Oleg padded out into the living room in his silk pajamas.

He intended to inform his detail that he couldn’t sleep and order them to take him to his parents’ house. But he was stunned to see so many additional agents.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Who are all these people?”

The supervisor apologized for the surprise. He said the detail had been beefed up on direct orders from the president. Normally he would have informed Oleg immediately, but given all the stresses on him, he had thought it best to let him get his sleep.

As furious as he was terrified, Oleg stormed back into his bedroom and slammed the door, only to realize that he’d been so stunned by the presence of so many additional FSB agents that he hadn’t said anything about going to Rublyovka. He picked up the phone by his bed and called the supervisor. Next he changed into blue jeans and a fisherman knit sweater and threw a change of clothes and a freshly pressed business suit and some toiletries in an overnight bag. Then he grabbed the satellite phone and took it into the bathroom.

Marcus felt the satphone buzzing in his pocket.

“What?” he whispered.

“We have a problem,” Oleg said.

“Tell me.”

“The president boosted my detail to a dozen agents.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“Has something happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Has there been a threat made against you? Or do you think he suspects something?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Oleg replied. “I just wanted you to be prepared.”

With that, he hung up the phone.

Marcus closed his eyes. The calculus had changed. Now he knew he had to tell Morris whose house they were at and how high the stakes really were. How else was he going to explain all the extra company they were about to receive and all the firepower they were bringing with them? He just prayed she wouldn’t call the whole mission off.

“Razor to Keyhole,” he said. “I have new information for you.”

McDermott huddled with Clarke in the Oval.

“Two things, Mr. President,” he said as he stood beside the Resolute desk.

“Make it quick.”

“Yes, sir. First, we’re reaching out to the Kremlin to set up a hotline call for you and President Luganov. But we have to be realistic. It’s the middle of the night in Moscow. I’d recommend we place the call at, say, 8 a.m. their time. That would be 1 a.m. here, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine; just make sure it happens.”

“Absolutely, sir. The second thing is about the extraction of the Raven.”

“What about it?”

“Well, sir, if our people can actually get him safely out of Russia, we need to make a decision about where to bring him.”

“Here to the States, of course. Why?”

“We’re talking about a very senior Russian official essentially defecting at a very delicate moment in U.S.–Russia relations,” McDermott noted.

“And you don’t think it’s wise to bring him to the States?”

“It may be prudent not even to acknowledge that we have him, sir.”

“Where else would you take him?”

“We’re thinking Egypt, sir. We’ve set up a special facility outside Alexandria. Top secret. Completely off the radar. But safe.”

“And deniable.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What does Director Stephens say?”

“He agrees.”

“Then Egypt it is.”

“Keyhole to Razor —they’re coming,” Morris said.

It was pouring again, a bitter, biting rain that was soon going to shift into snow. It was early, but it wasn’t completely unheard of for the Moscow metropolitan area to get its first snow in early fall. Morris was shivering from waiting out in the elements for an hour and a half. But there was no point griping about it or even thinking about it. Through her high-powered night vision binoculars, she could see two black SUVs coming down the highway. They were less than two miles out.

Setting down the binoculars, Morris picked up the weapon at her side, attached its silencer, and peered through the night vision scope. Moments later, the entourage entered the gated community and pulled up in front of the estate. It was 4:01. The Raven, who she now knew was none other than Oleg Kraskin, and his newly enlarged security team were right on time.

Morris glanced at the Mercedes positioned about thirty yards to her right. She’d camouflaged it with branches and foliage. Now she worried the rains and wind might wash away enough of it to make the SUV visible if Kraskin’s security detail did a thorough search of the woods. She felt in the darkness for her pistol and clicked off the safety. She took a long look to her right and to her left, then behind her. She didn’t want anyone to catch her off guard. Satisfied she had the woods to herself —at least for the moment —she fought to slow and steady her breathing. She’d done two tours in Iraq with Army intelligence. She’d helped hunt down dozens of high-value targets before being recruited by the Agency and sent to language school to add Russian to her Arabic and Farsi. She’d done all sorts of crazy things for her government. But she’d never lain on her stomach in a Russian forest in the freezing rain, aiming a loaded weapon at a team of highly trained Russian FSB officers and Spetsnaz commandos.

She was seriously doubting herself for ever letting Marcus Ryker design this plan and run this operation. She didn’t care if he was the only link to the Raven. He wasn’t the CIA’s top dog in Russia. He wasn’t responsible for managing more than 120 officers and some three dozen Russian agents they’d recruited throughout the military, Duma, and executive branch. Yet somehow she’d let him dictate exactly what was going to happen and how. She hadn’t even put up a fight. He spoke with a humility and yet an air of authority unlike any other civilian she’d come across. And given the amount of time they’d had, his plan was probably the best anyone could come up with. But it was risky. It was bad enough when they had to contend with four bodyguards, but twelve?

If this went badly, it was going to go very badly.

Marcus heard the vehicles pull up out front.

He turned his night vision goggles back on and glanced out the small attic window. He could see two large bodyguards emerging from the lead SUV. They were dressed in suits and raincoats and held submachine guns at the ready. One moved cautiously through the darkness around to the backyard; the other moved toward the front door. The rest of the detail remained dry and warm in their SUVs, which now turned around and parked facing the main gate and the road beyond it.

They had made their first mistake, Marcus realized. With a dozen men on the team, at least eight of them should have jumped out to set up a secure perimeter and thoroughly search the house —regardless of the weather —leaving behind only the two drivers keeping their engines running and two body men staying close to their principal, Oleg Stefanovich Kraskin.

“Keyhole to Razor,” Jenny Morris whispered in his headset.

“What?” Marcus asked, annoyed by the sudden break of radio silence.

“Did you reset the alarm system? Over.”

“Affirmative. Hold your position and wait for my command.”

In theory, they were in an ideal tactical position. Morris had suggested that they could cut down the Russian security force with breathtaking speed, assuming that Marcus wasn’t found by the lone agent sweeping the house. Once the “all clear” signal was radioed back to the head of the detail, the agents would prepare to whisk Oleg inside. As soon as the doors of both SUVs opened and all the agents —aside from the drivers —began to exit, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Marcus had the high ground from a fixed yet hidden position. He could open fire and likely take out four or five of the Russians before they even realized where the rounds were coming from. Simultaneously, he could give the order to Morris to begin firing from the woods at the agents emerging from the other side of the vehicles. If she was as proficient a marksman as she claimed, she could likely take out all or most of the Russians on her side in a matter of seconds.

But the windows of both SUVs were tinted. That meant neither Marcus nor Jenny knew which vehicle their subject was in. And they couldn’t afford the possibility of Oleg being hit in the cross fire. It wasn’t just the thumb drive Marcus needed. He needed Oleg alive to execute the next phase of the plan.