She looked around the empty space to see if there were any more threats, and the angelic expression had changed to one of sick, evil satisfaction. When her gaze passed where he was hiding, he catapulted out of the shaft and started running. She saw him at the last moment and popped off a shot, but he dodged inside the armored car, slamming the hatch closed and locking it.

  When he looked through the view port, she was staring back at him, her face the very image of hell. Cris began to familiarize himself with the controls. He was safe inside the armored car, at least from most things they could throw at him, and he was working out how he could finish her without involving the deputies in a running gun battle. She opened one of the shuttered windows as if about to step outside, but she didn't leave. Instead, she cocked her head and listened to a voice shouting to her from the access shaft.

  She turned. Her brother had somehow escaped from the sewage pool and was emerging, dragging Maria behind him. She was winded, her chest covered in blood, and as he dragged her across the floor, she flinched and winced in pain. Karpov also looked different. His face was white, as though suffering from lack of oxygen. Cris concluded the sprinklers had at least done some damage before they failed. The huge man finally let go of Maria, put his monstrous foot on her, and shouted for his sister to join him. She smiled, started running, and then she shouted a warning.

  Cops were entering the building, and this time, they'd identified Kareena Karpov as a major player in the horror that had visited Michigan. Two shots rang out, and the Karpov brother left Maria and rushed to join her. He was halfway across the intervening gap when Cris seized the chance. He leapt into the cupola, positioned himself behind the controls of the flamethrower, aimed, and fired. The result was astonishing, beyond anything he could have believed possible. The Karpov brother disappeared in a ball of black smoke and orange flame, his body blazing like a Roman candle. He may have been big, he may have been powerful and strong, but no way was he coming back from his funeral pyre.

  Kareena's reaction was to screech in fury. She'd just seen her second and last brother die in a ball of agonizing flames, and she fixed her eyes on the armored car, on the viewport in the cupola. He felt like she was staring at him with a powerful laser. If she could have killed him with a look, he would have been dead in an instant. But the cops were already reacting; puzzled by who had done what, and she took advantage of the confusion. A moment later, she was gone. Cris drove the armored car next to Maria's body, opened the hatch, and pulled her inside. He shouted for Yuri. The Russian dashed across the narrow stretch of floor between the access shaft and the vehicle, and dove through the hatch. Cris slammed and latched it closed, leapt into the driver's seat, and drove away from the building. He bumped over a body on the ground, unable to avoid it, and recognized the body of Sheriff Henry Dodge VIII. It looked like he would be the last of his line.

  Automatic fire raked the steel hull as they drove away, but the vehicle had been constructed for use in battlefield situations. Proof against small arms and even large caliber gunfire, they escaped unscathed. Yuri tended to Maria's wound, and he didn't sound hopeful.

  "I think the bullet hit her about three inches away from the heart. So I suppose you could say she was lucky, except it penetrated a main artery or vein, I don't know which. She’s still bleeding, although I did my best to stop it. We have to get her to a hospital."

  "I hear you. Stay with her, Yuri. I'll drive us out of the state, and with any luck, we’ll shake them off, at least for a short time.”

  The Russian clearly didn’t believe him, and he didn't blame him. She was badly wounded, they were driving a vehicle that was so conspicuous the cops could pick it up from almost any distance, and Kareena Karpov was still on the loose. Somehow, they had to get away from all of them. Once again, he wondered how she kept finding them, and so far his theories had come to nothing.

  I’d thought Stan Miles sold us out, except Stan’s dead. I wondered about Peter Schiller, but he’s also dead. As for Yuri, that’s impossible. The man’s come close to death on several occasions, and quite apart from what faces him if he made a deal with the Russians, it would take a huge stretch to put him in the frame. So who is it? And how?

  He headed south, toward the state line, and soon crossed over into Indiana. Keeping to the highway for maximum speed, he was looking for the right place. Somewhere they could hide the armored car and steal a vehicle less conspicuous. The light was starting to fade, but still there was nothing. He checked the gas gauge, and it was running low. Once again, they were running out of time, running out of luck, and running out of road. He turned to Yuri. "How is she?"

  "The same. She needs a hospital."

  "I hear you."

  * * *

  The sun slipped below the horizon, and darkness fell over the abandoned Minuteman site. The moon had yet to rise, and the figure flitting across the open ground was difficult to pick up. Not that anyone was looking for her. They had other problems on their plate. Searching for fugitives, searching for stolen armored car, and transporting the bodies of the fallen back to the county morgue. Kareena had the site to herself, and she walked around, picking up weapons. From time to time she checked the readout on a small device clipped to her belt, about the same size as a cellphone. She nodded in satisfaction, and when she had what she needed, she strolled away. Out on the road, she made a call.

  "I need you now."

  The voice at the other end didn't sound happy. Look, I've done everything we agreed. My part in this is over."

  "Do you want to live?" Her voice was soft, and somehow more menacing. There was no reply, and she assumed the obvious answer, "I'll be waiting close to the Minuteman site. Pick me up in a half-hour. If you don't come, you die."

  She waited in the gloom, and forty minutes later the rusting, dark red Chevrolet Truck braked to a halt. She stepped out and climbed into the passenger seat.

  "You’re late."

  "I had some things to do. I got here as quick as I could."

  "Very well, drive."

  "Which way?"

  "South. If anything changes, I’ll tell you.”

  "Are you still using…?"

  "Of course. A good investment, my friend."

  "What do you plan to do when you find them?"

  She gave him a look of pure scorn. “You dare to ask me that? They must die."

  "Don't you think there's been enough killing?"

  She was silent for a few seconds as she considered that question. Finally, she answered him.

  "No."

  Chapter Five

  They were running on fumes when he saw what he needed. Lit up like Las Vegas, a used car lot, and closed for the night. It was bedecked with enough flags and bunting to outfit the United States Navy Sixth Fleet. Behind the prefabricated office lay a shadowed space large enough to hide the armored car. He didn't hesitate and swung the wheel over, punched through the security chain, and drove around back.

  The lot had a selection of cars to choose from, and he picked out a fast Pontiac Firebird, the late model with the Ram Air V8 345 hp engine. If anyone chased them, at least they'd have enough speed and power to stand a chance of getting away. All that remained was to find the keys. The lot was isolated, so no neighbors to hear the sound of a shot. He fired a bullet through the lock on the door. It swung open, and inside, the keys to the Pontiac hung on a hook. He helped himself and went back outside.

  They carefully transferred Maria from the armored car to the rear seat of the Pontiac, and he drove away. Across the northern part of the state, and soon he reached the outskirts of Fort Wayne. St Mary's Hospital was open for business, and he steered through the floodlit entrance and parked outside the ER room. A security guard emerged with a scowl on his face, and started to badmouth him about parking in a restricted area. But when he saw them helping the badly wounded and bleeding girl out of the backseat, he grabbed his radio and called for help.

  Thirty seconds later, the emergency medics crashed out through the doors pushing a wheeled gurney. They wasted no time in transferring Maria and rushing her inside for treatment.

  Cris parked the Pontiac in the multi-story parking lot, and he and Yuri walked back to the ER room. Inside, he was screwed up with anxiety over Maria. The wound was bad, at least on the surface. Everything depended on how much damage she’d sustained internally.

  If it isn’t too serious, a couple of days to fix her up, we can get back on the road. But if it is serious…I can’t lose you, Maria. You must get over this. I promised to take care of you. And I failed.

  He thought about Kareena and wondered if she was dead. The cops were aware she was a killer, and there was every chance they'd caught up with her and killed her. For the first time since the attack on the cabin, he felt the pressure might be off. With the three Karpovs consigned to hell, they may just stand a chance.

  He and Yuri seated themselves in the waiting room, watching the regular bustle of the hospital; listening to the dispassionate announcements on the loudspeaker, and watching doctors and nurses hurrying past, festooned with stethoscopes and their faces in varying degrees of concern, from professional interest to near panic.

  Are any of them attending to Maria?

  He walked to the reception desk and asked about the location of the emergency surgery department. The nurse pointed along the corridor and frowned.

  “You can't go in there, Sir. You have to stay in the waiting room. I know you must be worried, but if they find you in a restricted area, they’ll toss you out of the hospital. Best to stay here, and make yourself comfortable."

  He was too wound up to sit down, so he stood drinking from the plastic cup, watching the corridor for any sign of progress. There was nothing. No doctors or nurses went into the operating theater, and none came out.

  That's good, isn't it? If they're still working on her, she must be alive, and she's going to live.

  He finished his coffee and felt a new energy flowing through him. Yet finding it difficult to do nothing. While the woman he'd sworn to protect, the woman he loved was fighting for her life a few yards away. He told Yuri he was going to check the car lot for any sign of trouble, and he walked outside. Inside the parking lot he checked every floor, all the way to the roof, and there was nothing. They were clear. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt a renewal of hope.

  There’s every chance Kareena is dead, shot down by the cops. In which case, the heat is off, except for Maria. Please God, let her live.

  * * *

  Nurse Serena MacPherson parked her car, a twelve-year-old Buick compact. She walked toward the elevator to descend to the first floor, in order to start her shift. Serena was deep in thought and didn’t look around her. She was trying to recall the list of things she had to do when she got home, and it was a surprise when a stranger approached. A young woman who'd just stepped out in a dark red Chevrolet truck. She tensed and then relaxed.

  The girl’s pretty, how could anyone who looks that nice be any kind of a threat?

  She looked as if she was in trouble. Her clothes were disheveled, her jacket torn, and she was covered in dust and dirt.

  "Please, can you help me?"

  The accent was foreign, and she didn't recognize it.

  Russian, maybe?

  But she felt pity for the poor girl. "Of course, what can I do for you?"

  "I want your uniform."

  She gaped. “My what?"

  Serena sensed rather than saw the hypodermic syringe swinging up on the very periphery of her vision. The next moment, everything dissolved into agonizing pain. She fell to the ground, thrashing in agony. Through her blurred vision, she saw the woman bend over her and begin to remove her pale blue uniform dress, her shoes, and nurse’s cap. She was almost naked, lying on the dusty concrete, and she felt acute embarrassment as her body spasmed in the final moments of life. Her head twisted from side to side, and she locked eyes with a man sitting in the driver’s seat of the red truck. He’d been watching, seeing the whole thing happen, and doing nothing. She couldn't make out what lay behind his expression, and she never would. Five seconds later, she was dead.

  Kareena dressed hurriedly in the nurse’s uniform and shoes, and adjusted the cap. She tucked the pistol, hypodermic, and the knife out of sight in the black leather purse she’d taken off the nurse. She dragged the dead body into the back seat of the Buick and covered it with a blanket. After a final look around to make sure she’d left nothing undone, she started for the elevator. She was aware of his accusatory stare from inside the truck.

  That’s another loose end I have to take care of before I return to Mother Russia.

  * * *

  They were sitting in the reception area, Cris on his second cup of coffee. He was still wondering about the Navcom.

  “Yuri, could they have latched onto the electronic emissions from that device to trace us?"

  The Russian was thoughtful for a few seconds and shook his head.

  "It's doubtful. The thing is…" He stopped again, having second thoughts, "Okay, it is possible, if they first had an approximate location to get within range. Yes, they could use a tracer unit. It's a portable version of these they designed for use by troops in the field. It could pick up the emissions, theoretically, and they'd know where we were. But it's more complicated than that."

  "How complicated?"

  He shrugged. "First, someone would have to know we have the Navcom. It belonged to Peter, and he's dead. So how could anyone have known?"

  "Go on."

  "There’s something else that makes it unlikely. The Wi-Fi has a certain signature, and they'd need a complicated serial number to access it to get any kind of a return feed. Again, the only man who had that information was Peter Schiller, and he’s dead."

  "I hear what you say, but the reality is that somehow they managed to follow us."

  "Perhaps Kareena made a deal with the devil."

  He chuckled. "She did that long time ago. Anyway, I'm positive it's time to ditch the Navcom. Wherever it goes, they find us."

  He nodded slowly. "You could be right. Okay, as soon as we’re out of here, I’ll smash it to pieces."

  "No, do it now. Go outside, find a lump of rock, and destroy it."

  "I can switch it off."

  "Do that, and then destroy it.”

  He sighed. "If you insist. I could have sold it for a good price on eBay.”

  “Kill it.”

  He reluctantly agreed, still mumbling protests, climbed to his feet, and stalked out of the reception area.

  Cris watched him leave, and turned his attention to a doctor emerging from the operating theater. He looked tired, and there were patches of blood on his scrubs. He tried to pass, but he blocked his way.

  "How is she?"

  "And you are?" The expression was challenging, arrogant, until he explained his relationship with Maria.

  He hesitated. "Her fiancé."

  Close enough.

  He nodded, and his eyelids drooped. "We’re doing our best, but the bullet caused a great deal of internal damage, and we’re not sure of the full extent.” He sighed, “She’s still bleeding inside, and you have to face the possibility that she isn't going to make it."

  "She has to make it."

  "Yeah, I know." He spoke like a man who'd heard it all before, "Listen, we’re doing everything possible, and a few things that aren’t possible. Believe me, if there's a way we can pull her through, we’ll find it. You have to excuse me. I need to consult with a colleague. There may be some additional things we can try, but…"

  He spread his hands, illustrating how helpless it was should death gain the upper hand, and walked away. Cris wanted to remonstrate, to argue with him. To shout and rave that whatever they were doing wasn't enough. Yet he knew if anyone could save her, it would be the medics in this hospital. Alienating them certainly wouldn't help Maria.

  The doors opened, and a nurse walked into the hospital. She veered away from the doctor, but he moved to intercept her, a smile on his face.

  "Nurse, I don't recall seeing you here before. Are you new?"

  The nurse sounded impatient. "My name is Serena MacPherson." She spoke with an accent, a soft voice yet it sounded eerily familiar.

  The doctor frowned, his suspicions aroused, and he didn’t move out of her way.

  "No, you're not Serena Macpherson. I happen to know Serena, and she doesn’t look remotely like you. Who are you, and why are you impersonating her? Where is she?"

  The nurse stayed calm. "Look, I'll show you my ID." He seemed to relax as she stepped back a pace and rummaged in her purse. What emerged wasn't ID, but a pistol, a Sig Sauer P226. The same as the guns the SWAT operators had used in the shootout at the Minuteman silo. Not just like them, the same guns she’d pocketed when she left. She didn't hesitate, pointed it at the doctor's chest, and pulled the trigger twice. Two bullets slammed into his heart, and she twisted away, racing toward the operating theater.

  Cris dragged out his gun. She snapped off a shot, but he fired back, and abruptly she veered away toward a door marked as the staircase. She crashed through, and he raced after her, hearing her footsteps as she climbed higher. He followed and reached the fourth floor. When he peered through the glass window of the door, she was running along the corridor, shooting doctors and nurses at random as they came out to see what the commotion was all about. A uniformed security guard appeared and held up a hand.

  "Stop, this is a restricted area. You can't…"

  He may as well have been trying to stop a runaway train. She pulled the trigger, and the pistol spat twice. He crashed to the floor, blood pumping from his body. She ran on and crashed through the doors at the end of the corridor.