I turn my attention to Talyssa. “Think of your goal. Just think of your sister. There is one person between her and you right now. The man sitting right there.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Finally she says, “Yes. I . . . I understand.” To my surprise, I hear the sound of metal tools being moved around.

Now Maarten says, “What are you doing?”

I speak in a robotic, dispassionate voice. “Talyssa. Don’t wait. He’s just trying to buy time. There will be no more delays. We have to begin destroying his will now. To do that we have to destroy his body.” This disconnected tone only increases the certitude in the captive that I don’t give a shit about what’s happening. Like I could torture him to death and then order lunch without a moment’s pause. It’s psychological warfare, which is effective. Not as effective as actual warfare, but since I’m not there in the room, it’s the most powerful tool I have at my disposal at present.

I hear the Dutch hacker begging, and I hear Talyssa’s heavy breath. I worry she’s about to pass out, but apparently Maarten Meyer worries she’s about to start fucking him up with hand tools, because he screams now.

“No! Please! No!”

Talyssa Corbu speaks, and her voice surprises me. Apparently she’s found a wellspring of strength. “I’ve got it from here, Harry. I’ll call you back when I have what I need from him.”

“Wait, what are you going to do?” shouts Meyer.

Her own tone has become robotic now as she answers him. “I’m going to do to you everything my friend told me to do to you.”

I remind her, “We need him alive. Listen to me. You puncture an artery and he’s no good to us. We need him—”

“He’ll live,” she says. And then, “Just.”

And then she hangs up on me.

Holy shit.

* * *

• • •

“Who is he?” Maarten demanded. “Who is he?” Spittle flew from his mouth, and tears drained freely from his eyes.

Talyssa leaned close to her prisoner, just as she’d seen the intense and frightening American who called himself Harry do in the bunker in Herzegovina. In a soft voice, still bereft of personal connection or passion, she said, “I don’t know, exactly. But he is a mass murderer. I’ve watched him kill in three countries over the past few days. I myself have never done anything like this, but unfortunately for you, I have reached my breaking point. I can see myself picking up that ice pick and filling you with little holes. Also unfortunately for you, I am not very well versed in human anatomy, so there is a reasonable chance I’ll hit one of those arteries he warned me about.” She shrugged. “Maybe we will both be lucky tonight. Let’s find out.”

“I’ll do the fucking hack! I’ll do the hack!”

“My friend warned me about you stalling, didn’t he? I think I better go ahead and show you my conviction to—”

“No stalling! Release my hands right now and I’ll get to work. You just tell me what you need.”

Talyssa thought it over for a few seconds, the ice pick shaking in front of her face. Finally she said, “I’m going to need to see some very fast progress from you.”

“You will get it! You will! I’ll show you! Just don’t hurt me.”

Talyssa’s heart had never beat so hard in her life, and she wasn’t even the one in mortal danger at present. But she cut off his wrist ties with the butcher knife, and she pushed his chair up to the computer.

THIRTY-EIGHT

   Jaco Verdoorn stood in a window on the top floor of the Casino of Venice, looking across the passageway in front of him, down to the north-south street a block away. He saw men pass, and he thought they looked suspicious, but like Klerk said before, he didn’t see Gentry.

He radioed Hall inside the auction taking place in the next building over. “Hall? Lion Actual. How much longer do you anticipate the market lasting?”

Hall answered in a whispered voice. “I’m guessing no more than a half hour, but you know the boss. He’s amped up right now; he might decide to leave at any time.”

Verdoorn knew that meant Cage was snorting coke, which was no surprise to the South African, because they traveled together regularly.

Frustrated that he only had a few more minutes to bag Gentry before he’d be on a plane back to LA, he decided to ramp up the pressure.

He then transmitted to his own team. “Lion Actual to all Lions. Everybody pull in tight. If he’s here, he’s here, and if he’s not here, then it doesn’t matter.”

A minute later he saw the first of his men. Klerk and Van Straaten turned off the road to the alley from opposite directions. They then began walking idly up the slight rise towards the casino.

He watched them for a moment, then scanned all the windows in view. There were dozens, but his eyes kept returning to three windows on three different stories of the building down at the mouth of the alleyway that led to the casino. It was about seventy meters away, and the ground floor and first floor were the rear of a restaurant and nightclub.

Above the establishment, however, the windows were pitch-black.

To himself he said, Perfect sight line, close enough to see with binos, far enough away for a chance to escape and evade, and easy to get into with the activity of the patrons.

He nodded.

That’s where I’d be.

He lifted his radio to his ear. “Jonker. Duiker. What are your positions?”

A second later the reply came back. “This is Duiker. I’m two blocks north.”

“This is Jonker, sir. I’m a block east, in the north-south passage. You want us in tighter?”

“I want you both to go to the building with the club again. Go up to the second and third floors, check out any and all vantage points on my poz. Then go to the attic.”

“Right away,” Duiker replied, and then Jonker followed suit.

But Verdoorn wasn’t satisfied. “Loots. Back them up. Go to the employee entrance and stay outside, ready if anyone tries to leave.”

“Roger that,” Loots replied. “But be advised, I think I have two more men who don’t belong. Down by the canal on the south side of the passageway.”

“What are they doing?”

“Just walking around, taking pictures. I’m not buyin’ it.”

“Got it,” Verdoorn said. “Sounding more and more like Agency boys looking for their target. Avoid them.”