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“Find everyone who arrived in the contractor’s van.”

Abramov falls silent.

“You’re thinking.”

“Did they know Vera and Misha would be here?” he asks.

“No. The transmitter was planted before I was shot. It wasn’t meant for them.”

“Then it was part of the coup. The west wing gave Belov access to your office and the command rooms below.”

“He was already preparing to take Vera and attack the Volkov house,” I say. “When she saved me and came here with Misha, he joined the two plans.”

“And Rudenko used the failed attack to spread the rumor.”

I run one hand over Misha’s hair. “Once you find the workers, compare their faces with Rudenko’s crews and Belov’s known men.”

“Understood.”

I clip the radio back onto my belt.

Misha comes closer. “Who’s in there?”

“Abramov.”

“In the phone?”

“On the other end.”

He studies the radio. I unclip it and hand it to him. He holds it against his ear and tilts his head.

“Can he hear me?” He places the radio back in my hand.

“Only when I press this.”

I show him the button on the side. Misha reaches for it, but I lift the radio out of reach.

“You may not press it.”

“Why?”

“Because armed men listen.” The words are out before I can stop them. Vera won’t approve.

Misha lowers his hand. “Do guns get tired?”

I look toward the sitting area. Vera has taken the chair near the courtyard window, but she isn’t reading the hospital file in her lap. Her attention rests on us through the wide glass panel.

“Yes,” I tell Misha.

He sits across from me. “They sleep?”

“Guns don’t sleep. The men carrying them get tired.”

“Then they put guns in bed?”

“No. They secure them.”

“Where?”