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Five years ago Lev Sokolov had saved her life, and she owed him

So she’d obtained a thirty-day tourist visa, bought a ticket to Beijing, and flown to China

She lay down on the ypsum She knew every crack and crevice A spider occupied one corner, and yesterday she’d watched it snare a fly

She sympathized with that fly

No telling how long until the next time she’d be summoned That all depended on Cotton

She was tired of being caged, but a four-year-old boy was depending on her Lev Sokolov was depending on her

And she’d messed up

Footsteps outside the door signaled so Unusual She’d been visited only five times Twice for torture, a third to leave soe, two more to take her blindfolded to a bathroom a few feet down the hallway

Had they discovered Cotton to be a dead end?

She extended her arms above her head, palms flat on the wood floor, which pulsated with each approaching step

Ti

She knew the drill The lock would release, the door would open on squeaky hinges, a blindfold then tossed inside Not until its elastic was firmly around her head would anyone enter She assumed her captor was armed and he was clearly not alone, as at least two had always been with her Both times a man had questioned her, the same man who’d spoken to Malone via computer in a clipped voice with no accent

A key was inserted in the lock

She closed her eyes as the door eased open No blindfold was tossed inside She cracked her lids and saw a shoe appear Then another Perhaps it was feeding time? The last ti froht she was too spent from the ordeal to be a threat?

She was indeed tired, her , limbs sore

But an opportunity was an opportunity

The man entered the room

Pressing her hands onto the floor, she pivoted up and clipped the legs

out from under him

A tray with bread and cheese clattered away

She sprang to her feet and sla snapped, probably his nose She pounded her heel into his face one ainst the floorboards and he lay still

Another kick into the ribs made her feel better

But the attack had generated noise And there was at least onenearby She searched the un in a shoulder holster She freed the weapon and checked the azine

Fully loaded

Time to leave

NINE

COPENHAGEN

MALONE STARED AT HIS KIDNAPPER THEY’D ABANDONED THE street just as the police arrived, rounding a corner and plunging back into the Strøget

“You have a name?” he asked

“Call me Ivan”

The English laced with a Russian accent made the label appropriate, as did the rayish black hair A splotchy, reddened skink of a face was dominated by a broad Slavic nose and shadowed by a day-old beard that shone with perspiration He wore an ill-fitting suit The gun had been tucked away and they now stood in a small plaza, within the shadow of the Round Tower, a 17th-century structure that offered co views from its hundred-foot summit The dull roar of traffic was not audible this deep into the Strøget, only the clack of heels to cobbles and the laughter of children They stood beneath a covered walk that faced the tower, a brick wall to their backs

“Your people kill those two back there?” Malone asked

“They think we come to whisk them away”

“Care to tell me how you know about Cassiopeia Vitt?”

“Quite the wohter” Ivan paused “But you do not want to hear this Vitt is into soent, appreciate the problem better”