Private Moscow (Private 15)

I ROSE TO face the Russian assassin, and saw his suit and shirt had been shredded by bullets to reveal the protective vest he wore next to his skin.

He lunged at me with a ceramic black-handled blade, and I stepped aside and drove a fist into his face.

My heart was racing and my body crackled with adrenalin. This man had killed so many people, including my friend. Karl Parker might have been a spy, but I was convinced he’d been trying to make good. He hadn’t deserved to die, and neither had Leonid Boykov, another good man. The memories of these two fallen victims spurred me on, and I stepped forward and kneed Veles in the gut.

He lashed out with the blade, but I moved inside his swing, parried his forearm with my elbow, and hit him with an upper cut. As he staggered back, I delivered a devastating combination of jabs and crosses that sent him reeling. He held the blade in front of him, a defensive move, I thought, until I realized what it really was. I turned just in time, an instant before the blade shot from its handle, and instead of striking me in the neck, where he’d been aiming, Veles hit me in the shoulder.

The ballistic knife, favored by Russian Special Forces, buried itself deep in the fleshy muscle, but I was so amped on adrenalin, I scarcely registered the pain.

Veles reached behind him and produced another knife. He didn’t give me a moment to recover, but came at me like lightning. His left fist lashed out, and I ducked the punch, only to be confronted by the second knife darting toward my neck. I lurched back, but momentum carried me too far, and I stumbled. My feet hit each other, and Veles took advantage of my clumsy maneuver and kicked me in the chest. The blow winded me and sent me flying. I landed heavily on my back and didn’t even have time to roll before Veles leaped on me.

I thrust my hands up and instinctively grabbed his right wrist to stop him driving the knife into my neck. He punched me in the temple with his left, and I bit back a yelp of pain. My right hand whipped out to block another disorientating blow, and I grabbed him by the wrist. We were locked in a grim standoff, but I knew it couldn’t last. He was strong and full of hate, and had the advantages of a weapon and gravity. I saw the tip of the blade creeping toward my throat, and fought against the inevitable with all my strength. The sinews on his neck strained, and his eyes blazed with murderous hatred. The blade was millimeters away from my skin. I had to do something.

I went slack for a fraction of a second and the sudden lack of resistance threw off his balance, enabling me to direct the knife over instead of into my throat. I felt the blade kiss my Adam’s apple, and Veles fell across my body and hit the floor beside me. I rolled to one knee as he picked himself up into a crouch and leaped toward me. In one fluid move, I turned my body to avoid his strike, pulled the ballistic blade from my shoulder and drove it into the startled assassin’s neck.

He staggered back, clutching at the mortal wound. He made a terrible, wet choking sound and fell to his knees.

He couldn’t believe what had happened, and, for a moment, his expression was one of pure shock, until surprise was replaced by burning hatred. Then finally his eyes went blank, and he slumped forward, dead.

CHAPTER 115

“YOU’RE GOING TO be OK, Mr. Secretary,” I told the terrified, trembling man before setting off at a sprint for the control station.

Servers whizzed by, and moments later, I raced into the space to find Dinara pressing her pistol against Kavanagh’s head.

“You’ve got one last chance,” Dinara told her.

Kavanagh had bullet wounds in both knees and her shoulder, and she was whimpering, but offered nothing intelligible.

“Tell me how to deactivate the system, or you die,” Dinara said furiously.

“Dinara,” I tried gently, but she looked at me with the purest fury in her eyes.

Everything she’d lost, everything she’d been through, it was all focused on Kavanagh in that moment. The pressure to pull the trigger must have been almost irresistible.

“Dinara. Don’t,” I said.

I ran to the central console, which displayed a countdown. There were less than two minutes until the FORCE System came online.

“It’s no good, Dinara,” I said. “She’s prepared to die for what she believes in. Just like me. Just like you.”

Kavanagh eyed me defiantly.

“Give me her phone,” I said urgently.

Dinara hesitated, her eyes on her gun.

“Killing her won’t bring him back,” I told her.

I could feel the struggle within her as she fought the urge to kill Kavanagh, but after a moment that seemed like an age, my words reached her and she lowered the gun. Kavanagh slumped with relief. Dinara searched the Russian spy for her phone. She found it in Kavanagh’s jacket, and used the indignant woman’s thumb to unlock it.

“Here,” Dinara said, tossing me the device.

I was about to try a Hail Mary, but that’s where we were: out of options.

I dialed a number, and said a silent prayer as I heard a ring tone.

Come on, answer, I thought.