Nick watched her, his pleasure forcing his hips off the bed. He wanted her to take more of him, all of him. He wanted to be inside her, to hold her next to him, to share the same breath.

Sylvia released him and climbed onto the bed. She straddled him, guiding him slowly into her, taking him out, then bringing him in deeper. Her eyes were closed and she moaned each time he touched her. Nick held on to the bed, balling up the sheets in the palms of his hands. He struggled to breathe slower, to feel less. Finally, she lowered herself onto him and shuddered. Nick sat up and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her ravenously. Her mouth was hot and wet with desire. His entire body stiffened, and when he could hold back no longer, he let himself go, arching his back and thrusting himself deep into her. She lowered her head to her chest and her body quaked, an uneven humming drifting from her mouth. Her tremors increased and she laid both hands on his chest, breathing heavily. Then suddenly her body relaxed. She exhaled loudly, then fell onto the bed.

Sylvia lay down beside him. After a while her breathing calmed and she laughed huskily. She raised herself on an elbow and ran a cool nail down his chest. "Better get some rest, Tiger. We have the whole weekend to get through."

CHAPTER 39

Sterling Thorne could not erase the grin from his face. He knew he must look like an idiot, smiling and laughing like a six-year-old boy, but he couldn't help it. He was reading the text of the charges that had been filed against First Lieutenant Nicholas Neumann USMCR for the first time in its entirety. And he was enjoying it. One section was of particular interest, and this he read again and again.

"… whereby defendant did willfully and with malice aforethought batter the plaintiff. Said plaintiff did suffer severe bruising to the lower back and hip, two ruptured disks at the 14th and 15th vertebrae, a class-one subdural hematoma, gross swelling of the testicles and concomitant edema."

That last one made Thorne fidget in his chair. "Gross swelling of the testicles and concomitant edema." Old Jack Keely had got himself a thorough going-over; his back was half broken, his skull near fractured, and worst, his balls had been throttled so hard they were swollen the size of grapefruits. Not only that, the fucker's cojones were leaking.

Thorne flipped to the next page, and then back again. Nowhere in the file did it specify the reason for the attack. Nowhere did it say what had gotten Neumann so riled at this man Keely, whom the record listed as a "civilian defense contractor." Read "spook," Thorne corrected.

Earlier in the day he had finally received the full copy of Neumann's military personnel file. A buddy had FedExed it over from Headquarters Marine Corps in D.C. The same guy had faxed him a copy of Neumann's discharge and the final ruling of the board of inquiry that he'd used to set the kid running. Frankly speaking, Thorne wished he'd gotten his eyes on the whole dossier before he'd started putting pressure on the kid. The last thing he needed was a list of injuries like those suffered by Mr. Jack Keely.

Thorne closed the file. Once more he ran the highlights through his head. Neumann had zoomed through OCS, finishing as honor graduate. During Basic School, he had maxed every physical fitness test he'd taken and gotten himself a billet to U.S. Army Ranger school. He'd finished the course, naturally, and earned his tabs. Not at the top this time, but in a class that boasted a seventy percent attrition rate, just finishing the damn thing in one piece was impressive. Next came an assignment to active duty at Camp Pendleton as executive officer of an infantry platoon. That lasted a year. Then he disappeared. No word on his actions for three years. No fitness reports, no senior officer appraisals, no requests for transfer, no nothing. Just the board of inquiry's summary and a copy of his separation papers. Dishonorable discharge. No wonder the kid came overseas. Probably couldn't get a job in the States with that monkey on his back.

Thorne grinned in anticipation. Once Wolfgang Kaiser read this report, he'd be too frightened for his physical safety to keep Neumann working by his side. Who cared about the dishonorable discharge? It paled in comparison to Neumann's capacity to inflict bodily injury. In theory, Thorne had Nick by the short and curlies. All he had to do was tighten his grip. With it, Neumann could be cajoled, convinced, coerced, whatever, into helping him nail Ali Mevlevi. Or could he? Thorne was beginning to realize that Neumann was just as stubborn as he was. A frontal assault might not work.

A door behind him swung open and clattered against the wall.

"Sterling Thorne, good evening," said Terry Strait. "Or should I say good morning, seeing as how it's after midnight." He stood with his hands on his hips and a monstrous shit-eating grin on his face.

Thorne swung around in his chair and stared at the beaming figure in the doorway. Didn't the guy know how to knock? "Hello, Terry. Back so soon?"

"Afraid so. Mission accomplished."

"And what mission might that be? To burrow your nose as far into the ambassador's snatch as possible before she paws you away?"

"She sends you her best regards too." Strait walked in and sat himself down on Thorne's desk. "We enjoyed a lively evening together. A glass of sherry at the embassy, dinner at the Bellevue Palace. We were joined by one of our Swiss counterparts, Franz Studer."

"Counterpart, my ass. That man is the tightest-lipped, slowest-moving prosecutor I have ever come across."

"Slow moving? Maybe. Tight-lipped?" Strait shook his head. "You must not know him very well. Tonight, Mr. Studer was positively gabby. In fact, he couldn't stop talking."

"No doubt you plan on passing on his words of wisdom?"

"You were his favorite topic of conversation. He had a few good yarns up his sleeve. An unannounced visit to the Chairman of the United Swiss Bank. Hijacking an elevator, brutalizing a secretary, and then attempting to blackmail Wolfgang Kaiser. He felt strongly that this was a violation of the accord between his government and ours. Madam Ambassador was in full agreement."

Thorne leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. Best let the good reverend have his moment in the pulpit. "Go on."

"Was that your intention? To expose his son's death from an overdose of heroin unless he gave up Ali Mevlevi? And I thought you didn't like me."

"To be honest, I don't."

Strait squinted incredulously. "What is wrong with you? Are you at war with the entire world?"

Thorne laughed. "You just might have a point there. Maybe I am at that."

Strait laughed, too. "I hope you won't mind too much, but since Madam Ambassador's spirits were already flagging and the evening more or less ruined, I couldn't resist firing a couple broadsides of my own. The best time to finish a man off is when he's down on his knees and begging. No mercy. Right, Thorne? Isn't that one of your maxims?"

"Well, Terry, you got me horny with anticipation. I'm sitting here all hot and bothered. So either fuck me or tuck that big dick back into your pants and get the hell out of here."

"With pleasure. I think I'll opt for the former choice, so stand up and bend over. That is the way you country boys like it, isn't it?"

Thorne jumped from his chair and thrust an open hand at Strait's throat.

Strait deflected the outstretched arm and hopped away from the desk. He slid a chair between himself and the irate agent. "Just so we're clear on things, Thorne, let me recite the charges. One, strong-arming one of this country's most respected businessmen. Two, convincing Studer to place Mevlevi's account number on the USB surveillance list without the approval of the director. And three, something else I learned yesterday, harassing a U.S. citizen on foreign soil. A Mr. Nicholas Neumann."