“The fed building’s circulatory fans are going to disperse it fine,” Curt said. He grabbed the canvas bag and opened the top. “Let’s get the stuff packed up.”

Yuri handed Curt the towel. He used it as a lining for the bag. Once it was in place he had Steve reach in with the sausage he had in his hand. Curt gingerly picked up another and carefully placed it next to the first.

“You don’t have to be that careful,” Yuri said. “The plastic is surprisingly tough. There’s no way you could tear it with your hands.”

Encouraged, Curt picked up the other three sausages in turn and put them in the bag. He put the envelope in on top. Then he handed the bag to Steve.

“I guess that’s it,” Curt said to Yuri.

“Good luck,” Yuri said.

Curt started to turn, but as he did so, he drew his Glock from behind his back. In a quick smooth motion he whipped the gun around and pointed it at Yuri. Yuri’s eyes opened wide and his mouth went slack.

Curt pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Yuri in the middle of the forehead just above the eyebrows. Blood and bits of gore sprayed back and splattered against the refrigerator. Yuri collapsed, as if his legs had been taken out from under him.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve shouted in consternation. “What the hell did you shoot him for?”

Curt thrust his gun back into his holster. He nudged Yuri with his foot. He was still technically alive, although barely. With the gurgling noises he was making, it was apparent to Curt that Yuri’s end was near.

“I thought we were going to have the troops come back here later,” Steve cried. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to shoot him.”

“Are you going soft on me?” Curt demanded. He glared at Steve.

“Shit, no,” Steve said. “But you could have let me know you were planning on doing something like this. It scared the hell out of me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Curt snarled. “But the bastard pissed me off with the way he was acting. Did you hear the way he said it was too late to insist when we were talking about taking the anthrax out of the duster? It was like he was giving us orders. The irony is that I was trying to give him a chance. Hell, if he’d thrown in with us on the proper target and not this stupid, senseless terrorist stuff, I wouldn’t have done him in at all.”

Steve put down the canvas bag and went back to the coffee table. He picked up his glass and took a generous swallow of the cold vodka. He shuddered. “I just wish you’d clue me in ahead of time about what you’re thinking.”

“Come on, you pansy!” Curt said. “Get the bag! Let’s get out of here.”