Not his old, old self, whatever that was. Back to what passed for normal now.

The doctor said nothing for a few minutes, returning the needles to the box, then tossing his gloves into a waste can at the side of the room.

“Do you think about the changes?” the doctor asked, sitting down.

“I don’t think at all.”

“The progression. It’s a downward slope. There’s going to come a point…”

Dr. Nudstrumov’s voice trailed off. He stared at the man he knew by many names, though he called him only Herr Schmidt.

“Do you shake when you take the pills?” the doctor asked finally.

“They have no effect.”

“I’m going to give you something to calm the shakes, and the pain.” Dr. Nudstrumov pulled over his prescription pad. “It’s not—it won’t have the effect on your metabolism that the shots have. It won’t restore you. But when you feel things getting bad, you can have some relief. It’s a sedative. You should be careful driving.”

He took the prescription without comment.

“I remember that first week,” said the doctor, his voice tinged with nostalgia and pride. “How we had to fight to keep you alive.”

“I don’t appreciate your sentimentality,” said the Black Wolf, rising and striding toward the door.

12

Fuggire, Italy

Nuri had barely enough time to pull out the mace as the dog charged into the room, saliva lathering from its mouth. His fingers were misaligned and much of the spray shot sideways. The dog’s teeth clamped around his left arm.

Nuri sprayed again, then smacked the dog in the snout. The animal let go, howling.

Off balance, he grabbed at the animal and fell to the side, tumbling against an upholstered chair. He reached into the fanny pack for one of the syringes. The dog tried to push itself away, snarling and shaking its head, crying, disoriented, and hurting at the same time.

It was a large mastiff. More pet than watchdog, it lacked a true killer’s instinct—fortunately for him. He grabbed a syringe, pulled the plastic guard off with his teeth and plunged the needle into the animal’s rump.

It whimpered, then crumpled over on its side.

Nuri swung his legs under him and grabbed for his pistol, sure the commotion would bring one of the mafia don’s guards in any second. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.

He heard something squeaking behind him. He spun quickly before realizing the noise was coming from the earphone, which had fallen out.

No one was coming, or if they were, they were taking their time.

“What’s going on?” hissed Flash.

“I’m OK,” said Nuri.

“What happened? I heard you grunting.”

“There was a dog.”

“MY-PID didn’t say anything about it.”

“Are you looking at the image?”

“This screen is so small—I can see it now.”

“Tell the computer it has to scan for dogs—for anything living,” said Nuri, realizing he’d been too precise when he gave it the earlier instructions. “It’s only looking for people.”

“Shit.”

Nuri looked down. As powerful as the gear aboard the Reaper was, it had its limits.

This was why you always got someone else to do the dirty work, he reminded himself. He got down on his hands and knees, searching for the cap to the syringe. He found it under a marble table. He stuffed it back into his fanny pack, then pulled the dog under the table.

The scent of mace was pretty heavy on the animal, and undoubtedly in the room. There was nothing he could do about it now, he told himself.

Change your plan. Grab the computer and get the hell out. Now!

Nuri got to his feet and walked quickly to the door, pausing near the opening. The music was loud enough to vibrate the floor slightly—a good thing, he thought, slipping down the hall.

The hall led to an outside patio above the pool. Along the way there were two rooms on the right; the office was farther down on the left.

Neither of the doors on the right were closed. Nuri leaned in, glancing around. Both were richly furnished bedrooms. No computers, no people, and most importantly, no dogs.

The office was on the left. The door was locked.

A good sign, he thought.

Until Flash warned him that someone was coming from the pool toward the door.

He slipped back to the first open room on the right, just ducking out of the way as the outside door opened. It was one of the girls; he heard her humming to herself as she walked past him down the hall.

“Coast is clear,” said Flash.

Nuri started out of the room, then stopped as he heard the humming get louder. He slipped back, waiting for the girl to pass. She seemed to take forever, changing her song three times before finally coming past.

He waited another two or three minutes before easing toward the door again. Once more he had to stop mid stride as MY-PID alerted him that another girl was coming in. He stepped back against the wall a few feet from the threshold, holding his breath until she passed—then holding it again as she came back and went outside.

The long day had started to wear on him. He crossed the corridor, mentally cursing everyone—the Italians, the bureaucracy, Gregor, Moreno, even himself. Damned if he wouldn’t have been better just shooting his stinking way inside the compound. The hell with the goddamn Italians and their corrupt justice system, the hell with Reid telling him to work with the FBI, the hell with everything and everybody.

The office lock was easily manipulated with his small pick and spring. He opened the door and slipped inside, ducking down to avoid the window, which was visible from the pool area.

A leather couch divided the room roughly in half. A desk sat on the opposite side, at the very back of the house. Filing cabinets lined the left wall of the office; an open bottle of wine sat on a small bar next to the window on the far side.

A computer screen sat on a low table to the right of the desk. It was attached to an HP computer below the table.

Nuri crawled over on his hands and knees. When he reached the computer, he took out the USB thumb drive with the virus program and pulled the machine out to locate the USB port. He plugged it in, then turned the power on.

If Moreno found the dog drugged, he’d realize there was a break-in. At that point he would most likely assume the office and computers were bugged and tear them apart. Most experts would miss the virus that he was installing, but there was a chance they wouldn’t. And besides, Moreno might easily decide to take no chances and simply trash the entire computer.

Which meant he would have to start the upload now.

He got back on his hands and knees and looked for the phone line, aiming to tap in and avoid Moreno’s router, which could slow down the transfer. He found the line, and realized the office was wired with an optical line—something he hadn’t expected, but not a problem. He found the small connection box and went to work, carefully unscrewing the cover and pulling the jack out to expose the wiring. He hooked his own in, then ran it up to the computer’s Ethernet port.

A cursor blinked steadily on the screen. Nuri tapped the six digit access code and the rogue program went to work, flexing the computer’s hard drive at a few hundred megabytes a minute.