This was surprisingly arduous work that took him nearly five minutes, but when he was through, after he’d holstered the guard’s big SIG Pro pistol and clipped the radio onto his own belt, he knew he would be able to move through the darkened house more easily now.

He put the earpiece in his ear and began rifling through the man’s identification, hoping to learn his name, but the writing was in Arabic, so Court just pocketed the wallet and dragged the body into the bathroom. Here he placed it in the bathtub, closed the curtain, and headed back for the door that would lead him to the rest of the home.

CHAPTER 44

Vincent Voland sat with Rima and Tarek in the library of the French estate, while Drexler was kept under guard in the hearth room by Boyer.

Voland told the Syrian couple about the offer made by Drexler, and he added, “I don’t know why the Syrian GIS men are here, but this changes the equation totally. None of us stand a chance against—”

“You want to surrender!” Rima screamed it as the realization came to her.

Voland held up his hands. “Face the facts! They will kill every last one of us in here, and we will lose Medina anyway. If we withdraw, then perhaps we—”

Tarek snapped now. “By ‘withdraw,’ you mean run away.”

“We will have our chance, I feel certain. Just at a later date.”

Tarek shook his head. “There is no later date. My nation is dying! You have spent three days telling us no one could take Medina from this house. A lone, unarmed man walks up and you want to surrender without firing a shot?”

“I know Drexler, and I know the Syrian out there leading the attack against us, and I know the capabilities of the force he has with him. They promise Medina won’t be harmed if we—”

“She won’t be harmed?” Rima shrieked. “Drexler sent ISIS to kill her just days ago.”

Tarek added, “He’s lying! There is no one here but him.”

“He’s not lying. He’s a cold, calculating individual, but he has survived this long in his work by always acting from positions of strength. He wouldn’t walk in unarmed unless he really did have the unbeatable hand. And he says his mission now is to bring her back alive to Damascus.”

Rima said, “This is insane! We sent the American to rescue the child in Damascus, and he is doing so as we speak. And now you want to give the mother back to Azzam?”

Voland put his hands up. “We know the American is going alone into a fortified building in the middle of Syria. We certainly don’t know he’s getting out of there, and we certainly don’t know he’s going to make it out of Damascus and all the way to Jordan.”

Tarek said, “You are saying that even though the American has more going against him than we do, you still want us to give up?”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what I see as the only rational choice.”

The Halabys went into another room to speak in privacy, but quickly they returned to Voland. Tarek said, “Speaking for myself and my wife, we owe it to our nation, and to the American who is risking everything to help us. We will not surrender.”

Voland looked down at the floor a moment. “You are making a mistake that will likely get us all killed. Nevertheless . . . I will respect your wishes. I will go tell Drexler he will remain our prisoner and we will fight to defend the Spaniard.”

CHAPTER 45

Court took the stairs in Bianca Medina’s villa slowly because he could hear talking in the living room, just out of view behind him. Two men in idle conversation; Court picked up something about someone named Sayed, but that was all he understood.

On his way to the stairs he’d passed a guard sleeping soundly in a tiled alcove and moved within five feet of him in the dark hallway. At the top of the stairs he found an empty hallway that went to the left and right and then turned to form the arms of the U of the home. He went to the right first, because Bianca had said the baby’s room was there, right next to her own. Peeking around the corner, he could see a man sitting in a chair at the end of the hall near a door. It was so dark in the hallway Court could not be sure if the man was awake or asleep at thirty feet away, but he could see that the man was wearing a similar dark suit to the one Court had taken off the man he’d killed downstairs.

He went to the other side of the second floor and looked up the hall there, but there were no guarded doors, so he decided the baby was probably being held behind the first door. He returned to the corner and thought about what he needed to do.

There was no getting around that guard; this he knew. He only hoped he could kill him quietly.

Court touched the knife under his jacket, checking its placement, took a calming breath, and stepped around the corner. He began walking purposefully up the hall. He just had to hope his clothing and the dim light would disguise him until it was too late for the sentry in the chair to stop him.

He continued on, his hands idly at his sides, closing on the guard by the door. He was still twenty feet away when the man shifted and said, “Salam.” Hi.

“Salam,” Court replied, trying to use the same low voice he’d heard from the man who owned the suit he now wore.

At fifteen feet the man sat up in the chair and said something else. He spoke in a whisper, which was good news for Court because it meant the other guards in the house would not hear anything, and it also meant someone was likely sleeping on the other side of the door behind him.

When Court did not respond, the man said, “Sayed?” and then he sat up even straighter, suddenly on alert.

“Nem,” Yes, Court replied, slowing the man’s decision making a fraction of a second. But then the man began to stand, and he reached into his jacket.

Court closed the remaining eight feet in two quick steps and shoved his left hand over the man’s mouth, and with his right hand he sank the long fixed-blade knife he’d taken from Walid’s trunk hilt-deep into the Alawi guard’s solar plexus.

The Syrian’s legs gave out in two seconds, and his struggling stopped after a few seconds more.

Court slid him down the wall, back into his chair. He pulled the knife out and leaned the man’s head back against the wall.

Other than a brief and muffled gasp and some scuffling of leather shoes on a tiled hallway floor, the killing had barely made a sound.

* * *

? ? ?

There had always been a chance that even if Azzam did not move his baby from Bianca’s home in the Western Villas section of Damascus’s Mezzeh district, he would, at least, move the room the baby was being kept in. It would have been a simple security measure designed to slow anyone who came after the child, at least long enough for them to be spotted by security in the house.

But when Court finally got to the room at the end of the hall where Bianca said he would find the baby’s room, he opened the door and found a baby lying in a crib, and a mattress on the floor next to it with a girl sleeping soundly on it.

Court closed the door behind him and moved slowly across the bedroom. The rugs on the tile floor made it easy to keep his footfalls silent. All his senses were tuned to high, still focusing on any noises from other parts of the villa.

In seconds he was on his knees next to the mattress, inches away from the sleeping au pair.

Court could think of absolutely no way to do this without scaring the living shit out of this poor girl, which served no purpose here. Intimidation was an effective means of gaining compliance, he well knew, but in this situation he needed more than compliance; he needed Yasmin to become his partner in crime, and for this he wanted to earn her trust.

And that was going to be hard considering the fact that her first impressions of him were going to be as some sort of monster leering over her in her bed at night.

He placed a hand over her mouth, knelt over her face, and pressed down.

Her eyes opened slowly, then popped wide when she saw the strange man in the low light above her. He placed a finger over his own lips.

“écoute, s’il vous pla?t, mademoiselle.” Please listen, miss. He continued in French. “I have been sent by Bianca. I am not going to hurt you, but we must not make any noise. Do you understand me?”

A tear formed in and rolled from each eye. She blinked. And then she nodded.

Court kept the hand in place. “Bianca is safe in France, but she will not be returning. Shakira Azzam has tried to kill her, and she will try again if Bianca returns to Syria. We have come to retrieve Jamal so he can be with his mother.” There was just Court, there was no “we,” but when he’d worked out what he’d say to the nanny, he’d decided there was a greater chance she would buy into this entire improbable escapade if she thought there were more people involved with the getaway.

Court took a moment to listen for sounds in the house, and then he continued in French, speaking softly and quickly. “I am taking Jamal now. Bianca wants you to come with him for your own safety, no other reason. But no one will make you do this. You can stay right here if you want to, but she is worried Ahmed will become angry when he finds the baby gone, so Bianca thinks it would be best for you if you came with us.”

The girl just stared at Court with wide, frightened eyes.