The Russian swung the big limo through the heavy traffic and around the turn at the next corner, then slowed with the backup in the right lane. Josef Bogatinoff stepped off the sidewalk and yanked open the rear door of the limo. As he slid in beside Smythe, he jerked the cell phone from Smythe’s hand and tossed it through the grate of a streetside gutter. The big Russian shoved the wide-eyed executive across the seat and slammed the door shut before Smythe could utter a sound. With the door closed, no one on the street could see anything inside the big car through the darkened glass.

Vujnovich moved into the left lane and swung the limo back into the flow of traffic, headed down Broad, just another of a mass of black limos and bright yellow taxicabs prowling the world’s financial capital.

Bogatinoff pulled a large pistol from his belt and pointed it at Alan Smythe’s nose.

“Just sit quietly and do not make move,” he growled. “If you blink, I will fix that face so people will run screaming anytime they see you coming.”

Alan Smythe looked down the endless bore of the pistol, at the cold, blank look on the big man’s dark face, and promptly fainted dead away.

Chapter 29

Catherine Goldman checked her watch for the hundredth time. Five minutes until noon. Mikhail would be on the stairs now, bringing her lunch to the cramped bedroom that had become her jail.

Sure enough, she could hear his heavy feet at the bottom of the stairs as he hummed loudly and off-key. She scurried across the room and into the tiny closet, trying to be as quiet as possible. She closed the door behind her, then knelt down to grasp the edges of the old metal grate with the tips of her fingers. She yanked up.

It wouldn’t budge.

She strained, pulled harder, the sweat popping out on her brow. Her fingers bled where the sharp edges of the grate cut them. The stubborn thing refused to move.

She could hear the dull clumping of the big Russian’s footsteps as he made his way along the upstairs hallway. He hummed and then broke out into song, Russian words that she didn’t even try to translate. She forced herself to ignore the pain in her fingers, the sweat in her eyes.

It was only seconds before she would have to abandon all hope of escape. Who knew what the man would do to her when he found her, cowering in the closet, her fingers bloody, crying like some chastised child?

She had to get out!