Fadiman nodded and stepped toward a door on the right. He pressed numbers on an electronic pad. With a soft click, the door unlocked.

The man on the bed sat up.

Fadiman opened the door. “I’ve got an old friend to see you.”

Demidov shook his head, seeming not to understand the words Fadiman used.

“Hi, Nick. Surely you remember me from London,” Simon said.

Again, Demidov shook his head, this time in what seemed genuine confusion.

“Yes, you and I and your sister had a long talk in London,” Simon continued. “If you want to see her anytime soon, you need to do what I tell you. Do you understand? Do you want to see her? Say it in English so I know we’re communicating.”

There was a flash in Demidov’s eyes. Anger? No, more disgust.

“My sister?” the prisoner asked.

“Damn,” Fadiman said. “That’s what I call fast results.”

The agent suddenly groaned as Simon thrust an arm around his throat, pulled the man’s pistol from beneath his jacket and pushed him into the room. Not knowing if Fadiman had a round in the chamber, Simon racked back the slide. Now, for sure, the weapon was ready to fire.

Fadiman held up his hands. “Are you fucking crazy?”

Standing inside the doorway where he could keep his pistol aimed at both Fadiman and Demidov, Simon ordered the Russian out.

Demidov moved smoothly past him and Simon followed, closing the door, making sure it locked. Through the glass wall he saw Fadiman charge toward the door and yank at the handle.

“Where’s my bitch sister?” Demidov asked angrily.

“Waiting.”

Simon whipped the pistol across his face.

• • •

LIZ’S EARLOBE FELT ON FIRE.

Her shoulders and wrists throbbed.

But more than anything, she was filled with rage. Adrenaline pulsing through her, she’d heard Simon talk with someone named Fadiman about Nick Demidov, the man Simon had been asking about at the FBI. The sound of a scuffle was followed by someone groaning.

Rudy and Max listened intently.

From the room’s speaker came Simon’s voice. “Let’s go, asshole. Your sister’s waiting for you.”

Max cheered. “He must’ve decked the FBI agent.”

The transmission crackled, garbling what Simon and Demidov were saying.

“Cell phone must’ve gone out of range. Simon Childs isn’t Rambo,” Rudy said. “But he busted out our Rambo!”

“Yeah, Demidov’s a hotshot,” Max said. “But that’s what it takes to run this outfit. Once he’s back, things’ll get normal again.”

“Drugs and whores,” Rudy whooped.

Max shook his head and laughed. “You’re so lame.”

Now Liz understood. Nick Demidov wasn’t a mere courier. He was the head of their Mafia clan. That’s why they’d gone to so much trouble to kidnap her and force Simon to help them.

Max set his coffee mug down on the security console. “I’m gonna celebrate the boss’s escape by taking a leak.” He hefted himself up and marched across the room toward the door on Liz’s left.

“No prob. I’ve got lots of entertainment here.”