Stafford had to control his temper, but even so, his words came out tight. “Please be specific.”

“There are four possibilities,” said Dingo. “There were six, but I eliminated one because I hacked the hotel’s lobby cameras and the dog was the wrong size. And the other got cut because the hotel wasn’t big enough. You said only big hotels, right?”

“Yes.”

“Of the remaining four, I could only get into one lobby cam, and the dog’s about the right sight but the coloring’s off. Don’t know a thing about the other dogs.”

“Give me the four names.”

Dingo provided the names. Stafford considered them and said, “Eliminate the Hotel New York.”

“Sure, but why?”

“Says he’s from America. Ledger would never be that obvious.”

“Maybe he’s being just that clever,” suggested Dingo.

“No. Cut him from the list. I’ll check the other three.”

“Okay.”

“Can you run deep background on those three men?”

“Maybe.”

Stafford hung up on him.

CHAPTER 77

ROTTERDAM MARRIOTT HOTEL

ROTTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS

I sat very still.

“Touched a nerve, have I?” asked Toys.

“You’re about to touch the pavement when I throw you out the damned window.”

“I’ll pencil in two minutes next week to be afraid,” he said. “Look, mate, I’m not here for a male bonding exercise, and this isn’t bloody group therapy. I think Church let me come looking for you because I know more about personal darkness than you do.”

“You think so?”

“I effing well know so. Seriously, you want to match sins with me? I was a fucking criminal, a terrorist, and a murderer.” He paused. “Am a murderer. That didn’t change with my job description. And, sure, you went all American Psycho on those lab techs in Croatia, but as far as I’m concerned, boo-fucking-hoo. You did some damage in South Africa and in Italy. Cry me a river. You killed a bunch of right bastards. Sure, without mercy and maybe with a grin and a hard-on. Who knows and who cares? If we’re measuring guilt, then my dick is way bigger than yours.”

“This conversation is surreal,” I said.

“I’m just getting warmed up.”

“No,” I said, “you’re not. You’re done. We’re not having this conversation. Not now or ever. We are not friends, Toys. If you want to be the bigger Big Bad, fine. Enjoy. Sins are relative, and mine are … are…”

I actually could not finish my sentence because I could feel—literally feel—the Darkness rising inside me. It was like bile and vomit and sickness taking form inside me. If I were a more religious person, I’d think I was possessed. And maybe I was. Whatever it was, there was nothing natural about it.