Wolfgang recalled the impact of the rifle butt crashing through the air and colliding with the side of his head . . . right where the man tapped his fingers.
“That’s them,” Wolfgang snapped, lowering the watch and starting into the ballroom. “They’re the Russians.”
“How do you know?” Edric said.
“I know. One hundred percent.”
“Copy that, Charlie Three. Keep them away from Raven. Watch out for guns. Charlie Two, take his flank.”
Kevin stepped out behind Wolfgang, pivoting to the left and sliding his hand into his pocket as Wolfgang walked along the right-hand wall, circling toward the Russians and keeping his sights on them the entire time.
“Raven is on the move,” Megan said. “He’s approaching the gallery. Spider is with him.”
“Stay on him, Charlie One!” Edric said. “Charlie Three, where are the bogies?”
Wolfgang said, “Moving toward the hallway, Charlie Lead. They’ve identified Spider.”
“Copy that. Charlie One, stay in between Raven and the bogies. Charlie Two, Three—close in.”
Kevin and Wolfgang quickened their stride, casting wary glances around the crowd of laughing, half-drunk art connoisseurs as they moved toward the main art gallery. The Russians were quicker, splitting up and taking separate hallways that both led to the gallery.
“Bogies have split,” Kevin said. “They’re closing in.”
“Copy that. Stay on them.”
Kevin and Wolfgang parted ways without a word, each taking the Russian closest to them as they moved into the hallways. Once more, Wolfgang was bitterly aware of the space beneath his arm where his pistol should have been. Why didn’t he have a smaller gun? Or a knife? Or a freaking rock? Something.
The long-haired Russian with the devilish smirk led the way, walking in quiet confidence without glancing over his shoulder, even though he had to know Wolfgang was on his heels. It was Wolfgang’s friend from the apartment outside the café.
You won’t get me twice, Ivan.
Wolfgang quickened his stride, breaking into the main gallery and squinting under the bright lights. There was art everywhere, lining the walls and suspended on circular stands throughout the room. He caught sight of Raven disappearing down a short hallway and saw Megan stop short and cast an unwilling glance his way.
“Problem, Charlie Lead,” Megan said. “Spider and Raven have entered the men’s room. I can’t follow without breaking cover.”
Megan hesitated at the end of the short hallway, but Ivan didn’t. He walked quickly across the room and right by her, winking as he passed.
“Move in, Charlie Three,” Edric said. “Don’t let him near Spider!”
Wolfgang broke into a fast walk, smiling quickly at an old woman he almost ran over on his way to the bathroom. Ivan shoved the bathroom door open and stomped inside like he owned the place, then Wolfgang heard a broken shout from Kevin over the radio.
“Charlie Lead! I’m engaged. Back alley!”
There was a crashing sound, then Kevin’s muted scream.
“Charlie One, help him out!” Edric said.
“Copy that!” Megan broke into a run through the middle of the art gallery, breaking for the exit door to the back of the hotel.
“You’re on your own, Charlie Three. Stay sharp!”
Wolfgang placed his palm against the bathroom door and shoved inside, ducking instinctively to avoid a surprise blow. But none came. The large bathroom had polished flagstone floor tiles and a line of marble sinks along one wall, with framed mirrors behind them. The door swung shut automatically as Wolfgang stepped inside, his shoes clapping against the flagstones.
Wolfgang crouched and saw Spider and Raven standing in the last stall near a fire exit barred with a red alarm latch. And then there was Ivan, standing at the sink and washing his hands under steaming water while watching Wolfgang in the mirror. Ivan grinned.
Wolfgang drew a slow breath and straightened his jacket. He glanced under the stalls again, but the men hadn’t moved. If Raven and Spider were talking, he couldn’t hear them. He turned back to Ivan and saw the big Russian’s smile grow wider as he continued to rub his hands beneath the piping hot water.
Screw this guy.
Wolfgang stepped across the room, his shoes clicking like a tap dancer, and selected the sink two slots down. He flipped the water on and stared at his reflection in the mirror, keeping track of Ivan out of the corner of his eye.
“In Mother Russia, we treat bruises with vodka,” Ivan said. He spoke softly enough that Spider and Raven wouldn’t hear. His English was good, but heavily accented, like a true movie villain.
Wolfgang waited for the water to grow hot, then he ran his wet hands through his hair, finger-combing it into order and gently dodging the spot where Ivan’s rifle butt had crashed into his head.
“Hell of a bruise you have, Amerikos,” Ivan continued.
“It was a cheap shot,” Wolfgang said without taking his eyes off the mirror. “In the Land of the Free, we treat those with a beat down.”
“You haven’t got the stones.”
“I won’t need stones for the likes of you, Ivan. You’ll be eating through a straw when I’m finished with you.”
Ivan pulled his hands from beneath the water and flipped the faucet off as his wolfish grin reflected toward Wolfgang in the mirror. Then he reached out without looking and tore a length of paper towel from the dispenser.
“Too bad we will never know,” he said. “My comrade, Igor, is in alley dealing with your friends. When he is finished, he will join us. Then we will see how big your stones are . . . before we crush them.”
“Why wait?” Wolfgang asked, turning the water off. “Let’s get it on, right here, right now.” He turned to face the bigger man.
Ivan’s smile widened, but he didn’t move.
“Oh, that’s right. You can’t,” Wolfgang said. “You can’t afford to make a scene. Not here. That’s why you need Igor—so you can mop up the blood before the cops show up.”
Fire flashed across Ivan’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
Wolfgang tore off a sheet of paper towel and
