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face, and he’d made good his escape from the immediate area before backup could arrive. He’d been obliged to buy a new jacket and jeans from the nearest department store to eliminate the chance of a clothing match, but he could live with that. The only thing they could use against him was his English accent, and even that was unlikely to help much in a city that saw a regular influx of foreign tourists.
    For now at least, he was in the clear.
    His unhappy contemplation was interrupted when his phone started ringing. It was Franklin. Snatching it up, he inputted his DateCalculator access code and hit the green button to take the call.
    ‘What have you got, Dan?’
    ‘News, and none of it good,’ his friend began. ‘You were right about those Mercs. They were part of a Russian diplomatic convoy fresh in from Andrews AFB.’
    It didn’t take much effort to spot the link to Anya. She had been incarcerated in a Russian jail when Drake had found her. The exact reasons for her imprisonment were unknown, but clearly she was important to them. And it seemed she was now returning the favour.
    ‘We’re still getting police reports in, but we know both drivers were killed by high-velocity sniper rounds. The damn things punched right through the bulletproof windshields like they weren’t even there.’
    ‘Yeah, I saw the gun,’ Drake confirmed. ‘Looked like it could take out a tank.’
    ‘It gets better. The survivors were executed at close range by small-arms fire. Double taps to the head – real professional.’
    Drake wasn’t surprised. He would expect nothing less from any operation that Anya was part of. ‘So the “paramedics” I saw were there to finish the job.’
    ‘This wasn’t just an assassination,’ Franklin went on. ‘According to the convoy manifest, we’ve got an MIA. Anton Demochev, director of the FSB’s counter-terrorism branch.’
    Drake felt as though he was immersed in a bad dream, and it was getting worse by the minute. The convoy that had been hit belonged to Russia’s Federal Security Bureau, better known as the FSB.
    When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, the old KGB broke up into a number of successor agencies, all vying for power and influence. The FSB had eventually emerged as the dominant entity and was now the main intelligence service of the Russian Federation, responsible for both foreign and domestic security.
    Essentially they were the CIA and the FBI rolled into one. As such, their power and resources were considerable. And as many in Russia and elsewhere had learned to their cost, they weren’t shy about flexing their political and military muscles.
    ‘So this was an abduction,’ he said, stating the obvious.
    ‘Looks that way. The Russians are going apeshit over this. If they hold him to ransom, it will be a PR disaster.’ Franklin was silent for a moment, and Drake could almost feel his growing anger. ‘Anya might have caused a goddamned international incident.’
    Drake looked down at his coffee. He could think of nothing to say to that, because his friend might well be right. Her actions this evening had already resulted in several deaths, not to mention incurring the wrath of one of the world’s most dangerous intelligence services.
    ‘What are we doing about it?’ he asked instead. With an incident of this magnitude, an Agency response was inevitable.
    ‘We’re coordinating with FBI and Homeland Security, trying to figure out where they took him. But it’s slow going.’
    Drake could guess why. Cooperation between America’s security services was less than impressive at the best of times, and with a sudden attack like this, just piecing together what had happened could take hours. They were a sledgehammer, when what was needed was a scalpel.
    Fortunately Drake had just the instrument in mind.
    ‘I have to go, Dan,’ he said, as his phone buzzed to let him know another caller was trying to reach him. ‘I’ll call you back if I have anything