She nodded as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“He’s a terrorist,” said Dewey. “He’s planning an attack on the United States.”

Katya wiped her cheeks, staring at the paper, then let it fall to the floor.

“He killed five Americans tonight. Lured them into a trap, then killed them. They never had a chance. Now get dressed.”

Katya burst into tears.

“Pyotr,” she said. “He’s not a terrorist.”

“What’s his last name?”

“Vargarin.”

Dewey took out his cell and hit Speed Dial.

“Control. Identify.”

“Andreas, put me through to Bill Polk.”

As Dewey waited, he nodded to Katya.

“Get dressed,” he said again. “Now.”

Polk came on the line.

“Dewey?”

Dewey stepped to the window, out of earshot, then spoke in a low voice, all the while keeping his gun trained at Katya.

“I have her,” he whispered.

“Where?”

“The hotel.”

“That would explain why Metro police is going haywire.”

“Yeah, I know. I need to get going, but you need to know something: His name is Pyotr Vargarin.”

“She told you that?”

“She seemed genuinely shocked that he’s a terrorist. She’s either a very good liar or is unaware of this guy’s true identity.”

“Does she have a cell phone?”

“Hold on.”

Dewey took out Katya’s cell phone, then dictated the number to Polk.

Polk cleared his throat.

“One more thing,” Polk said. “You need to stay inside Russia. We just received word that the nuke is through the Strait of Gibraltar. Katya Basaeyev is now our only link to Cloud. Get her out, then stay in-theater and wait for further orders. You got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Get going.”

“Where are you taking me? Please, I ask you sincerely.”

“You’re the only connection we have to Cloud,” said Dewey. “I’m taking you out of Russia.”

“You’re kidnapping me,” she sobbed.

“Yes,” said Dewey, “I am. Kidnapping. Abducting. Whatever you want to call it. We will do whatever we need to do to stop this attack on the United States. I don’t want to hurt you, Katya. But that’s up to you. Do you understand?”

She stared at him in silence. He looked back, trying not to look too long into her eyes, trying not to get to know her in any way, trying not to think about anything other than the mission. His eyes went to the window and peered down at the chaotic mess in front of the hotel.

“Please get dressed,” he repeated.

In the reflection in the glass, Dewey watched as Katya removed her bathrobe and allowed it to fall to the ground. He stopped looking, even at the blurry reflection, until she had pulled on a pair of white jeans and a sweater. He saw her take a small object from the table, something that was beneath her shirt, and tuck it under a book.

“What was it?” he asked, pointing to the book.

“Nothing.”

“Give it to me.”

Katya picked up the object and stepped toward Dewey, staring daggers as she handed him a small leather object the size of a wallet. Dewey opened it up. It was a traveling photo album, with slots for just a few photos. There were only two. One was a color photo of a pair of teenagers, a girl and a boy. They were seated at a restaurant. In front of the girl was a piece of cake with a single candle lit on top of it. They were holding hands. The girl had pigtails and a big smile on her face. The boy had short, curly blond hair. He was smiling too.

Dewey stared at it for several moments, then looked at Katya.

“My fifteenth birthday,” she said.

“Is that him?”

Katya nodded.

The other photo was black and white, its edges frayed with age. This photo showed a child. He was standing dead center in the middle of the photo. Other children were gathered to his side, all eyes looking at him. He was in front of a table, upon which was a large trophy. An adult, presumably a teacher, was presenting the trophy to the boy. Behind him, a plain-looking, slightly rotund woman was standing next to a tall, bearded man with glasses and curly brown hair. The woman had a blank, serious expression on her face. The man was smiling proudly.

Dewey studied the black-and-white photo. Cloud was very young. He wore a button-down shirt and tie. His hair sprouted up from his head in big, wavy curls.

“What is this?”

“The only photo he has of his parents,” she answered. “They’re both dead.”

“How old is he?”

Katya shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Even he doesn’t know.”

Dewey pulled the black-and-white photo from the leather case, folded it in half, then stuck it in his pocket.

Katya watched him do it, a look of disbelief on her face.

“It was the only photograph Pyotr—”

“Pyotr isn’t going to be alive much longer,” said Dewey. “I don’t think he’ll miss the photo.”

“He would never have anything to do with terrorism,” she said. “He’s a kind man. I’ve known him since age thirteen. He’s gentle. Please, you must believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” said Dewey, scanning the street in front of the Four Seasons, which was now a pandemonium of police cars. “Besides, there are about a hundred cops outside. They all have guns. I don’t think they’re very happy with me at the moment.”

“Perhaps they will shoot you, like you shot my guards.”

Dewey looked at her.

“At least I’m not wearing white pants.”

Katya looked down at her white jeans.

“What’s wrong with white pants?”

“It’s an easy target for a marksman. Especially at night. They’ll probably be shooting at me, but if they miss, it’s going to hit you.”

“Why are you trying to scare me?”

Dewey walked to Katya and stood in front of her.

“Because I need you to be scared. If you’re scared, maybe you’ll listen to me. There’s only one way out of here. But you need to do exactly what I say.”

Katya became quiet.

“Where will you take me?” she asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Please tell me your name. I have the right to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does.”

Katya’s English wasn’t flawless. And yet the aristocratic softness of her accent made the imperfections somehow charming.

Dewey held the curtain to the side. A cordon of police were stretched across the road in front of the hotel.

“My name is Dewey Andreas.”

“What did he do?”

“He acquired a nuclear bomb. He put the bomb in a boat that right now is on its way to the United States. He intends to detonate it there.”

She stared at him, a look of utter shock at his words. She walked to one of the couches and sat down.

“He would never do this,” she said. “It’s a mistake.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much,” said Dewey. “And yet you have, let’s see, one, two, three bodyguards? Why would anyone need so much protection?”

“Are you implying that I’m involved?”

“I just find it strange that you have three operatives guarding you. Ex-military. Spetsnaz, if I had to guess.”

She stared.

“They’re provided to me. I’ve had guards as long as I can remember.”

Dewey stared out the window.

“The first one followed me upstairs and tried to kill me,” said Dewey.

He turned and their eyes met.

“Why would I kill you?” she asked softly. “There is already too much misery in this world. I would not kill you. I would never kill anybody.”

She stood up. She walked to the window, next to him, and looked out.

“Let’s go,” said Dewey.

She pointed at the police cordon.

“Are you insane?”

“We’re going to walk out the front door. I’m one of your guards.”

“That will not work,” Katya said, shaking her head.

“You’re probably right. They’ll kill me and you can go back and hang out with a terrorist and jump around in a bird costume. It doesn’t mean we’re not going to give it the old college try, though.”