“How long is that?” asked Flash.

“Couple of hours.”

“You’re gonna wait that long?” asked Gregor.

“I can wait as long as I have to.”

At two-fifteen Nuri decided he’d waited long enough. “All right, we’ll go up together,” he told the others. “We’ll go up to that hedge line near the house. You guys wait for me there while I go in. Capisce?”

“We got it,” said Flash.

“Anything you say,” said Gregor.

“No questions,” added Nuri.

“No questions,” she said.

They got out and started up the hill, moving easily through the vineyards.

“Nice goggles,” said Gregor. “They’re starlight goggles, right? Cat’s eyes.”

“You weren’t going to ask any questions,” said Nuri sharply.

“Oh come on. That was harmless.”

“I could strangle you here and no one would ever know,” snapped Nuri.

Just as they were approaching the barns, MY-PID warned that a woman was coming down in their direction from the house. Nuri stopped at the edge of the vineyard, waiting to see where she was going. A minute or so later one of the guards slipped from the guard house, a good ten minutes earlier than the normal schedule dictated. He walked in her direction; they met in a small garden about thirty yards from the house, whispering before finding each other in the moonlit shadows.

“They’ll be busy for a while,” Nuri told Flash. “I’m going to circle around. Watch what’s going on with the MY-PID screen and let me know.”

“Got it.”

A few minutes later Nuri felt short of breath as he pulled himself onto the portico at the eastern end of the house. He knelt near one of the columns, catching his breath. Using the data from the Reaper, MY-PID had analyzed the circuitry inside the house and deduced that there were no alarm systems. It had also located the office on the western side of the house. He moved around the back, working his way toward the office.

Large French windows lined the exterior rooms on the first floor. He passed a large dining room and a living room before coming to the edge of the house.

Music was playing in the back; it was an Italian version of hip-hop, an odd blend of rhythms. Nuri slipped down to the bottom of the wall and peeked around. There were two or three girls in the pool, splashing each other and drinking out of champagne glasses. A man, presumably Moreno, was floating on a raft, his back to Nuri.

Let’s go, Nuri told himself. Get it on.

He moved back to the French door and tried pulling it open. It was locked. A thin shiv took care of the simple latch, and it gave way easily. He slipped in behind the light curtains, walking into the mafioso’s lair.

He got three feet when he heard the dog coming.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Nobody told me about dogs.”

11

Chisinau, Moldova

The thirst was overwhelming. His whole body ached. His hands shook. He curled his fingers into a fist and put them under his legs. He tightened his stare at the woman at the desk across from his chair near the door to the examining rooms and offices inside.

The drugs. He needed the drugs.

The clinic waiting room was nearly full. He willed the other patients away. The doctor had to see him now.

Now!

An intercom buzzed at the desk.

“Mrs. Gestau?” said the receptionist, looking down the list of patients. “Dr. Nudstrumov will see you now.”

A middle-aged woman sitting near him got up. She walked as close to the opposite wall as possible, clearly sensing his displeasure that she had been called ahead of him.

He waited a few more seconds. They seemed like hours. He had to do something. He leaned forward—then got up, practically rolling into motion.

“When am I going in?” he said to the woman at the desk.

“The doctor is very busy today. But I’m sure as soon as—”

He didn’t need to hear the rest. He stepped to his left and pushed through the door. The hallway seemed darker than normal, the walls closer together. Very close—they seemed to push against his shoulders as he strode toward the doctor’s office at the end of the hall.

“Wait!” the receptionist called behind him. “Wait—you can’t just barge in here. Wait!”

Her voice fell back into a deep pit far behind him. He stopped at the first examining room, threw open the door. A man in his sixties sat on the examining table in his underwear, feet dangling off the side.

The doctor wasn’t there. He turned and walked to the next room.

“Stop!” said a nurse. “What are you doing?”

“It’s OK,” said Dr. Nudstrumov, appearing at the end of the hall. “I was just going to send for Herr Schmidt.”

“The examining rooms are full,” said the receptionist.

“Herr Schmidt and I can use my office.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Herr Schmidt, please,” said the doctor, extending his arm. “So good to see you today.”

He walked into the office. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled off his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” said the doctor, closing the door behind him. “It’s getting worse.”

“Give it to me,” he said tightly.

“A year ago you only needed the shots every six months. Now it is every six weeks.”

“I don’t care to hear my entire medical history.”

“I suppose not.”

The doctor took a stethoscope from the pocket of his lab coat. The coat seemed almost gray, though he knew that the doctor habitually wore them bright and freshly starched.

“My heart is fine.”

“I’m listening to your lungs,” said Dr. Nudstrumov, an edge creeping into his voice. He was in his sixties, short and bald. He’d gained a considerable amount of weight in the decade and a half since they had known each other, to the point that he was now fat, rather than skinny.

But that was the least of the changes. He’d gone through several different names, so many that even the Black Wolf didn’t know which was real. He even used “corporate” names—common aliases that were supposed to belong only to the Wolves.

“Breathe, please.”

He took a deep breath and held it.

“Again… one more time.”

“Enough with the damn breathing!” he yelled, slapping the doctor’s stethoscope away. “Give me the shots!”

The doctor stepped back, surprised, frightened.

Where did the bastard keep the drugs? He could get them himself.

He needed the serum, and the pills. The pills were for every day; the injections lasted longer.

There were other doctors who would supply him; he knew there were. It was only because of the perverse machinations of the Directors that he had to come to Nudstrumov.

A reminder of who was in control. As if he needed one.

Dr. Nudstrumov stepped over to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He placed a metal case on the top of his desk and opened it. There were three hypodermic needles inside.

“Roll up your sleeve, please,” he said, taking one of the needles.

There was a knock on the door.

“Everything is fine,” said the doctor. “Please see to the patients.”

“Doctor?” said one of the nurses.

“It’s fine. Please see to the patients.”

The doctor took a small antiseptic wipe and cleaned a spot on his arm. A second later the long, thick needle plunged through his skin.

Warmth began spreading through his body immediately. By the time the third shot had been administered, he was back to his old self.