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By Root 412 0

reveal brilliant morning light. He couldn’t say that Moscow had much of a view, but he could make out the onion-shaped domes of the Kremlin. He lifted the note Daryl had left for him. It said not to worry, that she expected to be back with good news. He’d had no idea what she meant, but tamped down the initial flutter of worry he felt and relaxed, knowing he could trust her. He ordered breakfast, then turned the television to International CNN. He wasn’t expecting to come across any mention of the shoot-out in the apartment-building hallway, but wasn’t sure he was relieved or frustrated when he didn’t. He lay on the bed to wait for Daryl, for breakfast. Room service woke him. He’d dozed off. He was just finishing breakfast when he heard the key in the door and looked up to see Daryl enter carrying packages, her face aglow with excitement.

“I see Rip van Winkle has decided to join me. Good for you. Ready for some news?”

“We’re about to be arrested and thrown into a gulag.”

“Cynic,” she joked. “No, I think that was the one bullet we did manage to dodge.” She laid the packages on the unmade bed and took a chair opposite him. “I know where Ivana Koskov is.”

“How’d you manage that?” They’d discussed the problem briefly Sunday night. Thanks to shootings at both locations, neither of them could return to the apartments to try to learn where Ivana was. She had the drive. But before they could come up with a solution, Jeff had nodded off, the pain and fear caused by his wound finally catching up with him.

“I called colleagues at NSA,” Daryl said, her face shining with excitement. “As luck had it, one of the attachés here actually works for the NSA. My contact spoke with him yesterday and he sent one of their Russian-speaking operatives out to make inquiries. I don’t know how he did it, but he reached Ivana’s mother. Ivana is in Milan, Italy, staying with a friend. I have the address and a telephone number. We’re booked out of here in about four hours.”

“Amazing!” Jeff looked at his companion with continued admiration. “I never would have thought it possible.”

“I’ve also got some pain pills here if you need them, along with Band-Aids, which should be all you need now. And”—she rose to go to the bed, where she removed something with a flourish, then brandished it like a toreador’s cape—“I found this in your size.” It was a leather coat. “I had to trash the other one. You look very sharp in leather, I might add.”

Jeff was amazed at her efficiency. “You’re just full of surprises. Any word from your team?”

Daryl’s face, which had been alive with pleasure, fell. “Nothing good, no. I spoke to them a few hours ago. Microsoft and Symantec finally got fully on board, but it’s probably too late.”

“What about DHS?”

“I’d almost forgotten. Are you ready for this? George Carlton was murdered in Paris.”

“Murdered?” Jeff said, shocked. “How?”

“Stabbed to death. In broad daylight. DHS is stumped over it. He was there on a spur-of-the-moment thing, supposedly to meet with a counterpart, but she knew nothing about a meeting. They don’t really know why he was in Paris.”

Jeff wrinkled his brow in thought. “Do you think it’s connected to what’s been happening to us?”

Daryl shrugged. “It does seem odd. Not at all something that would happen to George.”

“Dead! It’s hard to grasp.” Jeff despised the man, but he’d never thought of killing him. Disgraced, held to account, yes, those he could imagine—but dead?

Daryl broke into his thoughts. “We should get going. It’s a direct flight and we’ll be in Milan later today. With luck we should see Ivana tonight and get the external drive.”

“If she took it with her.”

63

MILAN, ITALY

TICINESE-NAVIGLI DISTRICT

VIA CHIESA ROSSA

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5

6:43 P.M.

The Lufthansa flight from Moscow to Milan was just under four hours. From the moment he’d stepped on the German plane, Jeff had felt as if he were already out of Russia.

He’d slept so much since being shot he couldn’t nod off during the afternoon flight. Daryl spent her time on her laptop working on Superphreak, but Jeff was too mentally