“Put on the cuffs,” the man said. His voice was all threat. Ridgeway was trying to calculate how quickly he’d the of the gunshots if he lunged at the killer when he caught a glimpse of a blur so swift that it seemed to segue into the gray morning rain.

Instants later, an arm appeared from behind the killer and jerked his head backward. Reflexively the man pulled the trigger on the silenced machine gun. Ridgeway rolled onto the floor of the limo as slugs pounded into the closed door behind him, tracking up into the roof.

Seth looked up and saw the butcher’s eyes grow wide with surprise, then pain. Finally the man closed his eyes and his facial muscles went slack.

Struggling up to a sitting position, Ridgeway watched as the young man’s body was tossed aside. Through the open door, Ridgeway saw two rain-splattered legs clad in gray slacks, and above them a navy-blue windbreaker. His savior’s face was not visible. Ridgeway watched as one of the arms of the windbreaker pulled a long folding woodsman’s knife from the young man’s back. The other hand pulled a cloth handkerchief from the rear pocket of the pants and wiped the blood from the blade. The hands folded the blade, then placed it in a pocket of the wind-breaker. A moment later, the man leaned down.

“Ridgeway?” came the voice. “Ridgeway, are you all right?”

Ridgeway looked up into George Stratton’s cleanshaven face, and for one insane moment all he could think about was what a lousy backhand the man had shown in Zurich.

EIGHT

Zoe followed the Hulk through warehouse shadows and corridors of darkness. The handcuff binding her to his wrist rattled meekly between their hands. Thalia walked silently behind them as they made their way toward a large structure in the middle of the cavernous warehouse that resembled stage scenery and sets for an unfinished house. The roof was flat like a box and it sat without a foundation directly on the stained concrete floor. Barely visible in the darkness, cables—for power and the computer network—snaked down to the structure from the warehouse ceiling.

One hundred ninety-six, Zoe counted silently and took another step. One hundred ninety-seven, one hundred ninety-eight.

They stopped before a metal door set in the narrow end of the structure. One hundred and ninety eight steps from her sleeping cell to her working cell. Every day, one hundred ninety eight steps there, one hundred ninety-eight steps back. The monotony had grated on her nerves at first, but as the months went by, they turned into a comforting ritual that defined the physical limits of her life.

The Hulk inserted his key, unlocked the door, and stepped in, jerking Zoe in with him. An instant later, light flooded the room as the Hulk flipped on all the switches. The light filled a room with neutral walls that was at least twice as long as it was wide. Color-corrected lighting hung generously from the high ceilings and evenly bathed everything in near shadowless illumination.