HAW EASED into a chair in the library. There was no fire in the fireplace; the day was warm, the skies tensing for a thunderstorm later. Reggie and Whit stood by the door. Professor Mallory, still holding the gun, sat down across from Shaw. Liza stood with one hand on the long table. Dominic and his injured arm leaned against a far wall. All their gazes were solely on Shaw.

“If you could keep that muzzle down until you intend to use it, I’d appreciate it,” said Shaw. “That gun has a grip safety and is known for having a touchy trigger pull.”

Mallory edged the muzzle down slightly.

Whit looked at Mallory. “What the hell does he mean about botulinum?”

Before Mallory could answer Reggie came forward, drew the syringe from her purse, and placed it on the table next to the professor.

As she stepped back Mallory looked down at it. “Long considered to be the most toxic poison in the world,” he said in a pedantic tone. “Though it has infinite medical uses, including cosmetic under the name Botox, of course.”

“You die fast, but in excruciating pain,” said Shaw, his gaze never wavering from the other man’s face.

“You would not have,” declared the professor. “You will note that that syringe has two solutions in separate compartments but with a semipermeable barrier. The additional element was a potent anesthesia. You would have been unconscious. Would have felt nothing.”

“As I died.”

“Well, yes,” conceded Mallory. “That was the point after all.”

“Miles!” exclaimed Liza. “What were you thinking? We don’t do that to innocent people.”

“Well, the easy answer to that is I didn’t know how innocent Mr. Shaw was, or, frankly, is. What I did know was that he had been told of our operation and plan with Fedir Kuchin. Allowing him to go free after that seemed problematic at best.”

“But to order his death?” said Reggie in an icy tone. “We’re not murderers—” She stopped, paled, and glanced away. Whit, Dominic, and Liza could not meet one another’s eyes. By their expressions they seemed to all be thinking the same thing.

Technically, we are murderers.

“It was a judgment call I made in the heat of battle,” snapped Mallory. “I did not make it lightly or without some misgivings.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” said Shaw sarcastically. “But here I am alive and well.”

“Yes, well, sometimes plans go awry.”

“But let me tell you what’ll make me feel even better.”

Mallory and the others looked at one another. “What?” he said.

“Your putting that gun down. Before I have to do something about it.”

The two men stared at each other. As Reggie watched, she felt like what she was witnessing was two rams about to smack horns. Yet finally Mallory set the gun on the table next to him, its muzzle pointed harmlessly at a wall.

“Kuchin,” said Shaw. “He’s alive, and on the hunt.”

“Our cover was very good,” said Mallory.

“Very good won’t cut it. I read the report on the guy. A mental makeup like that often houses an obsession factor that goes far beyond all reason or predictability. We need to simply assume that he is looking for all of us and that he will find us at some point. When he does, what are you prepared to do about it?”

“Kill him,” answered Whit. “Which is what we should have done in the first place. In fact I could’ve put a bullet right in his brain if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“In all fairness, we also would’ve died if he hadn’t been there,” Reggie reminded him.

Whit looked darkly at her. “That’s part of the risk. I was willing to accept it. I assumed you were as well.”

“Talking about the past doesn’t deal with the future,” said Shaw. He kept staring at Mallory. “Are you prepared to deal with the future?”

Mallory sat back. “What do you suggest?”

“I need all the intel you have on Kuchin. If we can get to him first, I’ll take it from there.”

“Meaning what exactly?” said Whit.

“I’m assuming you have proof that he is Fedir Kuchin and he committed all those crimes?”

“We do.”

“Then the guy will be tried and convicted.”

“That’s not exactly how we do things here, Mr. Shaw,” said Mallory.

“Yeah, well I do things a little differently. But I imagine there’s a court in Ukraine that would be very interested in dealing with the man. I doubt he would walk out of that country alive.”

“That may be true, although quite frankly I don’t know if our evidence would stand up in a court of law. I know it would morally, but the law doesn’t seem to care about such things anymore. But more to the point, if he is tried and convicted does our involvement have to come out?”

Shaw glanced at Reggie. “I don’t see a reason for that, no.”

“Then it comes down to whether we can trust you or not.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Miles,” said Liza. “If the man wanted to bury us, he certainly has had the opportunity to do so by now.”

“She’s right,” said Reggie. “He didn’t have to come here with me. He’d already found the place.”

Mallory looked interested by this. “May I ask why you wish to help us?”

“Pretty simple, actually. Kuchin deserves whatever’s coming to him,” said Shaw. “If I can help you bring him in, I’m more than happy to do it.”

“And the people you work with are okay with that?”

“I didn’t ask their permission.”

“And that isn’t a problem?”

“Not unless you make it one.” Shaw stood. “Now we’ve reached the point of wasting time. Do we have a deal? We get Kuchin and he gets tried in a court?”

Mallory eyed the others. “Unless anyone objects, I think we can welcome you to our team then.”

Shaw took Whit’s mag out of his pocket and tossed it to him. Then he eyed Reggie. “Actually, I prefer to think of it as a temporary assignment.”

“THANK YOU for helping me, my friend,” said Kuchin as he shook the other man’s hand and gripped his shoulder. They were meeting in Kuchin’s hideaway place on the outskirts of Montreal. The other fellow had the build and the confident manner of someone who probably walked alone and unafraid down dark streets in unfamiliar cities. Fifteen years ago he had held the position that Pascal now did before going on to start his own business.

“Urgency in your voice, Evan. We do go back.”

Kuchin poured out a drink for him and slid it across the table. The man took a sip, cradled the glass, and said, “She left a trail. Not a particularly clean one, but there are things there to lean on.”

Kuchin sat and looked expectant.

The man drained his glass, wiped his mouth, and opened a file. “Credit card and travel records. From Zurich she traveled by Swissair to Frankfurt. In Frankfurt she rented a car. The mileage shows she went no farther than one hour outside of Frankfurt. Still, that constitutes a large radius. She stayed at a small hotel in Wisbach. Why she was there and what she did is not revealed. I will need to put assets on the ground in order to build that information.”

“Let’s hear the rest first.”

“From Frankfurt she traveled to Paris. She stayed there for four days. From Paris she took the Chunnel to London. It is unclear where she stayed in London. There are no credit card records for that time.”

“She stays at friends’ homes from time to time, apparently while they’re not there.”

“Then that makes sense. There would be no record in that case. She returned to the States. New York, D.C., San Francisco. If she worked for anyone during that time we could find no record of such.”

“What about her cell phone? They can be tracked via GPS now.”

“We tried that route. She has apparently disabled her GPS chip. And cell tower triangulation in circumstances such as this can be unreliable. If I had the resources of the FBI or the NSA, not so difficult, but I do not. She is a woman who does not want to be found, I think.”

“What do you have most recently?” asked Kuchin.

“I can tell you that several weeks ago she was in Paris.”

Kuchin sat forward. “What else?”

“There is nothing else. No hotel. No credit card purchases for food. She either uses cash only or eats like a bird out of trash cans. She didn’t stay long. She left Paris the next day and returned to the States. I have seen the flight reservation and accompanying documentation myself. And she appeared on the security camera at de Gaulle on that day.”

“So she returned to San Francisco?”

“No. Washington, D.C. I’ve checked the airlines, the trains, the buses, and the rental car companies outgoing from that city and found nothing. Now, she could have used fake documents under an assumed name, but she might still be there.”

“But again, no hotel?”

“No. Perhaps she has another friend who accommodates her there.”

“Perhaps,” said Kuchin thoughtfully.

“Relatively speaking Washington is not that big. I can send in some of my people, beat the bushes, see if she pops out.”

Kuchin was already shaking his head. “No. That won’t be necessary. I will take up the hunt from here.”

The other man rose. “I will continue to feed you any additional information that comes along. I have markers in place in the system. If she buys a plane ticket, rents a car, uses her credit or ATM card, or engages her GPS chip I will know about it, and then so will you.”

After the man left Kuchin sat in his chair thinking. He actually had several matters on his plate that demanded attention. He was used to this, though he was a man who liked focus and compartmentalization. Yet sometimes one did not get what one wished for.

Still, his focus had to be Katie James. She was the only link they had. He had to find the woman.