Slowly, Ralph walked toward the mountain-sized man to cuff him.

++++

The office was on a slope, and the closest door was on the lower level. I threw it open and—with a sense of both caution and urgency—entered.

The cat.

The mouse.

Which was which?

Which were we?

Although there was a hazy layer of smoke, I didn’t see any flames down here in the basement.

“Hello?” I called. “Blake? Sheldrick?”

As I rounded a corner, I saw, at the far end of the room, a man seated on a chair facing away from me.

“Hands up,” I ordered. “Now!”

He did not comply.

“Let me see your hands!”

Still, he didn’t move.

I approached.

His hair was the wrong color for Blake or Sheldrick and, based on what we knew so far about who was involved in this case, I couldn’t guess who it might be.

However, as I came closer, I realized his head was drooping forward at an impossibly sharp angle.

Then I caught sight of his face.

Middle Eastern descent.

Dead. Throat slit.

Ibrahim?

Maybe.

We’d figure that out later.

A flag with the emblem of The Brigade of the Prophet’s Sword hung nearby, and a video camera sat on a tripod beside it.

++++

Mannie waited until Ralph was right behind him, then spun and went for the gun.

As they both struggled for it, it went off, the bullet burying itself near their feet in the snow.

Ralph tugged to get free, but Mannie’s strength was unstoppable. He wrenched the Glock away and tossed it far out of reach.

“Let’s settle this like men,” Mannie said.

“Alright.”

“I should tell you, I’ve never lost a fight in my life.”

“Sorry to be the one who’s gonna break that streak.”

Immediately, Mannie threw a punch, but Ralph blocked it. Mannie did the same when Ralph came at him with an uppercut. Then, after backing up to collect themselves, the two titans went at each other in the cascading snow.

++++

A voice behind me. Blake. “I’ve got a hostage here, Patrick. Do not turn around or he dies.”

78

2:02 P.M.

I froze.

++++

Timothy turned off the car, made sure he had the X-ACTO knife and the letter opener, and stepped outside to face his father.

++++

Blake said to me, “Drop your gun. Kick it behind you. Do it now.”

I hesitated.

“If you make me give you a countdown, Duane dies.”

Slowly, I knelt, set down my SIG, and slid it backward toward where Blake’s voice was coming from. Then I stood.

“You can face me now. No sudden moves.”

I turned around.

He was holding a tactical knife to Duane Sheldrick’s neck but now indicated for Duane to pick up the gun, and when he did, Blake stepped away.

Evidently, he hadn’t been planning to kill his associate after all.

Imagine that.