Slava was idly fingering a pecker leash as he listened to her talking. He was gazing out the window at a sweet shop, a tailor shop, a one-hour photo. Typical NYC view. "We'll do the job," said Zoya. "Tell Wolf we'll get his friend what he needs. No problem whatsoever." Then she hung up on Sterling. Because she could. She shrugged at her partner. Then Zoya looked across the hotel room to a queen-size bed with a steel decorative head- board. A young blond man was lying there. He was naked and gagged, handcuffed to vertical rods spaced about a foot apart on the bed. "You're in luck," Zoya said to the blond. "Only four more hours to play, baby. Only four more hours." Then Slava spoke. "You'll wish it was less. You ever heard of a Russian word - zamochit? No. I'll show you zamochit. Four hours' worth. I learned it from the Wolf. Now you learn from me. Zamochit. It means to break all the bones in your body." Zoya winked at the boy. "Four hours. Zamochit. You'll take the next few hours with you through eternity. Never forget it, darling."

WHEN I WOKE IN THE MORNING, Little Alex was sleeping peacefully beside me, his head on my chest. I couldn't resist sneaking another kiss. And another. Then, as I lay there next to my boy, I found myself thinking about Detective Dennis Coulter and his family. I had been moved emotionally when they came out of that house together. The family had saved Coulter's life, and I was a sucker for family stuff. I had been asked to stop at the Hoover Building, always referred to as "the Bureau," before I drove down to Quantico. The director wanted to see me about what had happened in Baltimore. I had no idea what to expect, but I was anxious about the visit. Maybe I should have skipped Nana's coffee that morning. Almost anybody who has seen it would agree that the Hoover Building is a strange and supernaturally ugly structure. It takes up an entire block between Pennsylvania Avenue, Ninth, Tenth, and E Streets.