screams, racing footsteps, the roar of a fire at the end of the corridor behind them.

He kept his shoulder against the wall. Then suddenly the wall was gone. He’d reached the foyer. But the area seemed abandoned. The shots, screams, and footsteps became eerily silent, the only noise the growing whoosh of the flames behind him. Is everybody dead? he wondered.

“Chase!” someone called.

Malone spun.

“Chase!”

The hoarse voice was Jeb’s. To the right.

Worried that someone might be forcing Jeb, Malone took the towel from his mouth long enough to whisper to Sienna, “Grab the back of my belt. Don’t let go.” He returned the towel to his mouth. Not that it did much good any longer. The smoke was too strong. As she grabbed his belt, he pulled out the pistol he had taken from the body.

“Chase!” Jeb sounded closer. At once he appeared amid the smoke, his face red from coughing, startled by the weapon Malone pointed at him.

As smoke seared Malone’s throat, he could barely say, “Get us out of here!”

Jeb tugged his arm, leading him to the right. Outside, two shots made Sienna tighten her grip on Malone’s belt. Abruptly Jeb reached a door and opened it, pulling them into a dimly lit room. The area was comparatively free of smoke, and as Malone and Sienna breathed in, trying to fill their lungs, Jeb quickly closed the door.

But this is a trap, Malone thought. How are we going to leave the building? Immediately he noticed concrete steps leading downward.

“There’s a utility tunnel that goes to the pool house,” Jeb said.

Malone didn’t need to hear any more. He and Sienna ran down. At the bottom, they paused only long enough for Jeb to find a light switch and flick it on. A concrete corridor was lined with doors. Pipes passed along the ceiling, interspersed with glaring bulbs.

As Malone ran, his labored breathing echoed. He and Sienna threw their towels into a laundry area. A door banged open behind them. They raced harder.

The corridor turned sharply to the left, bringing them to an unlit segment of the tunnel. It was cool, damp, and smelled of mold. The instant Malone rushed around the corner, he took cover in the shadows and aimed back along the corridor.

At the far end, footsteps clattered down the stairs. Four men rushed into view. They held assault rifles, one of them shouting, “Check every room!”

As the men split up, Malone held his fire. There were too many men. They were too far away. He glanced toward Jeb, whose strained eyes seemed to be reading his thoughts. Jeb cocked his head toward the continuation of the tunnel, as if to say, Our best chance is to get the hell out of here.

Hoping that the sounds the men made would prevent them from hearing other sounds, Malone, Sienna, and Jeb hurried on. But the farther they went from the lights at the other end of the tunnel, the more darkness gathered around them. They had to slow, feeling ahead of themselves to make sure they didn’t bump into something.

The steps caught Malone by surprise, his right shoe striking one. He felt a metal rail to his left and started up, only to stiffen as a furious voice in the other corridor shouted, “I heard something!”

Malone worked higher up the stairs. Sienna rushed next to him. Ahead, Jeb attempted to free something, making a noise as what sounded like a lock was released.

“That way!” the angry voice shouted.

Jesus, Malone thought. As the men’s footsteps raced closer, Jeb yanked open a door. Gray light spilled in. The door’s hinges grated.

“Around that corner!” one of the men yelled.

Silhouetted against the light in the tunnel behind them, the men rounded the bend and raised their rifles.

Malone fired, hit one of them, and fired again, absorbing the pistol’s recoil while the remaining three men scrambled back around the corner. One of them cursed, but Malone barely heard it – his ears rang painfully, as if someone had slammed hands against them.

He whirled and ran the rest of the way up the steps, entering a utility room, where Sienna shifted a table toward him while Jeb slammed the door. Dusky light through an opposite doorway revealed the pump, filter, and water heater for the swimming pool, but Malone paid little attention. Without a key, they couldn’t lock this door from the outside. Rushing, he helped Sienna move the table, jamming it against the door a moment before a bullet walloped against it from the other side. The door was metal. The bullet didn’t pierce it. But the table wasn’t heavy enough to keep three men from forcing the door open.

Jeb hefted a large plastic container marked CHLORINE TABLETS and set it on the table. Malone did the same with a second container. It was heavy, but not enough. Any moment, the men would ram their shoulders against the door.

Malone hurried with Jeb and Sienna to a canopied area next to the pool. In the dimming light, rain pelted a cover stretched over the pool. His pistol ready, Malone scanned the lawn, stable, tennis court, and misted hills. Turning to the left, he saw the house in flames, figures in confusion around it. The roar of the fire must have prevented them from hearing his shots. There was no way to tell whether they were Laster’s men or Bellasar’s. If the latter, Malone couldn’t risk attempting to ambush the men behind him when they charged from the pool house. In the open, the shots would bring more pursuers. The only choice was to keep running.

The stable, Malone thought. He motioned for Jeb and Sienna to run to the right toward a gate that led to a lane. After the heat of his exertions, the rain felt welcomely cool. But as his wet clothes clung to his legs, back, and chest, a shiver swept through him.

His shoes slipped on mud. He fought for traction and ran harder. The rain made the dusk gray enough that he prayed they couldn’t be seen from the burning house or from the pool area. The stable loomed closer. They splashed through puddles, reaching a door.

The rectangular building hadn’t been used in quite a while. A horse trailer was covered with cobwebs. The ten stalls along each side were empty except for dusty straw and more cobwebs.

Straining to catch his breath, Malone peered out the open door toward the pool area. While he had time, he ejected the magazine from the grip of his pistol and checked to see how many rounds were left. He couldn’t assume that it had been full when he picked it up – the man from whom he had taken it might have fired several times before he was shot. He was right. The weapon, a 9-mm Beretta, the same type of pistol Malone had used in the military, could hold as many as sixteen rounds, but only nine were left.

“Do you see anybody?” Jeb asked.

“There.” Sienna pointed toward the rain-shrouded lane, where a man with a rifle hurried in their direction.

“But I don’t see the others.” Malone immediately understood. “Jesus, they’ve split up. They’ll be coming at us from three sides.”

Jeb pulled out a pistol. “There aren’t any doors along each side. I’ll watch the one at the far end.”

“How can I help?” Sienna asked.

“We don’t have another gun. Take cover.”

“I see one of them,” Jeb said from the other end. “He’s still too far away. I can’t get a shot at him.”

Malone stared at the man hurrying toward them along the lane. Abruptly the man sank behind the fence that flanked it. “This one’s taking cover, sneaking up.”

“But where’s the third one?” Jeb asked.

Straining for a glimpse of a target, Malone told Sienna, “Better get behind those hay bales.”

But when he glanced in her direction, he didn’t see her. He looked in another direction and saw a ladder that led to a platform above him. She was halfway up.

“What are you -” Immediately he quit talking, his attention totally focused on the gunman in the lane, who suddenly appeared at an open gate and dashed through the rain to the cover of a shed.

Malone aimed, ready for him to emerge on the right or the left.

Above, amid the rain drumming on the corrugated metal roof, Malone heard Sienna on the platform.

“There’s a window,” she said.

“For God sake, be careful.” He kept aiming.

“I’m high enough that I can see him behind the shed. He’s -”

Her abrupt silence made Malone tense.

“He’s motioning to someone on your right,” she said. “He’s pointing toward the side of the building. The third man must be heading toward it. He’s going to sneak along it on your blind side.”

Several rapid thunks at Jeb’s end of the building sounded like bullets slamming into wood.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Malone asked. “I didn’t hear the shots.”

“He’s using a silencer,” Jeb said.

A thought nagged at Malone, but before he could analyze the implications, the man behind the shed fired three rapid shots toward the open door. As Malone pressed himself against the wall next to the door, bullets splintered the slats of a stall behind him. But he didn’t hear the shots, and not because of the ringing in his ears. This gunman, too, was using a sound suppressor. Why?

“The one behind the shed is looking to your right again,” Sienna said from above. “Toward the side of the building. I get the sense that the third man’s farther along it.”

Malone understood. The gunman behind the shed would keep firing to distract Malone while the third man crept next to the door and waited for Malone to return fire. The moment Malone revealed his position, the third man would make his move.

“The man behind the shed just nodded,” Sienna said. “They’re ready.” Prepared for the gunman behind the shed to show himself, Malone pulled the trigger the instant he saw motion, shooting one, two, three times, the pistol bucking in his hands. As the gunman pitched backward, Malone dove forward through the doorway, landing in mud, firing to his right, toward where Sienna had predicted the third gunman would be. The man’s face twisted in surprise, unable to redirect his aim before Malone’s bullets struck him in the chest, knocking him down.

Malone scrambled back to the cover of the building. Studying the men he had shot to make sure they weren’t moving, he realized that Sienna was next to him.

Jeb was next to him also. “The third man took off through the woods. But the ones at the house are running this way.”

“They work for Laster,” Malone said.

“How do you know?”

The thought that had nagged at Malone became clear. “The men I shot wouldn’t have used sound suppressors unless they didn’t want the men at the house to hear them. Laster’s men managed to fight off the attack.”

“Yes,” Jeb said. “I see Laster.”

“Go out and tell him we’re safe,” Malone said.

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Sienna and I need a minute by ourselves.”

Jeb hesitated, massaging his left thigh, where he’d been shot the night Malone had saved his life in Panama City. “Sure.” He hesitated longer. “You’ve earned it.”

He stepped into the dusky rain, heading toward the rapidly approaching men, who were outlined by the smoke of the burning house.

Watching Jeb walk away, Malone led Sienna deeper into the stable. “They had their chance. They can’t protect us. Your husband couldn’t have found us this fast unless he has an informant in the Agency.”

Sienna’s eyes darkened at the thought of Bellasar.

“He’ll learn about every other place the Agency tries to hide us. The only way we’ll be safe is on our own – where we won’t be in prison, where nobody’ll keep us apart.”

“I don’t want to be separated from you ever again,” she said.

Malone took her hand, leading her toward the back door. The cold rain lessened to a drizzle as they ran out toward murky trees. In a few minutes, it would be too dark for Laster and his men to see to follow. Maybe we can circle around to the front and steal a car, Malone thought. Or maybe we can… Vague possibilities encouraged him. He had the wallet from the dead man in the house. He had money, credit cards, a new identity. He knew that Laster would eventually figure out whose identity he was using. Bellasar’s spy would pass the word. But that was a problem to be worried about tomorrow. For now, the two of them were free, vanishing into the mist-shrouded woods.