Julia had taken off her mask so that the attorney could see that she was the woman he knew as Ludmilla, although she wasn’t wearing the disguise.

“Thank you.” Isphording pumped her hand. “And my wife? What about Kara?”

“Another team is fetching her now,” the woman called Ludmilla replied.

“Thank you,” the lawyer repeated. “I thank all of you for saving me.”

“You were not harmed?” Ludmilla asked as Isphording followed her out of the trailer. Linc had placed a stepladder at the rear door to make it easier for him.

“No. I am fine. A little frightened perhaps. Until you came on Friday I had no idea the Palestinians were after me. I’m grateful to you all.”

Julia gave him a smile. “You have Mr. Savich to thank. We are just doing as he ordered.”

“I knew he’s a powerful man, but I had no idea he could arrange something like this.”

“Here we are,” Ludmilla announced.

The office was spartan, just a couple of desks and filing cabinets and a worn vinyl couch under a frosted glass window. The floors were scuffed linoleum, and the room smelled of cigarettes. Curtains were drawn over the large piece of plate glass that overlooked the warehouse floor. Isphording collapsed onto the couch and accepted the bottle of water Ludmilla handed him.

A few minutes later Yuri Zayysev strode into the office. He’d left his machine pistol out in the warehouse, but he’d belted a holster around his lean waist.

“What happens now, Herr Zayysev?” Isphording asked.

“We’re waiting for some more of my people, and then we are leaving. The man who drove the truck thinks he might have been followed, so we’re hurrying our schedule. We don’t know if the Palestinians are on to us or not.”

“They haven’t operated outside the Middle East in years,” Isphording said. “They must truly be desperate.”

“A lot of money is unaccounted for since Yasir Arafat’s death,” Zayysev countered, “enough to make anyone desperate.”