Secure for Allie.

She turned and strode quickly down the street and away from the station.

* * *

Tavak paused before going down the steps, his gaze searching the crowds below.

There he was, plowing his way toward the door through the mob of people. But when he caught sight of Tavak, he stopped by a booth and pretended to look at umbrellas.

The game was starting.

Tavak felt a familiar rush of adrenaline.

Come on, let's move it, bastard. Come and get me.

Who are you? He didn't recognize him as any of the men in Kontar's tomb. It would be better if he knew who he was dealing with.

He reached for his phone and shot a quick photo before he started slowly down the stairs. He punched in a number and Ben answered before Tavak even knew it was ringing.

"It's Tavak. Is your laptop on?"

"No 'Hi, how are you feeling?' "

"No time. I just e-mailed you a picture. Compare it with the file of Dawson's known associates that I gave you to research. You still have it, don't you?"

"Sure, what have you gotten yourself into?"

He started striding quickly through the crowds. "Just look, will you?"

"I already am. I see your photo. Oh, kind of a scary-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"He's about twenty feet behind me now."

"I guess that's why you're in a hurry."

"Are you opening the Dawson file?"

"As we speak. I'm scrolling through it now. Not all of these names have photos attached, though. I'm still looking… You didn't send me the best photo, you know."

"Maybe I can ask him to strike a pose. He's about ten feet closer now."

"Okay. Okay. I think I've found him. David Medelin. Dawson picked him up in Croatia. He's good with firearms, but his specialty is knives. He was detained in London Heathrow for trying to board a plane with a ceramic blade in his boot. Need anything else?"

Knives. Okay, Medelin. The rules of the game are set. "No, thanks."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take care of it." Tavak cut the connection. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Medelin had dropped back a few yards.

Tavak glanced at the electronic schedule board that hung over the terminal's large atrium. A Thalya train from Amsterdam had arrived a few minutes before and was probably still on platform eight. That would fit the bill.

He made his way down the stairs that would take him to the open-air platform. A silver-and-red TGV high-speed train was waiting. Perfect.

Tavak walked the length of the train, glancing through the long windows and noting that a cleaning crew was aboard. The first and last cars were power cars, with sleek, angled heads that reminded him of a snake. The door of the last car was propped open.

Come on, Medelin. Your coach is waiting.

Tavak stepped inside the train and surveyed the interior, which was similar to an airline cockpit with its two bucket seats situated before an instrument panel and a large window.

You like knives, Medelin? Too boring. I kind of like the idea of using the train itself.

He picked up a metal clipboard and used it to pry open a door behind the seats. He shimmied through the narrow engineering section and stopped.

He heard something.

Medelin had entered the car.

Tavak slid into a recessed area between engineering panels.

Medelin's footsteps echoed in the forward compartment, then moved into the engineering section. Silence. The man had stopped, probably gauging his next step.

Then there was a deep breath, a rustle of fabric, and a tentative step forward.

Tavak couldn't see him yet. Okay, picture him. If Medelin was holding a blade, it was probably level with his waist. Men typically held handguns closer to their chests.

He was betting on the blade. Thanks, Ben.

Now!

Tavak lunged out of the recess, grabbed Medelin's wrist, and struck the back of his hand hard against the metal panel. A brown ceramic knife flew from his hand and stuck upright in the tiled floor.

Tavak threw open a door labeled TRANSFORMATEUR and jammed Medelin's head against the mechanism. With one hand around the man's throat, Tavak reached up and placed his thumb on a red button. "Twenty-five thousand volts, friend. Don't move."

Medelin froze. "You're crazy. You'll fry us both."

"No, I won't. I'll shove you deep into that transformer the same time I push the button. The electricity will come off those lines outside, down the pantograph, and into your body. Trust me, I know a thing or two about trains. I've been in and out of this station for years, and my friend, Raoul, is very proud of all these supertrains. Now let's talk. Why are you following me, Medelin?"

"I wasn't following you."

Tavak's hand moved closer to the red button.

"Okay," Medelin said. "I was paid to do it."

Why was he even bothering to ask these questions? Tavak thought impatiently. He knew the answers. It wasn't going to change anything.

It was because he had this stupid horror of making mistakes. He always had to be sure. "Dawson?"

"Since you know my name, I'm sure you already know that. I'm not here to hurt you."

"No?"

"He just wants to know where you're going."

"I'm sure he does. But what happens when I—Shit!"

Medelin had snapped a blade from his wrist and stabbed Tavak in his right side. When Tavak's grip loosened, Medelin pulled away from the transformer.

Tavak shoved him back and grabbed the arm with the blade.

Medelin's lips were curled back in an ugly sneer. "Why, you're bleeding, Mr. Tavak."

Tavak twisted Medelin's wrist and buried the blade in the man's stomach.

"Why, so are you, Mr. Medelin."

He pressed the red button.

* * *

It has been over three hours, Rachel thought. Where the hell is Tavak?

Maybe he wasn't coming. Maybe that bizarre episode at the train station was just a trick to cover Tavak's attempt to disappear. After all, Rachel hadn't checked out that hard drive. She'd probably been stupid to trust what Tavak had said was really on it. Here she'd been sitting worrying about the son of a bitch, and he could be playing her for a fool.

But the expression on Tavak's face when he'd gone back into that station had not been an act for her benefit. It had shocked her and brought home what kind of man she was dealing with. She should take the hard drive and run.

And she should certainly not be worrying that Tavak might be hurt or-—

A knock on her door. "Tavak."

She was across the room in seconds and throwing it open. "You could have called me. Where have you—"

"Do you mind if I come in?" Tavak didn't wait for an answer. He entered the room and shut the door. "I need a little help." He shrugged out of the leather jacket. "I stopped at a pharmacy and picked up a first-aid kit, but it will be quicker if someone else does the bandage."

"First-aid kit. What—" She stopped as she saw that the right side of his chambray shirt was soaked with blood. "My God."

"It looks worse than it is. Flesh wound in the side." He handed her the plastic bag. "Please."

She gazed at him, stunned. "What kind of wound?"

"Knife."

"You should go to a doctor. Report it to the police."

"No. And no. Too many complications." He sat down in the chair at the desk. "Will you do it or shall I?"

Rachel didn't move for a moment, but then she opened the bag and took out the first-aid kit. "I'll do it." She turned and went into the bathroom and got a clean cloth and water. "What kind of complications?"