S PRESIDENT BENISTI WAS LEAVING the Ritz in Paris after giving a speech, six men were arrested for attempting to assassinate the French leader. The news reports touted it as miraculous police work, for the would-be assassins, who’d gained access to the event with cleverly forged documents, were apprehended before they could get close to Benisti. In a related story, an attempt was made to attack Benisti’s elderly father but the criminals were caught before they could enter the senior Benisti’s apartment. Two of them had been shot dead by authorities.

The men appeared to be members of a well-known neo-Nazi group operating on the outskirts of Paris. Further arrests were expected. Authorities said this had likely dealt a fatal blow to the ultraviolent organization.

Shaw listened to this report on the TV as he packed his bag in his hotel room. His phone vibrated and he picked it up.

“Congratulations,” Frank said. “Your stink stayed away.”

“You always had a way with words.”

“Ready for some more work?”

“No, I’m headed out.”

“Let me guess, London?”

“I just can’t keep any secrets from you, can I?”

“Two days. Then I need you back.”

“Three. And consider yourself lucky.”

He clicked off, picked up his suitcase, and walked to the door. It opened before he touched the handle.

The pistol was leveled right at Shaw’s chest as he backed up, still clutching his case.

Victor fired off a ball of spit at Shaw, drilling him right in the face.

Another man carrying a small rucksack slipped in behind Victor and shut and bolted the door.

In Shaw’s pocket his phone started vibrating. It was probably Frank warning him, but far too late.

Adolph grinned. “No, no, mon ami, you must not leave Paris yet. The show, it is not over yet.”

Shaw took another step back until he butted up against the wall. His gaze flitted from the gun to Adolph as the spit from Victor’s launch trickled down his face.

Adolph drew a hacksaw and a small ax from his rucksack as Victor spun a suppressor onto the end of the pistol.

Shaw said, “You must be the only two left.”

“I can always get more men,” Adolph said. “For every one I lose, I can get five to replace them.”

“The French really need to do something about their unemployment.”

Adolph lifted the ax up. “Are you a Jew?”

Shaw eyed the tool. “Why, would you cut me up kosher?”

“I want to know why you set me up. I want to know this before you die. It will be good to cleanse your soul. Confess to me. Confess to Papa Adolph.”

“I tell you what. I’ll give you one chance to get out of here. Only one. Then all bets are off.”

Adolph looked at Victor and laughed. “We have weapons and you have nothing. So that must mean you are full of bullshit.” He brandished the saw and smiled maliciously. “If you are full of shit, I will certainly find out.”

Shaw pressed a button near the lock on his suitcase. A second later an earsplitting siren erupted all around them.

Startled, Adolph and Victor glanced toward the window, no doubt thinking the police were coming.

In the next instant Shaw was charging directly at the pair, his suitcase held out in front of him. Victor took aim and fired at the suitcase, thinking it would easily rip through the cloth and hit Shaw in the head. He thought wrong.

The bullets did hit the suitcase but bounced off the super-strong composite lining and embedded in the ceiling. The impact of the shots staggered Shaw but he managed to keep his forward momentum. When he hit Victor the collision was so violent it ripped the gun from the man’s hand and also tore off the skinhead’s trigger finger.

Victor screamed in pain as he clutched the bloody stump. He stopped screaming when Shaw’s suitcase smashing against his head sent him flying over a small couch.

Before Shaw could turn to face Adolph the man slashed his left arm deeply with the hacksaw. As he staggered back Adolph raised the ax but Shaw managed to kick his legs out from under him. Adolph went down hard, the ax slipping from his hand. He slid across the floor toward it, grabbed the weapon, and hurled it at Shaw. Fortunately the handle rather than the blade slammed into Shaw’s thigh, but it still hurt like hell.

He didn’t feel his phone vibrating once more in his pocket because Adolph was coming at him with the hacksaw and Victor, half his face a busted-up, bloody mess, had risen shakily to his feet looking for his gun.

Shaw launched himself at Adolph and drove his shoulder right into the man’s gut, propelling them both onto the bed and over it, where they landed hard on the floor, Shaw on top. Adolph grabbed Shaw’s face, gouging at his eyes. Partially blinded, winded badly, and his wounded arm and leg throbbing, Shaw still managed to lever his arm against Adolph’s windpipe. But when he tried to press down to finish him, his normal strength simply wasn’t there. He glanced at his arm. The blood was pouring out thick and fast.

Shit! The blade must have hit an artery. He felt his fingers growing numb.

He pushed away from Adolph and managed to stand up on legs that unfortunately were starting to fail. As he turned looking for some way out, he froze.

Victor was pointing his gun right at Shaw’s head, his middle finger on the trigger.

The skinhead’s malevolent grin was apparently going to be Shaw’s last conscious memory. What a shitty way to go.

The door crashed open and Frank and six of his men burst in. Frank immediately sized up the situation and fired two shots. Both hit Victor in the head and he dropped to the floor.

With a scream Adolph jumped on Shaw, his hands around his throat.

“Damn it, get him,” yelled Frank, and four of his men raced to Adolph and tore him off the badly wounded man.

“Get that piece of crap out of here,” ordered Frank, and Adolph was hustled from the room.

When Frank turned back to Shaw the big man’s face was chalk white and a moment later he slumped to the floor.

“Shaw!” Frank raced across the room and knelt next to him.

“Get the EMTs up here now!” Frank roared.

Frank cradled Shaw’s head with his hand. “Shaw? Can you hear me? Shaw!”

Shaw’s head rolled back and forth in Frank’s grasp. Frank glanced down at the deep tear in Shaw’s arm, ripped off his necktie, and fashioned a tourniquet above the wound.

“Hang on, Shaw, hang on, the EMTs are coming right now. Right now!”

He screamed at his men, “How the hell did these bastards find him? He was supposed to have cover!”

“Frank?” the faint voice said.

Frank looked down at Shaw, who was now staring up at him.

“Shaw, it’s gonna be okay. I hear the EMTs on the stairs.”

“Call Anna,” Shaw said, his breathing growing very shallow. “Call Anna for me.”

The EMTs burst into the room and surrounded Shaw and Frank. As Frank tried to pull away from Shaw, the injured man clutched at him with the little strength he had left.

“Call Anna. Please.”

“Right, I will. I’ll do it right now,” Frank said quickly.

Shaw drifted into unconsciousness and his arm fell to his side motionless.

A few minutes later they were hustling him out on a stretcher.

Victor the dragon-tattooed skinhead made his final exit in a body bag.

Frank watched from the window as the ambulance raced off. The room would be sterilized, the local police dealt with, and this would never appear on the French news. Frank mentally went through the steps of getting this done.

“Who’s Anna?” one of Frank’s men asked as he walked up to his boss.

Frank pulled his BlackBerry out of his pocket and read the e-mail on the screen for the fourth time. “Urgent Alert: Attack on The Phoenix Group in London. No survivors.” That’s why he’d been trying to call Shaw at the hotel. When he didn’t get an answer he was on his way over to tell him in person when he’d gotten the distress signal from Shaw. He let out a deep breath as he surveyed the wreckage of the room. “Just a woman he was really close to.”