The guards maintained their defiant look but knew there was nothing they could do. They laid the weapons on the dashboard and slowly reached for the door handles. As soon as the doors unlocked, a member of the team was ready with plastic-tie handcuffs, blindfolds, and gags. Hali yanked the key ring from the driver’s polished belt and tossed it to Juan.

The chairman climbed over the top of the armored van and jumped lightly to the floor of the trailer. On the fifth attempt he inserted the correct key into the lock, but before he turned it, he nodded to one of his men.

If anything went wrong there was no reason for Kara and Rudolph Isphording to be able to give the same description of Yuri Zayssev, so he had General Operations specialist Michael Trono call out in Russian-accented English, “To the guard in there with Herr Isphording. Your two comrades have already been subdued. They will not be harmed, and neither will you. I am going to open the door just enough for you to toss out your weapon. If you do not, I will be forced to use tear gas. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” the guard responded.

“Herr Isphording, how many guns does the guard have?”

“Just a pistol,” the lawyer replied.

“Very good. Has he removed it from its holster?”

“Yes.”

“That is very wise of you,” Trono said. “Herr Isphording, take the gun from him and move to the rear door. I am opening it now. Toss the weapon onto the floor.”

Cabrillo cracked open the heavy door, and a black revolver clattered off the rear bumper. Hali and Julia had joined them, their weapons at the ready. Juan nodded to them and heaved the door all the way open. The frightened guard sat on a bench that ran along one wall of the van. He understood enough of the situation to have already laced his fingers on top of his head. Hali cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded him while Julia helped the paunchy lawyer from the vehicle. The other two guards were shoved into the back of the van, and Juan locked them in.

Isphording saw five armed commandos, some wearing work clothes, others all in black. One had the curves of a woman, and he guessed it was Ludmilla. “Is one of you Yuri Zayysev?” he asked eagerly.

“Da,” one of the commandos answered. His work clothes were streaked with gray powder, and when he stripped off his mask, his face was still streaked with dust. His hair was red, like Isphording had been told to expect, and his beard had been trimmed to a ruddy goatee.

“Mr. Savich sends his compliments, Rudolph.” The man used the name Isphording himself had provided. “Of course, he couldn’t meet you in person, but you will see him soon enough. There is an office at the back of the warehouse. Ludmilla will take you there. We’ll leave here in a few minutes.”