“Take them,” he said. “Put ’em on.”

Finally, she raised her head, and he saw that her face was wet with tears.

“I don’t understand,” she said dully.

“There’s a U.S. Consulate General at Museumplein nineteen. If you can get there, they’ll take care of you.”

“You rescued me,” she said in a strange, hollow voice. “You came for me. What the hell would you do that for?”

“I didn’t come for you,” he snapped. “I came for them.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she said. “Please don’t lie to me.” A quaver entered her voice. She seemed to be on the verge of collapse, and yet she started to talk, drawling through her tears, desperately clinging to the tattered vestiges of her professionalism. “If you wanted to interrogate one of them, you could have taken one alive and left. You didn’t. You didn’t, because they’d have killed me if you did.”

“Get yourself to the consulate,” he said. “File an After-Action Report. You know the regs.”

“Answer me, goddammit!” She rubbed the tears from her face desperately, frantically, with the palms of both hands. However traumatized and battered, she remained fiercely ashamed of the display of weakness, vulnerability. She tried to stand up, but the muscles in her legs rebelled and she only ended up sinking to the ground again.

“How come you didn’t take out Steve Holmes?” She was breathing heavily. “I saw what happened. You could have taken him out. Should have taken him out. Standard combat procedure is, you take the guy out. But all you did was disarm him. Why would you do that?” She coughed, and tried for a brave smile, but it looked like a wince. “Nobody uses a goddamn Havahart trap in the middle of a gunfight!”

“Maybe I missed. Maybe I was out of ammunition.”

Her face was red as she slowly shook her head. “You think I can’t handle the truth? Well, I don’t know if I can. I just know that I can’t hear any more lies right now.”

“Museumplein nineteen,” Janson repeated.

“Don’t leave me here,” she said, her voice cracking with fear and bewilderment. “I’m scared, all right? These fuckers weren’t in the prep book. I don’t know who they are or what they want or where they are. All I know is, I need help.”

“The consulate will help.” Janson started to walk away.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, Paul Janson! I almost killed you three times. The least you owe me is an explanation.”

“Report back to work,” Janson replied. “Go back to your job.”

“I can’t. Don’t you understand anything?” Suddenly, her voice became thick; the woman who sought to kill him was choking up. “My job—my job is to kill you. I can’t do that now. I can’t do my job.” She laughed bitterly.