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He approached and saw Ulrich Henn, dead on the floor.
"The fourth shot," he said. "Though it was surely the first one Christl fired, since he represented the greatest threat. Especially after the note your mother sent. She figured you three were in league to get her."
"The bitch," Dorothea muttered. "She killed them both."
"And she means to kill you, too."
"And you?"
He shrugged. "I can't imagine why I'd be allowed to leave."
He'd let his guard down last night, caught up in the moment. Danger and adrenaline had that effect. Sex had always been a way to ease his fears-which had gotten him into trouble years ago, when he first started with the Magellan Billet.
But not this time. He stared back out into the bath hall, deciding what to do next. Lots happening fast. He needed- Something smashed into the side of his head.
Pain jolted through him. The hall winked in and out.
Another blow. Harder.
His arms trembled. His fists clenched.
Then his mind lost all awareness.
STEPHANIE ASSESSED THEIR SITUATION. DANIELS HAD SENT THEM here with precious little information. But the intelligence business was all about improvising. Time to practice what she preached.
"Ramsey was lucky to have you," she said. "Admiral Sylvian's death was a work of art."
"I thought so," Smith said.
"Bottomed out his blood pressure. Ingenious-"
"That how you killed Millicent Senn?" Davis interrupted. "Black woman. Navy lieutenant in Brussels. Fifteen years ago."
Smith seemed to be searching for the memory. "Yeah. Same way. But that was a different time, different continent."
"Same me," Davis said.
"You were there?"
Davis nodded.
"What was she to you?"
"More important, what was she to Ramsey?"
"Got me. I never asked. Just did what he paid me to do."
"Did Ramsey pay you to kill him?" she asked.
Smith chuckled. "If I hadn't, I would have been dead soon. Whatever he was planning, he didn't want me around, so I shot him." Smith motioned with the rifle. "He's back there in the bedroom, a nice clean hole through his no-good brain."
"Got a little surprise for you, Charlie," Stephanie said.
He threw her a quizzical look.
"That body ain't there."
DOROTHEA SLAMMED THE HEAVY STEEL FLASHLIGHT INTO THE side of Malone's skull a final time.
He shrank to the floor.
She grabbed his weapon.
This was going to end between her and Christl.
Right now.
STEPHANIE SAW THAT SMITH WAS PUZZLED.
"What did it do? Walk away?"
"Go see."
He jammed the assault rifle into her face. "You lead the way."
She sucked a deep breath and steeled her nerves.
"One of you pick up those guns and toss them out the window," Smith said, keeping his eyes locked on her.
Davis did as instructed.
Smith lowered the rifle. "Okay, let's all have a look. You three first."
They crept down the corridor and entered the bedroom.
Nothing there but a bare window frame, the open wall panel, and a bloody hand.
"You're being played," Stephanie said. "By her."
McCoy reeled back from the accusation. "I paid you ten million dollars."
Smith didn't seem to care. "Where's the friggin' body?"
DOROTHEA PRESSED AHEAD. SHE KNEW CHRISTL WAS WAITING FOR her. Their entire lives had been spent in competition. One trying to outdo the other. Georg had been the one thing she'd managed that Christl had never matched.
And she'd always wondered why.
Now she knew.
She shook all troubling thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the murky scene before her. She'd hunted at night, stalking prey through the Bavarian woods under a silvery moon, waiting for the right moment to kill. At best, her sister was a double murderess. Everything she'd ever believed about her had now been confirmed. Nobody would blame her for shooting the bitch.
The hallway ended ten feet ahead.
Two doorways-one left, one right.
She fought a spasm of panic.
Which one?
NINETY
MALONE OPENED HIS EYES AND KNEW WHAT HAD HAPPENED. HE rubbed a throbbing knot on the side of his head. Damn. Dorothea had no idea what she was doing.
He heaved himself up and caught a wave of nausea.
Crap-she may have cracked his skull.
He hesitated and allowed the frigid air to clear his brain.
Think. Focus. He'd set this whole thing up. But it wasn't playing out as expected, so he shook himself free of unwanted speculation and found Dorothea's gun in his pocket.
He'd confiscated Christl's, identical in make and model. When he'd returned it to her, though, he'd taken advantage of the situation to load the blank magazine that had originally come from Dorothea's. Now he popped the fully loaded magazine into the remaining Heckler Koch USP, forcing his foggy mind to concentrate, his fingers to move.
Then he staggered for the doorway.
STEPHANIE WAS IMPROVISING, USING WHATEVER SHE COULD THINK of to keep Charlie Smith off balance. Diane McCoy had played her part to perfection. Daniels had briefed them on how he'd sent McCoy to Ramsey, first to become a co-conspirator, then as an adversary, all to keep Ramsey in constant motion. "A bee can't sting you if it's flying," the president had observed. Daniels had also explained that when told about Millicent Senn and what had happened in Brussels years ago, McCoy had immediately volunteered. For the deception to have any chance at success, it required someone at her level, since Ramsey would never have dealt with, nor believed, subordinates. Once the president learned about Charlie Smith, McCoy had easily manipulated him, too. Smith was a vain, greedy soul, too accustomed to success. Daniels had informed them that Ramsey was dead-shot by Smith-and that Smith would appear, but unfortunately that was all the intel offered. McCoy confronting them had also been part of the script. What would happen after that was anybody's guess.
"Back to the front," Smith ordered, gesturing with the gun.
They walked to the foyer between the two front parlors.
"You have quite a problem," Stephanie said.
"I'd say you're the one with a problem."
"Really? You going to kill two deputy national security advisers and a high-level Justice Department agent? I don't think you want the kind of heat that'll bring. Shooting Ramsey? Who cares? We certainly don't. Good riddance. Nobody's going to bother you on that one. We're a diff
erent story."
She saw that her reasoning had struck home.
"You've always been so careful," Stephanie said. "That's your trademark. No traces. No evidence. Shooting us would be totally out of character. And besides, we may want to hire you. After all, you do good work."
Smith chuckled. "Right. I doubt you'd use my services. Let's get this straight. I came to help her"-he gestured to McCoy-"tend to a problem. She did pay me ten million, and let me kill Ramsey, so that buys her a favor. She wanted you two gone. But I can see that was a bad idea. I think the wise thing is for me to leave."
"Tell me about Millicent," Davis said.
Stephanie had wondered why he'd been so quiet.
"Why is she so important?" Smith asked.
"She just is. I'd like to know about her before you go."
DOROTHEA EASED FORWARD TOWARD THE TWO DOORWAYS. SHE pressed herself close to the corridor's right-side wall and watched for any change in the shadows ahead.
Nothing.
She came to the doorway's edge and quickly stole a glance inside the room to her right. Maybe ten meters square, lit from above. Nothing inside except a figure lying propped against the far wall.
A man wrapped in a blanket, wearing an orange nylon one-piece jumper. Dimly illuminated, like an old black-and-white photo, he sat cross-legged, his head inclined left, and stared at her with eyes that did not blink.
She was drawn toward him.
He was young, maybe late twenties, with dusty brown hair and a thin angular face. He'd died where he sat, perfectly preserved. She almost expected him to speak. He wore no coat, but his orange cap was the same from the one outside. US Navy. NR-1A.
Her father, during times when they'd hunted, had always cautioned her about frostbite. The body, he'd said, would sacrifice fingers, toes, hands, noses, ears, chins, and cheeks to keep blood flowing to vital organs. But if the cold persisted, and no relief was found, the lungs eventually hemorrhaged and the heart stopped. Death was slow, gradual, and painless. But the long conscious fight against it was the real agony. Especially when nothing could be done to stop it.
Who was this soul?
She caught a noise, behind her.
She whirled.
Someone appeared in the room across the hall. Twenty meters away. A black form, framed by another doorway.
