When Isphording and the guards were found, the story they would tell would be too bizarre to be anything other than the truth. After being grabbed by the Russian mob, the lawyer’s rescuers had then been attacked by rogue members of the PLO looking for money missing since Arafat’s death. The attack had been savage, and none of the Russians survived. Then the terrorists ran off when they learned one of their men might have been picked up by the police. What couldn’t be so easily explained is what happened to the Russians’ bodies and why the terrorists hadn’t taken Isphording with them. Nor would they be able to trace how the “Palestinians” got into the country in the first place.

Juan wasn’t too concerned with those details. The Swiss authorities would rattle their sabers about tighter border restrictions, but in the end they’d be satisfied because no civilians had been hurt throughout the ordeal, they had their star witness back in custody, and the world was minus a few gangsters from Saint Petersburg. And as a bonus, he thought that they would probably put pressure on Isphording to explain where the former head of the PLO had stashed the billions he’d stolen from his people. Who knew, maybe they’d even get some of it back.

The one thing he couldn’t control was if the lawyer revealed what he’d said under interrogation. He didn’t want the Swiss looking into Anton Savich, whoever he was, or a Sikh shipping mogul named Shere Singh. He could only hope that the lawyer was as frightened of Savich as he was of the PLO and would keep silent.

Dr. Huxley stepped out of the warehouse’s only lavatory. She’d washed away the fake blood from her face. She’d also stripped down to a black tank top that barely contained her curves to clean the mess away from her arm. The squib that had made it appear her arm had been blown nearly off had left a livid purple bruise on her otherwise flawless white skin.

“Are you okay, Ludmilla?”

“Da,” Julia deadpanned, rubbing the spot. “Is nothing.” Then she arched a teasing eyebrow. “Why is it everyone but you and Hali look like extras from some zombie B-movie?”

“Because none of you either speak Arabic or look Arabic.” He laughed. “Although Hali’s portrayal of the steely-eyed terrorist, Mohammad, left a lot to be desired. He had just a couple of lines to learn, and he managed to mangle both. On a brighter note, I have to hand it to Kevin and his team in the Magic Shop. They really outdid themselves this time. Especially Linc’s effect. For a second I thought it had gone wrong and his head really had exploded.”

“Scared me, too,” Julia admitted.