Zen wheeled slowly toward the room divider, calculating that the longer he took, the more time the others would have to come up with a backup plan.
He was hoping one would occur to him as well, but ideas weren’t exactly popping into his head. He felt a little like he had the first time he rose to give a speech in the Senate — not just tongue-tied, but completely brain frozen.
“Who are you?” said a voice in English from behind the thick barrier.
Zen didn’t answer — he couldn’t. He concentrated on wheeling forward, around the barrier.
The Black Wolf stood with his arms folded across his chest. He held an MP–5 machine gun in his left hand, curled under his arm.
“Who are you?” asked the man again.
“Zen Stockard.” The words came out haltingly. “Jeff.”
“I don’t know you.”
Zen’s brain unfroze. There was something in the snap of the answer — the sharp finality and sureness of tone — that told Zen it was Stoner.
“Mark. Do you remember? In the Pacific? You were with Bree. Remember the beer we had in the hospital? I smuggled them inside in my wheelchair?”
The man’s face didn’t change. But that only convinced Zen all the more.
Stoner had always seemed older to him, even though they were roughly the same age. Now he was much younger. He seemed almost not to have aged — his cheeks had hollowed, but his brow was smooth and his eyes unwrinkled. His hair was dappled gray, but it was full and thick.
“What happened?” Zen asked. He wheeled forward a foot and a half. “What happened after the helicopter crashed?”
“Quiet,” commanded the man, touching his earpiece to hear a radio transmission.
“This is security,” said the man outside the door to Teri and Caroline’s room. His English was heavily accented. “We have an important matter to discuss.”
“What matter is that?” Breanna demanded.
“There are reports of men with guns in the hotel,” said the man.
“We haven’t seen them.”
“I have been sent to protect you,” said the man.
“We’re fine.”
Major Krufts was desperately searching the room for something to use as a weapon. Breanna pointed to the lamp near the bed. But it was clamped to the side table.
The defense secretary and general were standing next to her. Caroline had taken Teri into the bathroom and closed the door.
“My orders are to protect you,” said the man.
“Great.” Breanna saw that the latch to the door had not been closed. She moved toward it quickly. “Stand guard in the hall.”
“I must see you to make sure you are not being held against your will,” said the man.
“Take my word for it,” said Breanna.
“I’m sorry. I cannot do that.”
Breanna reached the latch and pushed it closed. As she did, she heard a key entering the lock. She grabbed at the interior turning bolt, but couldn’t hold it back. The door opened, then caught abruptly at the latch.
Breanna threw her shoulder against the door, pushing it back to the frame. The latch caught. She pushed the lever closed, relocking it.
It was a momentary respite. The handle exploded, shot through from the other side. She spun back and to the side as the door flew open.
Danny heard the gunshot as he entered the building.
“The stairs!” he yelled. “Where are they?”
Even as the words left his mouth, he saw a door near the elevator at the far side of the hall. He raced to it, heart pounding.
“We are with you!” yelled one of the security men as he pushed into the stairwell. “Lead the way!”
Major Krufts jumped at the man as he came in. Krufts hit his arm and side, trying to grab the man in a bear hug. The intruder pushed him off as if he were no more than a fly, swatting him back with a sharp flick of his arm.
Krufts flew a good ten feet through the air, crashing into the wall near the bed.
The man turned and started to raise his gun. Breanna charged at him, her arm lassoing his neck. He remained upright, though her blow threw his aim off; three or four bullets crashed into the dresser and wall near the door.
Desperate, Breanna began kicking and clawing, trying to hit the man’s groin. He pushed his right arm up next to his chest and pried her off his body, flipping her down. As he did, General Josef hit him over the head with the heavy desk chair, which he’d managed to lift in front of him.
The man staggered to one side but didn’t go down. He grabbed Breanna, still flailing at him, and pulled his arm back to pistol-whip her.
“Stop!” said Dr. Gustov. “If you’re looking for me, I am here. Leave the others alone.”
Danny heard shouts as he reached the landing on the fourth floor. He grabbed at the door, then turned back as the first Czech security man reached him.
“Give me your pistol,” he told the man.
“But—”
“Don’t you have a backup weapon?”
The man hesitated, then reached down to his ankle where a small Glock was strapped. Danny took the gun and began to run toward the commotion.
Zen watched the Black Wolf’s face. There was obviously something going on, though it was impossible to tell exactly what.
Most likely the men he was going to kill were on their way here. What would happen when they arrived? Would Stoner kill him, too?
“Stoner, what’s going on?” Zen demanded. “Why are you doing all this?”
The man glared at him but said nothing, his hand pressed over his ear to listen to the radio.
“The Mark Stoner I knew was a patriot,” said Zen. “A CIA officer as dedicated as any person I’ve ever met.”
“Shut the hell up,” barked Stoner, pointing the gun at him. “Shut the hell up or I’ll shoot your tongue out.”
Breanna fell to the floor as the intruder released her. She saw Dr. Gustov, the minister, standing erect across the room, head high, jaw jutting forward, as if daring the man to shoot him.
The man grinned, and raised his gun.
“Don’t shoot him!” shouted Breanna. “Stop! Don’t shoot him!”
Three loud pops followed.
Breanna looked back toward Gustov.
He was still standing.
The intruder was lying on the ground, the back of his head shattered by bullets. Blood was spurting everywhere.
