Middleton took a deep breath, trying to gauge exactly what was going on around him. Dim early morning light filtered in through the mask. The air was heavy with the odors of fast-food grease and industrial pollution. From the movements around him, he guessed that there were at least four men, possibly more, no doubt all armed. Still, if he could get the Yarygin away from his captor he might stand a chance. It was now or never.

Slipping one hand into his pocket and grabbing the heating element, Middleton reached up and pulled the bag off his head.

Before the Russian could react, Middleton whirled around, jamming the jagged end of the metal element into the man’s eye. The makeshift weapon found its mark with a sickening thwack, lodging itself firmly in the guard’s upper cheek.

The man groaned in pain. Middleton caught his gun hand and wrenched it backward. Delivering a sharp blow to the Russian’s ribs with his free elbow, he pried the Yarygin free, then pivoted to face the others.

A split-second was all the time Middleton had to survey the situation, but it was long enough for him to realize that he was seriously outgunned. He’d been right about the five armed men, who were loosely gathered around a battered Niva, a low-rent Russian version of a Range Rover. What he hadn’t anticipated were the other four guards manning the tall iron gate that blocked the entrance to the villa’s courtyard. All were carrying light machine guns, Israeli Negevs from the looks of them.

One of the men by the Niva fired first, initiating a hail of gunfire. Fueled by a jolt of adrenaline, Middleton dove for the only cover available: the doorway he’d just come out of. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the beefy guard hit the ground, his chest riddled with bullets.

Crouched in the darkness, Middleton briefly considered his dwindling options. Fighting his way out of the courtyard, he knew, would be tantamount to suicide. The men had just shot one of their own; they’d kill him as soon as he stepped out the door. The only alternative was to head back into the villa, though this didn’t seem any more promising. Already he could hear footsteps above him. Desperately, he rose up on the balls of his feet, willing himself to act.

But before he could do so, a deafening roar filled the air. It was a sound Middleton knew all too well, the unmistakable snarl of an incoming RPG. There was a flash of white-hot light and a single, thunderous clap. The force of the blast knocked Middleton off his feet, slamming him into the wall behind him, showering him with plaster. The villa shuddered, swaying and pitching like a boat on a swell. There was a sickening snap as one of the beams holding the ceiling up gave way. Then, in an instant, everything went black.