Charlie had told her to stay here and not let anyone in until he got back. Things had changed. Dmitri Ustinov swore that there were men on the way here already to kill her. The same men who had kidnapped her. Men she feared. She had no place left to run. They seemed able to find her wherever she went.

Still, it was no time to panic. She had to think of a plan.

Maybe calling the police was the right answer. She needed protection from those goons. So did Charlie. She had no idea how she would ever explain all this to some New York City flatfoot. It sounded crazy enough to her when she ran the unbelievable events of the last few days through her head. Stock-trading manipulations. Russian gangsters. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. Killing in self-defense. It all sounded like the plot from some over-the-top movie. The kind she and Charlie had enjoyed so much together the few times they had socialized after work. It had been about the only fun she allowed herself, sitting there in a theater with him, groaning at the convoluted story lines, laughing out loud at some of the silly dialogue. Now here she was, swallowed up in the middle of one of those far-fetched scenarios.

There wasn’t a lot of time to ponder what to do now. Goldman searched Gruver’s apartment until she found the phone book in a drawer under a kitchen counter. It was hidden by a stack of Chinese takeout menus and pizza delivery ads. Maybe, if she survived this whole mess, she could do something about Charlie’s eating habits as well.

She flipped the book open and found the number she was looking for. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“FBI, Special Agent Decker. Can I help you?”

Jason Hall hovered protectively over his unconscious patient. The Russian president remained on the edge, teetering between life and death. Hall was using every bit of knowledge and skill he had learned and honed during his years as a SEAL. He had no idea if it would be enough.

Thankfully the bleeding had stopped and the saline drip was restoring vital fluids to Smitrov’s system. Hall felt the man’s pulse for the hundredth time. Still weak, but better than it had been.

Bill Beaman stepped out of the command module and stooped beside Hall as the SEAL once again inflated the blood pressure cuff on Smitrov’s arm. “How is our patient, Jase?”

Hall checked the readout on the electronic panel and glanced up at Beaman. “Blood pressure is one hundred over seventy. It’s coming up. He may make it, despite my best efforts.”

Beaman clapped a large hand on the SEAL’s shoulder. “If Smitrov makes it, he owes his life to you.”

“Maybe, but I sure would feel better if he came around. It’s easier to work on a patient who can talk to you.”