Fedya had heard enough already. He knew that if the Wolf was there, letting himself be seen, then he and Liza were as good as dead. Best to run and hope to God the Wolf is here alone, unlikely as that may be.

He took a single step, and the Wolf raised a handgun from out of the seat cushion. He was good with a gun. He shot Fedya Abramtsov once in the back, once in the back of his neck.

"He's very dead," he calmly said to Liza, which he knew to be a nickname of hers. "I prefer Yelizaveta," he said. "Not so common, so Americanized. Come and sit. Come. Please."

The Wolf patted his lap. "Come. I don't like to repeat myself."

The girl was a pretty one-smart, too-and apparently ruthless as a snake. She walked across the room and sat in the Wolf's lap. She did as she was told, anyway. Good girl.

"I like you, Yelizaveta. But what choice do I have-you've disobeyed me. You and Fedya stole my money. Don't argue. I know it's true." He looked into her beautiful brown eyes. "Do you know zamochit?" he asked. "The breaking of bones?"

Apparently Yelizaveta did, because she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"This is good," said the Wolf as he grabbed the woman's slender left wrist. "Everything is going so well today."

He started with Yelizaveta's little finger, just the pinkie.

Chapter 13

Had a war started? If it had, who was the enemy?

It was pitch-black, and it was freezing cold in the desert. Scary and disorienting, to put it mildly. No moon out. Was that part of the plan? What was supposed to happen next? Where? To whom? Why?

I tried to collect my thoughts and make a rough plan to take us through the next few hours in at least a semiorganized manner. Difficult to do, maybe impossible. We were looking for a small convoy of army trucks and jeeps that seemed to have disappeared, to have been gobbled up by the desert. But also a Ford Bronco with the Nevada license tags 322JBP and a sunset design.