Zara Leros glared out the window at the station platform. Cody continued to kick the back of her seat.

She'd come back to the coach just before they'd reached the border. She'd put on her coat and drawn a scarf around her hair, complaining to her fellow passengers that the train was chilly. Then she'd hunkered down in her seat and pretended to sleep. The single Customs agent who'd walked through the car had checked half a dozen passports and declarations, including Cody's mother's, but he hadn't bothered to wake her.

Evidently the "Do Not Disturb" sign she'd left on Whitman's sleeper door had worked, because no alarm was raised. They hadn't found Catayin's body in the out-of-order bathroom, either. Sloppy, sloppy work, Leros thought. They should all be fired. But for today, let them keep their jobs. They were helping her do hers.

Another few hours and she'd be in New York City. And then Control's life would finally be hers.

The child kicked at her in irregular rhythm. He had kicked her all the way from the border to Albany. The mother no longer even tried to stop him. Leros dozed, contemplating tearing off the child's foot and cramming it up his whiny little ass.

Motion on the platform attracted her attention. There were suddenly a lot of people out there. People were leaving the train. The smokers had already left, of course, stepping off as soon as the train stopped rolling. But now it seemed that everyone was leaving.

They've found the bodies, she thought, and swore under her breath. They've found at least one of them. But then why were they letting people leave the train?

The conductor came in at the front of the car. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced loudly, "I need all of you to exit the train immediately, please. Leave your luggage, please, and make your way to the nearest exit in an orderly manner. You'll want your coats."

"Why?" someone near him demanded. "What's wrong?"

"We have a small fire in the dining car," he explained. "There's no need to panic," he insisted, as people began to hurry towards the exits. "This is just a precaution. We'll have the situation under control and be on our way shortly."

Cody's mother stood up, effectively blocking the aisle for everyone else. "Come on, Cody, we have to go."

"I don't want to," he whined. "I was trying to sleep."

"You can sleep when we get back on the train."

"I don't wanna."

By then a dozen people were waiting in the aisle behind her. A tall man from across the row said, "Get your ass up and get off this train before I take my belt off."

The mother spun around. "You can't talk to my son that way!"

"It's about time somebody did," another passenger offered.

"You're mean!" Cody wailed.

"You have no idea," the tall man said. "Now get out of that seat and off the train right now!"

Zara listened as the child, blubbering with alligator tears, stumbled his way off the train with his indignant mother. She stayed in her seat while the crowd cleared around her. There was no danger from the fire, she was sure, and she didn't want to be jostled and shoved by the other passengers.

When the last few people had reached the door, she stood up just in front of the hovering conductor and started back. She looked out the window, intent on finding and avoiding Cody.

The young man in the suit and sunglasses had seemed to be jockeying for position on the platform. He kept his eyes fixed on the train door.

Zara looked over her shoulder towards the front of the car. There was another such young man watching that door. Clean-cut, fit, with just a hint of a bulge beneath his jacket under his arm. Watchful, anxious.

She couldn't go back that way, anyhow. The conductor was just behind her, shepherding her out. "Watch your step, ma'am."

Zara paused in front of the anxious man and dug in her purse. "I'm sorry," she said, letting her voice quaver. "I can't go out in the daylight without my special glasses." She produced a pair of very dark wrap-around sunglasses, the sort worn by transplant patients, and put them on. Then she pulled the scarf tighter around her head. There was some chance that the men on the platform were looking for Whitman and Catayin. A very good chance, in fact. No one would suspect a little old woman of being an assassin.

She let the conductor hold her arm and help her down the steps.

The passengers were milling around, most of them much too close to the train. Leros watched her young man carefully. He didn't react to the sight of her. Nodding, she made her way through the crowd to where Cody stood – still bawling – with his mother. "There, there, dear," she said sweetly, patting the child as if he were her grandchild. "Would you like a sweet?"

Cody sniffed. "A what?"

"A sweet. A candy." She looked to the mother, smiling. "That's all right, isn't it?"

"I want candy!"

The mother waved ineffectively. "Cody, can't you be more polite?"

Zara dug into her purse and brought out a peppermint.

The young man was talking to his wrist radio. He wasn't looking at her, but his body was angled towards her. She looked up the platform. His companion was moving their way.

She held the candy out to Cody and put her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Here you go, dear."

"Peppermint?" the brat shrieked. "I don't like peppermint!"

He hurled the candy at the side of the train. The men in suits moved towards her slowly, carefully, their hands still empty. They didn't want to put civilians at risk.

Good boys, Zara thought bitterly. She tightened her grip on the child and pulled him in front of her. Then she backed away.

"Let go of me!" the boy bellowed.

Leros showed him the knife she held at his back. "Be a good boy, Cody, and I won't slit your nasty little throat."

The agents saw the weapon. They abandoned cover and drew their guns. The crowd predictably panicked in their immediate area, but they pushed through quickly. There were two more coming from behind her. Zara swiveled, putting her back to the train.

The boy should have frozen in terror. He should have wept and begged for his life. Instead, the wretched little brat twisted around and kicked her in the knee, flailing with his arms until she lost her grip on his jacket. He stumbled and fell down, tangled in his own feet.

Zara Leros heard three shots. There were probably more. But by then she was already dead.

XXXXX

Control watched sullenly as McCall marked through three more names on the white board. "Is there something about the phrase 'I want them alive' that's too complicated for them to understand?" he demanded.

"Zara Leros took a small boy hostage on the platform," Robert answered calmly. "The other two had been dead for hours when they found them."

"And now there are only four," Charlie quipped.

"Five," Control corrected. "These four and the one who's invited them."

"Of course."

"We'll find them," Pete promised. "You'll be roaming the streets by Halloween."

Control growled and stalked to the far side of the room. It wasn't the five assassins that were troubling him at the moment. It was one woman.

McCall came to his side. "What is it?" he asked quietly. "What's bothering you?"

Control just looked at him. Coming from Robert McCall, it was a remarkably stupid question.

"Yes, yes," Robert said quickly. "I know, murder, betrayal, I understand. But what's got you snapping at us at this particular juncture?"

Control looked away, out the window. "I didn't want Lily to meet with Rudyk," he answered quietly. "I never thought Paras would have him at the office. Or that he would let one of my people meet with him." He shook his head. "She's trying to put it behind her, and I keep putting her in the middle again."

"She knows that wasn't your intention."

"Intention has nothing to do with it. The result is exactly the same, whether I intended it or not."

McCall nodded. "She's strong. She'll get through it."

"She shouldn't have to be this strong." Control glared out at the city.

The phone rang, and Charlie snapped it up. "Of course, of course," he said cheerfully. "Send her right up."

Control turned his back to the window. "Romanov?" he asked, careful to keep his voice even.

"Yes," McGuinn answered. He went to the door and opened it just as Lily was about to knock. She smiled cheerfully and handed him a heavy bag – the ham.

From where he was, Control could see that the smile was all front. She was every inch as miserable as he was. He wanted to move, to wrap her in his arms and make it all go away. He couldn't, in front of the others. And even if they'd been alone, he doubted she would have allowed it. She was bristling with tension, and holding her would only make it worse.

She would not meet his eyes. Instead, she looked at the updated assassin board thoughtfully. "They were all on the train?"

"Yes," Ellen said. "You called it."

"Mmm." Lily carried the rest of her packages into the kitchen, then came back to the conference table and brought a manila envelope from under her jacket. She laid it down carefully, almost reverently, then wiped her hands on her pants and folded her arms over her chest.

She handled the thing as if it were toxic. Control's intuition tingled. "What have you got?" he asked, moving closer.

"The proof sheet. From Srebrenica."

"You said something about physical evidence."

Lily nodded. "Rudyk says that they hit him and threw him down in the mud. When he came to, Aamir was right next to him."

"Aamir?" Robert asked.

She looked at him blankly. "The green-eyed boy."

Control felt sick cold clutch at his stomach again, the way it had the first time he'd seen the pictures. The boy with the beautiful green eyes. Somehow it had been a mercy not to know his name. He might have guessed that Lily knew it, and had kept it from him.

"You knew him?" McCall asked in surprise.

Lily continued to stare at the envelope. "I smuggled food to him and his family in the enclave," she answered flatly. "I thought it would be too horrible for him to starve to death in his own bed. So instead I kept him alive until the Serbs could drag him out to a muddy field and cut his head off with a shovel."

Control took two steps towards the woman. She did not look up, but her shoulders hunched forward. She didn't want his comfort. A kind word or a touch from him now would shatter her.

He sighed softly and stayed where he was.

"If Rudyk's story is true," Lily continued, "there should be an imprint in the mud. We should have a picture of it. But … I haven't been able to look for it yet."

"You're not going to look for it," Ellen said firmly. "Let the boys find it. Come help me with dinner."

Lily looked up, not at Ellen, but at Control. There was a bare spark of hope in her eyes. He nodded quickly. "We'll find it," he said. "Go on."

She hurried out of the room. Control nodded again to himself. Ellen had always had a keen sense for the undertones of situations. Whatever she knew, or could guess, she was looking after the courier in a way that he himself somehow never quite managed.

McCall reached for the envelope. "I'll do it," Control growled. He sat down at the table and drew the envelope over to him. "There should be a magnifying glass in that drawer somewhere."

Robert glowered at him, but he went obediently and fetched the glass, then sat down next to him. "Have you seen them already?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I haven't," Charlie said. He sat on the other side of the spymaster. "Except for the ones on television, of course."

"Those were the most acceptable of the lot," Robert told him. He leaned to look over Control's shoulder at the tiny frames.

"Good Lord," McGuinn said. He pointed with the tip of his pinky finger. "This woman – I know her."

"Nancy Campbell," Control said heavily. "You met her at the Wall party."

"It looks like she's about to shoot herself."

"She is."

"Good Lord," McGuinn said again. He pushed back from the table and walked to the far side of the room.

Control forced himself to study the pictures without any apparent emotion. They were undeniably horrible – but not as horrible as being there had been for Lily. He could not look away. "Here," he said. He picked up a pen and pointed with the tip. "Right here."

Robert leaned even closer. "I see it. But it's hardly definitive."

"It might be if the picture were bigger."

"I'll call the office."

Control sat back and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to see the picture any bigger. He didn't want to look at the boy with the beautiful eyes who had been so cruelly slaughtered. He didn't want to think about him. He didn't want Lily to think about him.

He didn't want Lily to know the child's name.

She had cut her hair and torn her clothes because her love for Control would not allow her to put her gun to her head. But he could feel, even now, how the weight of what she'd seen dragged her to covet the dreamless sleep of death.

Swiftly, he pushed back from the table and walked to the kitchen.

The women had their backs to him. He saw silver flashed between them, and heard the distinct sucking thwack of a stabbing.

"Good," Ellen said. "Now you're getting it. Trust the sharpness of the tip, let it do the work. There's no need for force. Just be firm and easy."

The older spy moved just a step to the side, and Control watched as Lily drew her arm back and stabbed a stiletto smoothly into the ham.

"Good," Ellen pronounced. "Now where you'll get into problems is with the bones – and humans, unfortunately, as (are) full of them. But the blade is so slender that if you don't force it, it will slide right to the side. Here, try right here, this side …"

Control backed out of the kitchen. His news would keep; there was no point in disturbing ladies with knives.

XXXXXX

Mickey had protested being transported by ambulance, but it had done him no good at all. "Orders," the corpsman said, and slammed the door shut behind him.

It was an odd perspective, seeing New York City through a narrow window over his head, sideways and horizontal. Nothing but sky and the third floor of buildings and sometimes street lights or signs. Kostmayer started to feel a little carsick. But by the time they got to the hospital, he had a pretty good idea where he was.

The people who unloaded his stretcher looked like regular orderlies. Between the loading dock and the corridor, Mickey caught sight of three men who were Company muscle. Before they got to the elevator, he'd spotted four more. None of them seemed remotely interested in him.

It was a little insulting.

When the elevator arrived, the unloaders passed him off to another orderly. "I'll take you up to your suite now," he announced. "Everything's all ready for you."

"My suite, huh?" Mickey said. "Now that's sounding a little more like it."

The orderly grinned. "And then I'll let Miss Romanov know you've arrived."

"Ahh. Thank you." Kostmayer grinned back. Leave it to Lily; she'd either over-tipped this guy or charmed the hell out of him, or both. Either way, he was in for some serious VIP treatment.

Not that he didn't deserve it.

The orderly brought his crutches and helped him to his feet, then took him on a brief tour. The suite was not fancy, but it was better than some hotel rooms Mickey had stayed in. One room was an undisguised hospital room, bed and equipment and all. But adjoining this was a living room with a couch and a recliner, a big TV set, and a little kitchen. "You also have a private shower," the happy orderly reported.

"Great. I could use it."

"Yyyes, Sir," the orderly answered with a little too much emphasis. "There are call lights everywhere," he said, and pointed out half a dozen of them. The tiny refrigerator was stocked with juice, snacks and lunch meat. The cupboard was similarly filled.

The suite had Romanov's fingerprints all over it – as Mickey's trip home did.

He was a little surprised that Annie wasn't there yet.

"Your doctor will be here shortly for your evaluation," his helpful assistant said. "Until then, make yourself comfortable, and if there's anything you need, just ring."

"Thanks," Mickey said. He felt like he ought to tip, but the sweat pants he'd worn for travel didn't have pockets. His wallet was somewhere in his gear. And probably he wasn't supposed to tip the orderlies anyhow. In any case, the man was gone.

He grabbed an apple out of the tiny refrigerator and maneuvered over to the recliner. Before he got settled with his bulky leg brace, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Damn," Mickey said. He started to get up, then stopped and yelled, "Come on in!"

"Ah, ever on the alert," McCall teased from the doorway.

"Hey, McCall. How's it going?"

"You look like hell, Mickey."

Kostmayer shrugged. "I been worse. What's going on upstairs?"

Robert smirked. Then he sat down on end of the couch and quickly outlined the situation. Mickey chewed his apple thoughtfully while he listened, then tossed the core into the basket on the other side of the room. "So you're down to four? Man, I miss all the fun."

"Four and our ringleader," McCall answered. "And he's killing them faster than we can find them."

Kostmayer nodded thoughtfully. "How's Control?"

"He's holding up remarkably well, given the circumstances. The wound is fairly insignificant. And he's accustomed to being betrayed."

"Yeah." Mickey looked around. "Why am I here?"

Slowly, McCall smiled. "The penthouse is very well secured, of course."

"Of course."

"There's a secret entrance, a stairway concealed in the room across the hall from this suite."

"Uh-huh."

"There is some chance that our traitor will give that information to the killers."

"You think they might come after Control here?"

"Kevin Hunter is still alive and at large. He is … particularly motivated."

"Do you blame him?" Mickey asked.

"Well, no," Robert admitted. "But he is reckless enough to attempt an assault on this facility, yes. Especially if he has the funding to hire some back-up, which he probably does."

"So you want me to watch the back door."

"Yes."

"Then shouldn't I be across the hall?"

McCall smiled tightly. "Oh, but you will be. In spirit, if not in body." He went into the other room, came back pushing an EKG monitor on a small cart. When he flipped the switch on the small screen, it displayed a narrow stairway.

"Ahhh," Mickey said. "I love Pete's work."

The older man picked up what looked like a small button from the cart. "This," he said, "is your silent alarm. If anyone enters the stairwell from either end, it will vibrate and alert you. We also have them upstairs."

Kostmayer took the tiny alarm and clipped it to the collar of his shirt. "And what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Weapons will be delivered shortly," Robert promised. "Obviously your first priority is to protect Control. Secondly, we'd like one of these assassins alive."

"Can I mess him up some?"

"Of course. As necessary."

"Nice. That's it?"

McCall pointed to a small indicator light on the monitor. "If this goes on, or if your alarm triggers and there's no one in the stairwell, it means we have a situation upstairs and require your assistance."

"Got it."

"Other than that – get some rest. You look as if you could use it."

Kostmayer ran his hand over his weary face. "Yeah, I could. I could use a shower, too."

"Control's lieutenants are coming in for a meeting at nine o'clock. Until they leave, we won't expect you to be on alert."

"Does Annie know I'm home?"

Robert smiled warmly this time. "Oh, she knows. I imagine she'll be here by the time you're done in the shower."

"You managed not to scare her to death, right?"

"It was handled with our usual tact and diplomacy."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of."

McCall clapped a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Mickey."

He headed for the door. "Hey, McCall," Kostmayer called after him, "how's Romanov?"

"She's … tenderizing a ham even as we speak."

"She's what?"

"She's strong," Robert said. "She'll get through it."

Mickey watched him out. He shook his head. "Not quite the answer I was looking for," he muttered.

He touched his tiny alarm with his fingertip. Then he sniffed at his shirt, and recoiled. "Definitely a shower," he muttered, and hobbled towards the bathroom.

XXXXXX

Jonah glanced around at his computer displayed with a wry grin. "Aren't you cute?" he murmured. On one screen after another, his tracking programs ignited and chased.

Money moved from the dead assassins' accounts into those who were still alive.

The first tracking program coughed up its results.

Jonah studied the data and frowned. He hadn't expected it to lead straight back to the New York offices, of course. He wasn't surprised that it traced to Washington, D.C. He was a little started when it led to a Senate office building.

"Really?" he whistled softly. "Control, I knew you had some enemies in high places, but I had no idea."

He booted up another program and studied the terrain. There were over two hundred offices in that building. Thirty-three senators and representatives, plus their staffs. One main server. It must chug along like a steam locomotive on a steep hill, Jonah thought.

Sorting out precisely whose office was hacking into assassins' bank accounts might be impossible.

But Jonah had always liked impossible.

He cracked his knuckles and set to work.