Eve got to her feet, leaned across the desk, took Santoro by the face with both hands, and pulled him to her for a kiss. Not a sexual one—he was her father, after all—but it was full of a certain kind of passion. And Rafael Santoro, who loved his daughter more than anything left alive on earth, allowed it.

Then he pushed her gently back.

“Now listen to me,” he said softly. “I have a special mission for you.”

She grinned. “Berlin?”

“Yes,” he said, “Berlin.”

CHAPTER 85

ROTTERDAM MARRIOTT HOTEL

ROTTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS

Toys woke up with a groan. Sickness washed through him, and he crawled across the floor and into the bathroom, then threw up the excellent food and wine.

It took monumental effort to turn on the shower, strip off his clothes, and collapse into the bottom of the stall. The water pounded on him. He hadn’t gotten the water mix right, and the blast was icy.

“You … bastard…,” he gasped.

The Sandman had conjured inescapable nightmares for Toys, and his worst dreams were always about the innocent people he’d killed before Church had lured him away from that life. Toys had long ago memorized each name, knew details of their lives. They haunted him at the best of times, but in the drug-induced nightmares, they tore him apart endlessly.

Later.

Much later …

He took a proper shower, though his legs were still shaky. Then he ordered more food and when it arrived sat staring at it as if it were a plate of steaming offal.

It wasn’t until he staggered back from his fourth bathroom trip that he saw the briefcase. It was on a chair across the suite. It was a very expensive case, a Webster X Charles Simon Graphite Mackenzie Aluminum one. The same kind Sebastian Gault used. Very durable, hard to open. Stylish, which Toys took to mean that Ledger had stolen it. The barbarian had no personal style.

The case was unlocked.

He opened it to find file folders crammed with data stolen from the people Ledger had killed. And several external hard drives.

On top of those, though, was a handwritten note.

DON’T COME LOOKING FOR ME AGAIN.

NEXT TIME, I’LL USE A DIFFERENT GUN.

Toys took the case over to the bed and rifled through the contents.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured and scrambled to find his cell phone. However, before he could even dial a call, there was a knock on the door. He frowned, fetched his pistol, and peered out through the peephole. And grunted in surprise. Two people stood in the hall. A short, dumpy young man who looked like Matt Damon—if the actor broke training, lost IQ points, and forgot how to dress; and a tall, fit, elegant, and very beautiful woman with dark hair and darker eyes.

Toys ran fingers through his hair, tucked the gun into his waistband, and opened the door.