on. That was harmless.”
“I could strangle you here and no one would ever know,” snapped Nuri.
Just as they were approaching the barns, MY-PID warned that a woman was coming down in their direction from the house. Nuri stopped at the edge of the vineyard, waiting to see where she was going. A minute or so later one of the guards slipped from the guard house, a good ten minutes earlier than the normal schedule dictated. He walked in her direction; they met in a small garden about thirty yards from the house, whispering before finding each other in the moonlit shadows.
“They’ll be busy for a while,” Nuri told Flash. “I’m going to circle around. Watch what’s going on with the MY-PID screen and let me know.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later Nuri felt short of breath as he pulled himself onto the portico at the eastern end of the house. He knelt near one of the columns, catching his breath. Using the data from the Reaper, MY-PID had analyzed the circuitry inside the house and deduced that there were no alarm systems. It had also located the office on the western side of the house. He moved around the back, working his way toward the office.
Large French windows lined the exterior rooms on the first floor. He passed a large dining room and a living room before coming to the edge of the house.
Music was playing in the back; it was an Italian version of hip-hop, an odd blend of rhythms. Nuri slipped down to the bottom of the wall and peeked around. There were two or three girls in the pool, splashing each other and drinking out of champagne glasses. A man, presumably Moreno, was floating on a raft, his back to Nuri.
Let’s go, Nuri told himself. Get it on.
He moved back to the French door and tried pulling it open. It was locked. A thin shiv took care of the simple latch, and it gave way easily. He slipped in behind the light curtains, walking into the mafioso’s lair.
He got three feet when he heard the dog coming.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Nobody told me about dogs.”
11
Chisinau, Moldova
T he thirst was overwhelming. His whole body ached. His hands shook. He curled his fingers into a fist and put them under his legs. He tightened his stare at the woman at the desk across from his chair near the door to the examining rooms and offices inside.
The drugs. He needed the drugs.
The clinic waiting room was nearly full. He willed the other patients away. The doctor had to see him now.
Now!
An intercom buzzed at the desk.
“Mrs. Gestau?” said the receptionist, looking down the list of patients. “Dr. Nudstrumov will see you now.”
A middle-aged woman sitting near him got up. She walked as close to the opposite wall as possible, clearly sensing his displeasure that she had been called ahead of him.
He waited a few more seconds. They seemed like hours. He had to do something. He leaned forward—then got up, practically rolling into motion.
“When am I going in?” he said to the woman at the desk.
“The doctor is very busy today. But I’m sure as soon as—”
He didn’t need to hear the rest. He stepped to his left and pushed through the door. The hallway seemed darker than normal, the walls closer together. Very close—they seemed to push against his shoulders as he strode toward the doctor’s office at the end of the hall.
“Wait!” the receptionist called behind him. “Wait—you can’t just barge in here. Wait!”
Her voice fell back into a deep pit far behind him. He stopped at the first examining room, threw open the door. A man in his sixties sat on the examining table in his underwear, feet dangling off the side.
The doctor wasn’t there. He turned and walked to the next room.
“Stop!” said a nurse. “What are you doing?”
“It’s OK,” said Dr. Nudstrumov, appearing at the end of the hall. “I was just going to send for Herr Schmidt.”
“The examining rooms are full,” said the receptionist.
“Herr Schmidt and I can use my
“I could strangle you here and no one would ever know,” snapped Nuri.
Just as they were approaching the barns, MY-PID warned that a woman was coming down in their direction from the house. Nuri stopped at the edge of the vineyard, waiting to see where she was going. A minute or so later one of the guards slipped from the guard house, a good ten minutes earlier than the normal schedule dictated. He walked in her direction; they met in a small garden about thirty yards from the house, whispering before finding each other in the moonlit shadows.
“They’ll be busy for a while,” Nuri told Flash. “I’m going to circle around. Watch what’s going on with the MY-PID screen and let me know.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later Nuri felt short of breath as he pulled himself onto the portico at the eastern end of the house. He knelt near one of the columns, catching his breath. Using the data from the Reaper, MY-PID had analyzed the circuitry inside the house and deduced that there were no alarm systems. It had also located the office on the western side of the house. He moved around the back, working his way toward the office.
Large French windows lined the exterior rooms on the first floor. He passed a large dining room and a living room before coming to the edge of the house.
Music was playing in the back; it was an Italian version of hip-hop, an odd blend of rhythms. Nuri slipped down to the bottom of the wall and peeked around. There were two or three girls in the pool, splashing each other and drinking out of champagne glasses. A man, presumably Moreno, was floating on a raft, his back to Nuri.
Let’s go, Nuri told himself. Get it on.
He moved back to the French door and tried pulling it open. It was locked. A thin shiv took care of the simple latch, and it gave way easily. He slipped in behind the light curtains, walking into the mafioso’s lair.
He got three feet when he heard the dog coming.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Nobody told me about dogs.”
11
Chisinau, Moldova
T he thirst was overwhelming. His whole body ached. His hands shook. He curled his fingers into a fist and put them under his legs. He tightened his stare at the woman at the desk across from his chair near the door to the examining rooms and offices inside.
The drugs. He needed the drugs.
The clinic waiting room was nearly full. He willed the other patients away. The doctor had to see him now.
Now!
An intercom buzzed at the desk.
“Mrs. Gestau?” said the receptionist, looking down the list of patients. “Dr. Nudstrumov will see you now.”
A middle-aged woman sitting near him got up. She walked as close to the opposite wall as possible, clearly sensing his displeasure that she had been called ahead of him.
He waited a few more seconds. They seemed like hours. He had to do something. He leaned forward—then got up, practically rolling into motion.
“When am I going in?” he said to the woman at the desk.
“The doctor is very busy today. But I’m sure as soon as—”
He didn’t need to hear the rest. He stepped to his left and pushed through the door. The hallway seemed darker than normal, the walls closer together. Very close—they seemed to push against his shoulders as he strode toward the doctor’s office at the end of the hall.
“Wait!” the receptionist called behind him. “Wait—you can’t just barge in here. Wait!”
Her voice fell back into a deep pit far behind him. He stopped at the first examining room, threw open the door. A man in his sixties sat on the examining table in his underwear, feet dangling off the side.
The doctor wasn’t there. He turned and walked to the next room.
“Stop!” said a nurse. “What are you doing?”
“It’s OK,” said Dr. Nudstrumov, appearing at the end of the hall. “I was just going to send for Herr Schmidt.”
“The examining rooms are full,” said the receptionist.
“Herr Schmidt and I can use my
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