The room went dead still. Kuga gaped at him. And then he whirled and hurled the whiskey glass at the big mirror over the couch, which exploded in a shower of jagged splinters that slashed the leather. He swept his arm along the top of the wet bar and sent $5,000 worth of quality whiskey and brandy crashing to the floor. The bottles smashed apart and filled the air with the abusive stink of a distillery factory floor. The door banged open, and two Fixers entered, their sidearms drawn.

“Get the hell out!” roared Kuga, and they fled.

He stormed through the room, kicking over the coffee table and knocking everything onto the floor. “How the fucking hell is Joe fucking Ledger at that fucking prison? How, Rafael? How? Does that mean he knows? Christ on a stick … does Ledger know?”

Santoro walked into the middle of the storm and stood right in front of Kuga. For a fragile moment, the taller man loomed over him, fist bunched, arm cocked, ready to strike. Santoro’s arms were at his side, and fast as he was, there was no way he could have blocked or evaded that blow.

And it stopped Kuga cold.

The tall American stood panting, face flushed to a hypertensive scarlet.

“Does he know, Rafael?” asked Kuga again, and this time, his voice was soft. Desperate. Even afraid. “Does Ledger know? Why else would he be there? Does Church know?”

“I don’t know, my friend,” said Santoro, placing his hands on Kuga’s broad shoulders. And it was a mark of how important this moment was that he meant that word. Friend. He meant it, and Kuga felt it.

“Do … do we need to stop the plan?”

Santoro gave Kuga’s shoulders a squeeze, then dropped his hands. “Eve said that Dr. Brozović was liberated from his cell without incident. The violence at the processing plant was centralized in two places—the bunkhouse where the staff was sleeping and the corridor outside Casanova’s cell.”

Kuga turned and walked over to the window, his lips pursed, eyes narrowed and calmer.

“Casanova doesn’t know about the American Operation. As far as I know, all he was ever told was that there was one planned.”

“Yes,” said Santoro. “He knows that, and he knows about R-33. It was Brozović who possessed the knowledge that could damage us. Eve insists that Ledger got nowhere near the wing where he was kept.”

Kuga nodded but said nothing.

“As for Mr. Church,” said Santoro, wincing a little at the name, “I believe Ledger is still acting alone. There’s been no team action, even when such a choice would have been tactically necessary to prevent Ledger from taking undue risks. No, he’s out there on his own.”

“He’s doing a hell of a lot of damage alone,” said Kuga caustically.