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“No, not yet. Don’t try anything stupid or I’ll cut her throat. But I don’t want her dead just yet.”

Thomas saw that he was dressed in black from the ski mask that covered both his face and his head to the black gloves on his hands. “You’re the one who’s lost,” Thomas said, and he saluted him. “There’s really no need for you to wear that black mask over your head anymore. We all know who you are. As I said, we’ve been waiting fourteen hours for you to finally show up.”

Adam spoke quietly into the wristband. “He can’t see me. I’m only a shadow at the corner of the balcony door. I can’t get him. He’s got Becca plastered against the front of him, a knife against her throat. I can’t take the risk, even this close. They’ll keep him talking. Thomas is good. He’ll keep control.”

And he prayed with everything that was in him that it would be so.

“Just keep alert,” Gaylan Woodhouse said. “The minute he makes a move toward Thomas, he’ll ease up on her. Then you take him down.”

“Damn,” Adam said, “now the bastard’s pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket. It’s small, looks like a Glock sub-compact 27. He’s pointed it straight at Thomas. Oh God.” And he concentrated, readied himself, saying over and over, Let Becca go, you crazy fuck. Just twitch.

“Turn on the bedside light, Matlock.”

Thomas walked slowly into the bedroom, leaned over, and switched on the light. He straightened.

“Now, don’t move. Those draperies are open. There’s probably a sniper out there, and I don’t want the bastard to have a clean shot. He’ll get you, Rebecca, if he pulls the trigger.”

Thomas said, “I wanted very much for you to be my old enemy, but you aren’t. You’re something far more deadly than Vasili, something deadly and monstrous that he spawned. Perhaps after he brainwashed you, he realized what he’d produced, realized that he’d unleashed uncontrolled, unrelenting evil, and that’s why he kept you away from his new family. He didn’t want the evil he’d spawned and nurtured to live in his own house, to be close to all those innocent, pure lives. Pull off the mask, Mikhail, we know who you are.”

Stone-dead silence, then, “Damn you, you can’t know, you can’t! No one knows anything about me. I don’t exist. No records show me as Vasili Krimakov’s son. I’ve covered everything. It isn’t possible.”

“Oh yes, we know. Even though the KGB tried to erase you, to protect you, we found out all about you.”

“Damn you, pull those draperies closed, now!”

Thomas pulled them closed, knowing that now Adam was blind to what was going on in the room. He turned and said slowly, “Take off the mask, Mikhail. It really looks rather silly, like a little boy playing hoodlum.”

Slowly, his movements jerky, furious, he pulled off the black mask. Then he shoved Becca over toward the bed. Thomas caught her, held her close to his side. But she moved away from him. She sat down on the bed, drew her legs up.

Thomas stared at Vasili Krimakov’s son, Mikhail. There was some resemblance to his father in the high, sharp cheekbones, the wide-set eyes, the whiplash-lean body, but the dark, mad eyes, those were surely his mother’s eyes. Thomas could still see her eyes, wide, staring up at him.

Becca knew Mikhail had wanted shock, but it was denied him when he realized they knew who he was. Still, he threw back his head and said, “I am my father’s son. He loved me. He molded me to be like him. I am here, his avenger.”

His dramatic moment got nothing except a laugh from Becca.

“Hi, Troy,” she said, giving him a small wave. “Cute, preppy name. Tell me, what if I’d decided to go out with you that night after you planted that little micro homing chip in my upper arm? How would you have gotten out of it?” She said to her father, “I told you how he managed to have the arm of that big old chest machine swing into me as I was walking by, and then he was right there, patting me, making sure I was okay, flirting with me. That was when you planted that little chip in my arm, isn’t it, Troy? You were good. I didn’t feel