Court climbed behind the wheel, took the keys from a compliant Walid, and then began driving west through Old Town Damascus.

After less than a minute on the road, however, Walid looked out the windshield, then told Court in slurred Arabic that he was going the wrong way. In response Court encouraged him to drink some more whiskey. Walid did so, and as soon as he lowered the bottle, Court removed his own seat belt, then carefully shifted in his seat. He turned his body to the side so he could face Walid and drive at the same time with his left hand. Walid noticed the odd positioning, and he looked at Court with dopey, tired, and just slightly puzzled eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Court answered by firing a blazing right jab out, connecting with Walid’s left eye socket and knocking him flat against the passenger window. The big man went unconscious, then slumped forward, hanging there by his seat belt.

* * *

? ? ?

A minute later, Court pulled into a dark parking lot at the edge of the Old Town. Here he climbed out, then looked under the dashboard of the car, using the light of the mobile phone to help him. He began identifying fuses that led to different lights in the vehicle. He pulled out the fuses for the rear lights and the brake lights until the lights went out when he tried to deploy them, but he left the fuses barely in place so he could unplug them easily. Righting himself in the driver’s seat, he leaned down and indexed the correct fuses so he could both disconnect and reconnect them without looking.

He spilled a little of the Jack Daniel’s on the major’s tunic and put the bottle in the unconscious man’s right hand. He pulled Walid’s head back to where he didn’t look completely out of it, and when the drunk man’s head drooped forward again, Court lowered the angle of his seatback a few degrees so that his head would stay up.

Court looked at the man through the window with the door closed. He hoped if he got stopped at a checkpoint he could talk his way through with a story about how the major had passed out and Court was taking him home.

This was not a good plan, Court knew, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

He got back on the road, and while he drove, he opened the secure communications app on the cell phone and dialed a long number. It took a full minute for the call to go through, but when it did, Vincent Voland answered quickly.

Court said, “It’s me. I’m here.”

“In Damascus? Already?”

“Yep.”

“Incredible. Any problems?”

“Nothing but problems. Problems all over the fucking place, as a matter of fact. But I made it, I’m operational, and I need to talk to Bianca, now.”

“Of course. I’m heading downstairs to her room to put her on the phone.”

Court drove the Hyundai one-handed, holding the phone to his ear with the other. While he waited he asked, “Any sign of Drexler?”

“No sign at all, but that means nothing. He’s coming. I feel it in my bones.”

“Have you beefed up security there at the house?”

“Oui. We are ready should he bring associates.”

Court could only hope Voland had the situation in hand up there, because Court had more than his share of problems of his own down here.

Seconds later Bianca came on the line. She had a hopeful sound to her voice, which buoyed Court to hear. “Is it you?”

“It’s me. I’m in Damascus.”

“I did not think I would ever hear from you again.”

“No time to talk. I need your address, and I need you to tell me the best way to get to your place.”

“Of course. Where are you, exactly?”

“I’m leaving Old Town, heading west, towards Mezzeh. I’m going for Jamal right now.”

“Now? You . . . you can’t be on the road at this time of night! They’ll spot you.”

“Unfortunately, this is something I can’t take care of on my lunch hour tomorrow.”

Court saw a line of brake lights on the road ahead, and he worried it might indicate a checkpoint. He scanned around quickly for some way to turn off, and he looked down at the map on the phone for help, as well.

He slowed and took a left turn down a darkened side street. This led him to the south, and on the phone he saw he could pick up an east/west street that would put him back on course.

Bianca spoke through the speakerphone. “Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Please listen to me.” He could hear the worry in her voice. “I drive at night from Old Town and must pass through several roadblocks. My security detail gets me through, but who’s going to get you through without them catching you?”

Court turned and looked at the passed-out militia major slumped against the passenger door next to him. “Let me worry about that,” he said, but the truth was he was very worried about that.

“What street are you on?”

The street signs were in Arabic and English, and Court rolled past an intersection with his eyes on the signs. “I’m on Fawaz al Laham.”

“There is a checkpoint on Fawaz al Laham where it turns into Omar bin Abdulaziz!”

Court made another turn to the south that took him down a quiet street with tall apartment buildings on both sides. He gave her the name and she said, “No checkpoints, but that won’t get you to my house. I live in Mezzeh district in the Western Villas neighborhood. You’ll have to turn around.”

“Shit. Okay, I’m going to keep picking my way west, and I’ll tell you what I see. Get Voland to pull up a map on a computer or a phone, and you can talk me to your neighborhood.”

In under a minute Voland relayed that he had his computer open to an interactive map. “All right,” Bianca said, “I am ready. The good news is I know where the checkpoints are, but the bad news is that to get into my neighborhood, you have to pass a guard shack and gates. I live on Zaid bin al-Khattab, number thirty-six.”

Bianca was adamant that he should not drive all the way into her neighborhood. She claimed there would be a large checkpoint and security officers patrolling in a truck within a few blocks of where she lived, so she convinced him to go to a less active neighborhood a kilometer away and use the night to his advantage to close on the property.

She spent several minutes giving relative details of her home, and while she talked Court listened, but he also focused on avoiding any roadblocks, busy intersections where he might be spotted, or major thoroughfares.

It was slow going, but he kept heading to the west.

Minutes later he found a place to park up a hill from her home. Over the sound of a snoring Walid, Court asked Bianca more questions about the walls, windows, guards, neighbors, vehicles on the street, and police and military presence in the area. He committed it all to memory and tried to think of any possible information he might need in the next couple hours.

When Court had exhausted all his questions about the property, the personnel, and the area around it, he changed focus. “Tell me about your situation there.”

“I’m still in the room in the basement, but Rima is coming down and talking to me two times a day.”

Court imagined there was some indoctrination or deprogramming going on during those talks, but he didn’t bring it up.

“How many guards does Voland have around you?”

“I have no idea. I saw some European men today, two or three of them, but there might be more. They had guns.”

He wished he knew more about just what Voland and the Halabys were doing to protect Bianca, but he had no time to dig into the matter further.

Court said, “Tell me something that only you and Yasmin know so I can establish to her that you sent me.”

Bianca thought of something, told Court, then said, “If she refuses to go with you, call me and I’ll talk to her.”

Court had no illusions that he would be able to make phone calls while in the house confronting Yasmin; he had to just hope like hell he could convince her to comply. If not he figured he’d tie and gag her, throw her in a closet, and leave her for the security men to sort out the next morning.

Bianca said, “Good luck. Please hug and kiss Jamal for me when you see him and tell him his mommy misses him.”

“This ain’t the movies.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Let me talk to Voland.”

Court expected Voland to come back on the line, but instead Rima Halaby’s voice crackled over the connection. “Sir, I know you don’t want to use any of my connections, but I must give you the name of someone there in the city who can be a great help to you if you have any difficulties.”

“You don’t know that this person is not compromised.”