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Masterson had suggested the destination. Apparently the hotel had been renovated for a gala the prior night and was being used this morning as a shuttle station for guests invited to the ceremony.
But what about uninvited guests?
Elizabeth had caught a glimpse of Gray and Kowalski flying away on a motorcycle as they'd made their own escape. She hoped they were okay and could do something to stop that bastard. As she fled with the others, her head ached and her eyes strained. Tension and fear wore her down.
I'm sorry, Elizabeth, Masterson wheezed.
She glanced at him. She knew he was apologizing for more than just involving her and the others in this escapade.
I truly didn't think your father was in any bloody danger, he explained. I thought the Russians' interest in Archibald's work was just a matter of industrial espionage, stealing data. I never thought it would result in his death.
Even though she understood the professor's position in the past and recognized the international threat now, she could not find her way to forgiving him. Not for her father, and not for involving them in all this without their consent.
She was tired of secrets both her father's and this man's.
As they neared the intersection, two Russian soldiers stepped from a doorway.
One dropped a cigarette and ground it underfoot. The other lifted his rifle and barked at them in Russian.
Kak tebya zavut?
Let me handle this, Masterson said and waved for Rosauro and Luca to lower their weapons.
The professor straightened his white hat and leaned more heavily on his cane. He doddered to the front and called out in Russian, Dobraye utro!
Masterson spoke fluently. All Elizabeth understood were the words London Times.
Masterson must be attempting to pass them off as visiting press.
The soldier lowered his weapon. You are Englishers.
Masterson nodded with a broad, embarrassed smile. You speak English. Brilliant.
We've gotten ourselves lost and could not find our way back to the Polissia
Hotel. If you'd be so kind, perhaps you could escort us back there.
From the crinkling of the soldiers' brows, they must not have understood him that well. Masterson was using their own lack of fluency to unbalance them, to deflect them from questioning the cover story. But the soldier with the rifle did understand their goal.
Polissia Gostineetsa? he asked.
Da! Now there's a good chap. Could you take us there?
The pair spoke in rapid snatches of Russian. Finally one shrugged and the other turned with a nod.
Behind them, a scream of a motorcycle erupted, shattering the quiet town. Far down the street, in the direction of the jail, a motorcycle with a flashing blue light and sidecar swung into the road, bearing two soldiers with furred caps.
They were spotted. Shouts called out in Russian toward them.
Suddenly the pair of soldiers in front of them stiffened.
Trouble, Masterson said and pushed Elizabeth down the street. Run!
Rosauro spun on a heel and snap-kicked the closest soldier in the face. Bone cracked, and he fell stiffly backward. The other guard lifted his weapon, but
Luca was quicker on the draw with his pistol. Blood exploded from the soldier's shoulder, twisting him around as if mule-kicked, but his weapon chattered with automatic fire, sweeping toward them.
Masterson rolled and shielded Elizabeth, while both Luca and Rosauro dropped flat to the street. The professor fell against her and knocked her to her knees.
Luca's pistol cracked again, and the gunfire ended.
Masterson slid off her and slumped to the road. Elizabeth had felt the shuddering impacts into his body. He rolled to his back while blood pooled under him.
Hayden!
He waved her off, still holding his cane. Go!
The motorcycle screamed down the road toward them all.
Rosauro yanked her up.
Luca fired at the motorcycle, but it swerved behind cars and debris for cover.
Return fire from the soldier in the sidecar sparked the pavement around them.
I'm sorry, Elizabeth, Masterson said again, blood bubbling at his lips.
Hayden She covered her mouth, unable to find the words to thank him, to forgive him.
Still, he saw it in her eyes and gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment with a shadow of a smile, content. Go , he said hoarsely, eyelids closing.
Rosauro pushed her down the street toward the next intersection. Luca kept firing one-handed behind him as he ran then the slide on his pistol popped open, out of ammunition. Strafing fire chased them.
Rosauro guided them alongside the edge of the road, putting a rusted truck between them and the cycle. Around the corner!
But they'd never make it.
No longer under fire, the cycle roared straight for them.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. As the motorcycle swerved through the bodies in the street, Masterson suddenly rolled with the last of his strength and jammed his cane into the front wheel of the bike. The stout rod snapped and sent the cycle flipping up on its front tire and over. It crashed upside down and slid across the rough pavement, casting sparks and leaving a bloody smear.
Rosauro urged them all onward. Hurry!
Hopefully the cycle's roar had covered most of the gunplay, but they had to be away from here as quickly as possible. Reaching the intersection, they headed along the next street. A quarter mile down the road stood a bright hotel, freshly painted, lights glowing. A few polished black limousines waited at the curb.
They hurried toward it. Luca tossed aside his empty pistol, and they did their best to straighten and dust off their clothes into some semblance of normalcy.
They slowed when they reached the hotel and strode toward it, as if they belonged. No one accosted them. The hotel was mostly deserted, just a pair of drivers lounging in the lobby. A few staff members also worked behind a desk.
Everyone else appeared to be at the ceremony.
Rosauro crossed to the front counter. Is there a phone we could use? We we're with the New York Times.
Press room over there, a tired-eyed young man said in halting English. He pointed toward a door off the lobby.
Spazeebo, Rosauro thanked him.
She led them through the door. The room was square with a low counter that ran along the full perimeter of the space. A central table held mounds of office supplies: reams of paper, stacks of pads, pens, staplers. But what drew
Elizabeth's attention were the two-dozen black telephones that rested along the wall counter.
Rosauro headed to one side, picked up the receiver, and listened for a dial tone. She nodded her satisfaction. As she dialed, she said, I'll alert central command. They'll spread the word and get an evacuation started.
Elizabeth sank into a neighboring chair. In the momentary calm, she began to tremble all over. She could not stop. Masterson's death it broke something inside her. Tears started flowing grieving for the professor, but also for her father.
Rosauro finished dialing and waited. A frown slowly formed, and her eyebrows pinched together.
What's wrong? Luca asked.
She shook her head, worried. There's no answer.
12:50 A. M.
Washington, D. C.
Painter knocked lightly on the locker room door and pushed it cautiously open.
He was met by a pistol pointed at his face. Kat lowered the weapon, her eyes relieved.
How's everyone? he asked and followed her inside.
So far, so good.
A Sigma corpsman took up her position at the door. Kat led Painter into the main room, lined by banks of metal lockers and benches. At the back was an archway that led to the showers and sauna.
Kat led him to a neighboring aisle. He found Malcolm on a bench, and Lisa seated on the floor, her arm around Sasha. The girl stared up at him with large blue eyes and rocked slightly. Her gaze found Kat's, and her entire body relaxed.