Nazari was looking at me. She had an embarrassed little smile that curled up at the edges of her mouth. A smile that said, ‘shit happens’. The corner window was open. The intruder had entered that way, then surprised Nazari and dragged her back to the drawing room, where he felt safer. It was the corner of the house hugging the cliff. Out of sight from where I had been positioned. The guy was looking at me, not at her, and not down at the gun. The Beretta was against her neck, but it wasn’t positioned for a kill shot. The barrel rested against her neck. No doubt the guy was a professional and could easily readjust. But he wasn’t going to be able to shoot her and then turn it on me. He’d have to choose.

I said, “If you want me, just go for me. You think I care about the nurse? Kill the nurse. You have to decide now. I figure you’ve got two seconds left, maximum.”

By then I was two paces away and piling pressure on the guy. All he needed to do was shift the pistol about fourteen degrees to his right and he’d be dead centered on my body mass. And all I needed was another fraction of a second.

The guy had already waited too long. Because I’d been shifting the screwdriver in my left sleeve down to my hand. While I was waving my arms in a big show of harmlessness, I was getting the sharpened tool loose from the wet duct tape, easing the soft-grip handle into my hand. And at the same time, the guy was making a decision. Getting me in the bag would make him a hero. That was a certainty. Probably a fat bonus had been promised. He knew that if he fired into Nazari’s neck she’d be dead. One hundred percent. But, he was experienced enough to know that there was a chance that it would be his last shot.

Operators are confident in their abilities. We’re selected and trained for that. So, he’d have some confidence of being able to take Nazari and me both. But I’d seen that twitch when he heard me say I was the American. Which meant that he’d been briefed. So he was aware that I was the danger, aware that there were new odds in play. No statistical certainty, just odds. And with me sliding an H&K over at him, he’d know the odds were pretty good that I’d taken it from one of his buddies.

Taken it without asking.

He made his decision, and swung the gun towards me. Fourteen degrees to go.