Katya smiled.

“College try? What does this mean?”

Dewey took her wrist and lightly clutched it, pushing her toward the door. At the door, he turned.

“I’m going to explain how this works,” he said quietly. “I’ve stood where those guys we’re gonna walk by are standing, and right now they’re looking for a killer. You alone can convince them I’m not the one they’re looking for. It’s like a play, and you’re the star, and your role is to be the pissed-off ballerina who doesn’t like gunshots and sirens and wants to move to a different hotel. I’m the goon who’s supposed to protect you. Got it? Sell that and we both live. Don’t sell it and we both die.”

“What if I give you up?”

“You die.”

“You would kill me?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“If you rat on me, that qualifies as something wrong—in my book, at least.”

“I’m innocent.”

“If you’re innocent, you won’t be harmed,” he said. “You’re not the one we’re after. You’ll be asked to help us find Cloud. Then you’ll be set free. It’s that simple.”

She closed her eyes, looked at the ground, then looked up and opened them again, staring directly into his eyes.

“I will do it. I will try to help. I still do not believe the man you say is a terrorist is the same man I know. But I will help. I have nothing but fondness for the United States of America.”

He pointed at the phone on the desk.

“Call the front desk, ask them what’s going on,” said Dewey. “In English. I want to hear it. Ask why the police are here. Then tell them to bring the car around. You would like to move to the Grand Hotel.”

Katya picked up the phone. She dialed the front desk and did precisely as Dewey instructed, then hung up.

Dewey lifted her bag.

“Dewey,” she said.

“Walk in front of me, like I work for you,” he said.

Dewey handed her a pair of sunglasses.

“Put these on.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Don’t take it personally.”

Dewey followed Katya to the door. She opened it and stepped into the hallway. A pair of armed policeman in blue tactical gear were standing near the elevator.

The first officer looked at Katya, then at Dewey. Dewey maintained a cool demeanor but nodded.

“Miss Basaeyev,” he said in Russian. “We ask that everyone remain in their room.”

“I’m leaving the hotel,” she said in English, walking toward the elevator.

The agent blocked her path.

“Get out of my way,” she snapped indignantly.

The officer didn’t move.

“I’m under orders, Miss Basaeyev. I’m sorry. Until the killer is apprehended, no one goes in or out of the hotel.”

Dewey was behind Katya. He had the Colt .45 in his right hand, behind his back. He raised the gun, moved to Katya’s side, and fired. The silenced slug hit the agent in the forehead. Before the second officer could react, Dewey fired another shot, hitting him in the mouth, kicking him backward and down.

Katya stared at the dead men, her eyes wide, momentarily repulsed by the bloody scene.

Dewey grabbed Katya’s wrist and pulled her into the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor, then the button for the second floor. He stood in the far left corner, waiting and watching. His eyes were calm, blank, above all cold, with a hint of anger.

The elevator stopped at two. Dewey eyed Katya. Quickly, he raised his gun and trained it on the elevator doors. As they began to slide open, Dewey held Katya by the back of her jacket with his left hand.

Another agent in blue tactical gear was waiting. He had on a combat helmet and had a carbine raised and trained on the elevator as the doors opened.

The solider barked something in Russian.

“Zapustit!” Katya screamed, warning the agent. Run!

Dewey lunged toward the door, firing. The soldier ran. Dewey stepped into the hallway, firing as he moved, striking the officer beneath the lower edge of his helmet, a quarter inch above his Kevlar flak jacket, dropping him.

He turned back, looking for Katya. His eyes saw the white of her jeans, just a glimpse, as the elevator doors shut.

Dewey lurched, getting a finger between the doors just as they went tight. The elevator made a low mechanical grinding noise as the doors tried to close. Dewey fought against the elevator doors; if they closed, he would lose Katya. The mechanical grinding became louder as Dewey struggled to pull the doors apart, his face contorted. A low ringing noise came from somewhere inside the car. Inside the elevator shaft, below, on the other side of the doors, he could hear the cables tugging against the elevator housing, trying to lower the elevator. But Dewey would not let the doors shut, and finally, the low beeping noise stopped. The doors suddenly opened.

Dewey stepped inside and was greeted by a violent kick to the groin from Katya. The kick doubled him over. The elevator doors started to close again as Katya charged at him. From a pained crouch, he swung, but she ducked, spinning, then hammered her right foot counterclockwise, a vicious motion aimed at his head.

Dewey recognized Katya’s martial training; his brain processed it in the split second following the kick to the groin. As her foot moved toward his head, he anticipated it, bending just as her foot cut viciously across the air above his head. In the instant that followed, Dewey slashed his left arm out, slamming Katya in the knee with a fist, then speared her in the rib cage with a brutal punch that sent her flying into the wall, then down.

Dewey stepped back, gun trained on her. He glanced at the elevator door, then back at her. Both of them knew that the first floor held a waiting army of Russian police.

Dewey put his hand in the elevator door before it closed. As it moved automatically back open, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the elevator, gun raised, then moved right. At the end of the hallway, he knocked several times on the door to a room. When a woman answered the door, Dewey pushed the door in, weapon raised. The woman burst into tears. He pointed to the bathroom, ordering her to go inside.

He turned off the lights in the room, then moved to the window.

Below was a courtyard, closed for the night, with tables and sun umbrellas.

Behind it was a street. Beyond that, the canal.

He dialed Jacobsson.

“I need to move right now.”

“Go,” said Jacobsson. “I’m here.”

Dewey heard shouts from the hallway in Russian, then the loud drumbeat of footsteps. He looked at Katya just as her mouth opened and she started screaming. Dewey charged at her, catching her near the bed, and covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her. He felt her sharp teeth bite down.

Dewey pulled his hand, now bleeding, away from her mouth. He wrapped his forearm around her neck and tightened it. She struggled, kicking his legs, trying to punch him, but it was futile. In seconds, she grew weak, then went limp in his arms.

He carried her limp body to the window. He quickly surveyed the courtyard, as, behind him, a steel battering ram slammed into the door with a somber thump.

Dewey took a few steps back and aimed his gun at the window.

The battering ram slammed a second time. The door made a loud cracking noise as wood splintered.

Dewey lifted Katya’s body and wrapped it around the back of his neck, clutching her legs and neck in a tight grip with his left hand as he held his gun in his right.

He charged toward the window, as, behind him, the door crashed in. He fired a slug, shattering the window, just as he leapt into the air. Yelling in Russian was interwoven with automatic gunfire. Dewey’s right foot hit the windowsill as slugs erupted behind him. He hit the sill, then leapt out as far as he could, launching into the air as bullets flew just above his head. The momentum of the jump was quickly gone; Dewey and Katya dropped in a sharp line toward the ground two stories below. Dewey kicked his legs furiously through the air, trying to maintain his balance, holding Katya tightly around his neck. Their trajectory took them toward a red-and-white canvas umbrella. Dewey slammed into it, feetfirst. He ripped through the thick canvas and smashed painfully into the wooden pole holding the umbrella, snapping it in half, then crashed to the ground, his right palm, elbow, hip, and knee all absorbing the trauma yet protecting the unconscious Katya.