Solomon Adashek nods at the boy, his thin lips pursing in a forced smile. ‘A pleasure to finally meet you, young man. Mr. Kurtz and Mr. Beck have told me so much about you.’

‘Like what?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What have they told you?’

‘Well, for one thing, that you’re quite the athlete. Mrs. Gabriel, perhaps you can call your other son in, there are a few new procedures I need to go over with all of you before you go to bed.’

‘Manny’s probably in the SOSUS lab.’

‘No,’ Jacob says. ‘I saw him playing basketball.’

‘Okay, I’ll be right back.’ Dominique heads outside, leaving her son alone with the government-trained killer.

‘Jacob, I have something for you, a little gift from the CIA.’ Solomon Adashek removes the small cigar-sized canister from his jacket pocket, popping open the seal on the pressurized lid as he aims it at the boy.

‘What … iz… . zit.’ Jake hears his words echoing hauntingly in his brain as the room spins, and he falls into the psychopath’s reptilian-cold embrace.

Mabus Estate 8:47 p.m.

Mike Renyze, Peter Mabus’s 260-pound ‘personal assistant’ greets Mitchell Kurtz at the front door. ‘Who da fuck’re you? Where’s Maurice?’

‘Maurice got sick on some bad X. I’m covering his shift.’ Kurtz hands the larger man the thermal pouch.’

From his thermal scanner, Beck watches with amusement as a white-hot spark ignites at the front door, and the hulking form collapses. He taps his communicator. ‘That’s twice you’ve used the same gimmick. What do you have in mind for our man?’

‘He gets tonight’s special.’ Kurtz drags the unconscious assistant into the bushes, then enters the mansion. He follows the polished marble floor to the back of the house and out through the kitchen to the back porch. ‘Mr. Mabus?’

Peter Mabus looks up from his lounge chair. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Maurice’s cousin, Phillip. The chef at Le Vielle Maison sent something special for you tonight to go along with your entrees. Your bodyguard said he’ll take it if you can’t finish it.’

Mabus approaches, intrigued. ‘So? What is it?’

Kurtz reaches into his thermal pouch and removes a fifteen-pound lobster, holding the animal by its tail. ‘Is this a beauty or what?’

Mabus’s mouth waters. ‘I like it, give it to me.’

Kurtz squeezes a trigger hidden in the lobster’s belly.

Two darts shoot out from the claw openings, puncturing Mabus’s chest.

The billionaire’s eyes roll up as he collapses to the wood deck.

Kurtz shoves the lobster-gun back inside the pouch, then bends over Mabus. Checks his pulse. ‘Pep, he’s out.’

‘Better move fast, the kid’s left his room.’

Kurtz removes the two darts and tosses them in the pouch. Removes the hypodermic needle from his belt.

‘He’s coming down the steps.’