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“That’s all I saw of him.” She turned her head so she could look up at Kostmayer. “You tell Robert what happened to me.” She didn’t seem to be able to get her voice above a whisper. “No one else.”
    â€œThere won’t be anything to tell. We’re getting you to a hospital.”
    â€œ You tell him, Mickey,” she insisted.
    Kostmayer nodded. “I will. I give you my word. When I find him.”
    â€œYou’ll find him. He’s your friend.”
    She closed her eyes with the pain.
    The wind had kicked up in volumn.
    â€œGet the ETA on that ambulance!” Control shouted at Kostmayer.
    Kostmayer got to his feet, looking down at Elena one last time. Then he ran around the first wrecked train car, putting a walkie to his lips.
    There was nothing around them now, just darkness and wind and the cushion of the bloodied snow. Control gently pulled Elena’s black dress down to her thighs. He lifted her up into his arms. Her eyes cleared for a moment and held that amusement in them he’d always loved.
    â€œYou gonna carry me to safety, big guy?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Elena,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. “I’m no Robert McCall. I couldn’t protect you.”
    â€œAlexei brought in the best,” she whispered. “I never saw him, never even heard him until it was too late. Let Robert know.”
    â€œHe resigned. He’s not a part of The Company any longer.” He was talking to keep her mind from slipping into shock along with her body. Keep her alert. Keep her focused. “I can’t tell Robert McCall anything, even if I could find him.”
    She reached up and gripped the sleeve of his jacket. Her eyes blazed with final life.
    â€œTell Robert. Get the bastard. For me.”
    She slumped back down. The light went out of her eyes.
    She was gone.
    Kostmayer ran around the train car. Control stood up. His body language told Kostmayer all he needed to know. Control slipped the silver flash drive into the pocket of his coat.
    â€œ Do you know where Robert McCall is?” Control asked.
    There was the briefest pause, then Kostmayer said, “No.”
    Behind them a Trans Care ambulance pulled into the Disaster Park, red lights flashing, no siren.
    Too late.
    *   *   *
    Robert McCall sat down on a high-backed chair in his kitchen and looked out the window at the rooftops across the street. There were two tiers of them, flat roofs, like steps coming toward his narrow kitchen window. Moonlight hazed across them. He sipped a cup of strong Irish coffee. He had ripped open the package of M&M’s and tipped them into the empty glass bowl on the coffee table in the living room. He had unloaded the groceries onto the kitchen counter, put the milk and Diet Pepsi in the refrigerator, which held eggs, butter, bottled water, vegetables, a bottle of 2005 Domaine Ramonet Chardonnay. In the cabinet over the stove were two dishes, two side plates, one serving plate, two bowls. There was a juicer on the counter. A toaster. A wooden knife rack. Nothing else. The apartment was deathly quiet. He stared out of the kitchen window at the roofs. In his mind’s eye, he saw them coming for him, stark, silhouetted figures against a crescent moon.
    Coming to kill him.
    To kill them both.
    He hadn’t thought of it in a long time, and he often looked out this window.
    He had felt a chill.
    He got up, opened the microwave, and took out a Smith & Wesson five-shot, double-action large caliber 500 revolver. It had a stainless steel 10.5-inch barrel, gray grip handle, and fired a .500 caliber bullet weighing 350 grams at 1975 feet per second with a high recoil. It was the most powerful handgun in the world.
    McCall sat down again at the kitchen table and remained very still.
    He waited for the figures on the roofs to reach him.
    But there was no one out there.

 
    CHAPTER 6
    The night was warm for