The only lights in the building had come from the top-floor windows. Yet Dewey stared down the stairs toward the basement.

*   *   *

Cloud entered the basement seconds before he heard the door to the building open. He was panting. His heart was beating fast. He lurched behind the wall, raising the gun, then peeked out. It was Andreas.

The American had an angry look on his face as he entered the building. His gun was raised, trained out in front of him, the muzzle moving in time with his eyes, which scanned the entrance area.

Cloud studied him as he looked around the first-floor landing. Cloud’s hands were trembling. He heard Andreas’s footsteps just above his head as he opened the door to the first floor, searching for him.

Should I kill him?

Cloud remained still, in the basement, hiding against the concrete wall, waiting for Andreas to come back. Then, from above, he heard more footsteps, then the sound of the door shutting. He peered out. He saw one of Andreas’s legs, then the rest of his body came into view. Suddenly, his eyes shot down toward him, as if he’d sensed him there. Cloud remained still, holding his breath.

No. He would win that battle. Before you have time to aim and fire, a bullet will rip through you. He won’t kill you, not yet anyway. Not until he tortures the information out of you.

Cloud remembered the cell phone in his pocket. He’d forgotten to turn off the ringer. The conversation with the hacker. If he received a message now, the chime would be loud enough for Andreas to hear. Yet if he moved his arm to shut it off, even the faintest scratch of friction might be caught by the American …

Cloud held the gun tight, wanting nothing more than to not drop it or make a noise.

Gently, he slipped his left hand into his pocket and turned off the phone’s ringer, keeping his eyes on the landing one flight above.

Andreas’s eyes stared into the dark stairwell for another two or three seconds. It felt like an eternity. Then he turned and moved out of view.

*   *   *

Dewey opened the door to the first floor.

The room was empty and dark. He glanced down toward the basement, seeing nothing but darkness. He climbed the stairs, moving floor by floor. At the second floor, he opened the door. It too was empty. When he opened the door to the third floor, heat escaped from the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw hundreds of computer servers, stacked together in rows, with large coils of black cable interspersed between them. Their pulsing lights casting a red and green hue.

Dewey climbed the stairs to the top floor. Quietly, he twisted the door handle and opened the steel door.

He entered quickly, gun raised, sweeping the muzzle of the Desert Eagle .50 AE across the air as his eyes scanned for movement. The room was large, mostly empty, except for tables, a few chairs, and computers.

Then he registered the corpse on the ground. It was the man he’d seen in front of the safe house. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing, his chest was drenched in red.

Dewey moved into the room. He held the gun out in front, searching corner to corner, but the room was empty. Cloud was gone.

*   *   *

Cloud waited several minutes, listening for the sound of doors opening and closing as Andreas ascended. When he heard the door to the third floor open, then close, then heard the faint pounding of footsteps climbing to the fourth floor, he ran across the garage to the wall nearest the exit. A steel box was bolted to the wall. He opened it, then took out his cell phone and trained its light on the inside of the box. There were four red switches. Their purpose was simple: they controlled the fire doors to each floor.

In one fluid motion, Cloud flipped all four switches. Even from the basement, he heard the faint slamming of steel from the floors above as the dead bolts locked the fire doors on each floor.

He went to his motorcycle, pulled on the helmet, and raised the kickstand. He turned the ignition key. The Ducati roared to life. He juiced it once. The sound of raw power exploded across the windowless basement. Cloud flipped on the lights, then scorched out of the building into the rainy night.

*   *   *

The silence was interrupted by the sound of metal slamming into metal, like a hammer striking an anvil.

The unmistakable sound of dead bolts slamming shut.

Dewey walked to the door. It was sealed tight. He pulled his cell from his pocket as he moved back toward the exit. He pressed 1 and held the button down, speed-dialing Malnikov.

“Do you have him?” asked Malnikov.

“He’s not here,” said Dewey. “And I’m locked in.”

“I’ll be right up—”

Malnikov’s words were interrupted by a high-pitched squealing noise: the unmistakable screech of rubber ripping too fast against tar.

Dewey ran to the window and looked to the street below. Through the rain, he saw the orange of a motorcycle breaking from the building’s basement.

“He went out a side entrance,” said Dewey. “You need to move. Go up a block, then left. Follow him.”

“I’m on it.”

Dewey watched as Cloud sped up a side street into the rain-crossed darkness. A few seconds later, the red Ferrari burst around the corner after him.

*   *   *

“Are you sure he got it?” asked Calibrisi, referring to Igor’s last message.

“Yes, I’m sure. He also read it.”

Calibrisi glanced at Polk.

“Any ideas?” asked Calibrisi.

“It’s time to sacrifice our queen,” said Polk.

Calibrisi nodded.

“Tell Igor to offer up Katya,” said Calibrisi, picking up the phone. “Control, get Derek Chalmers on the line.”

*   *   *

Chalmers was seated in front of the fireplace when his cell rang. Despite the fact that it was July, the temperature in Scotland, aided by the rainstorm, remained in the fifties, and so he’d built a fire. Katya was downstairs. After two six-hour sessions, Chalmers was allowing her to sleep for a few hours, though the truth was, he didn’t think there was much more to find.

“Chalmers.”

“It’s Hector.”

“Hello, Hector.”

“We found him. He wants to do a deal.”

Chalmers stood up.

“Hector, I don’t need to tell you the criticality of not being played,” said Chalmers.

“No, you don’t. But I’m going to offer him something in exchange for the bomb.”

The door to the basement suddenly opened. Katya slowly popped her head out. She smiled at Chalmers.

“I’ll have her ready,” said Chalmers. “One question though: What happens after he tells you where the bomb is?”

Calibrisi was silent. Both men knew the answer. The moment the bomb was stopped, Cloud would die, and it would likely be a strike from a drone high in the sky. The collateral damage would destroy anyone within fifty feet of Cloud.

“Don’t you get played either,” said Calibrisi. “It’s unavoidable. I’ll let you know what he says, but in the meantime, I’d get airborne.”

“And go where?”

“Set a course for Moscow. I’ll have the secretary of state arrange the permissions.”

“Does Russia know about the bomb?”

“No. As far as they’re concerned, we’re simply returning their ballerina.”

“At this point, why not tell them?” asked Chalmers.

“Because I’m not a hundred percent sure they’d want to stop the bomb.”

*   *   *

Dewey searched for another way out of the room. In the far corner was another door, but it too was bolted shut. He tried to kick open each of the doors, but it was futile. He was trapped.

He went to the window and looked out, trying to think of a way out.

Glancing around, he saw cables linking the different computers and screens together. There weren’t many, but perhaps there were enough to lower himself at least another floor, maybe two, and then jump.

He raised the gun, aimed at the window, and fired. The slug tore into the window and made a dull thump, and that was all. He fired again, same spot, same thud. Then again. This time the slug hit the embedded slug and ricocheted. He fired again and again, until the mag was spent.