Marcus immediately discharged the partially empty magazine from his pistol.

He pulled another mag from his belt and locked it in place. Given the Russian weapon’s built-in silencer, no one outside the house could possibly have heard the shots. A quick peek out the window showed no movement, suggesting no one had heard the body fall down the stairs or heard the man’s submachine gun drop to the floor.

“Razor to Keyhole, target down,” he said. “Stand by to engage. Over.”

“What target?” came the stunned reply devoid of all radio protocol. “What are you talking about? You shot someone already?”

“Wait one,” Marcus replied as he shoved the pistol into his holster, grabbed the VSS rifle, and flicked a switch changing it from single-shot sniper mode to full-on automatic.

He inched halfway down the stairs, listening intently for any sounds of movement below. Hearing none, he double-checked the man’s pulse and confirmed what he already knew, then scooped up the man’s machine gun and stripped him of the rest of his weapons and ammo. There was blood all over the hallway carpet, but Marcus wasn’t worried about that. One way or another, this would be over before any of the Russians made it to the second floor.

Marcus removed the man’s whisper mic, earpiece, and battery-powered wireless radio and put them on himself. Now he had two —one connected to Morris and this one connected to the entire Russian detail. This would have been ideal if he spoke Russian, but he did not. Jenny did, and he briefly considered ways of patching her into the Russian feed. For the moment, however, it did not matter. Only one thing did.

“Razor to Keyhole —how do you say ‘all clear’ in Russian? Over.”

“What in the world?” Morris shot back, a disturbing mix of confusion and fear in her voice, a mix that did not exactly bolster Marcus’s confidence in her partnership at that moment.

“You heard me —‘all clear’ —now. Over.”

“Vsay yasno, over,” she replied.

“Vsay yasno? Confirm. Over.”

“Correct. Why?”

Marcus wasn’t happy. He wasn’t conducting a Socratic dialogue. He was in the middle of leading an operation with by far the biggest stakes of their careers. Morris should know better than to question him or engage in any extraneous conversation. There was no way he was going to walk her through what he was doing. He’d be happy to explain all in their after-action report, if they got that far, but certainly not now.

“Stand by” was all he said in response.

Marcus turned off the light in the second-floor hallway. He powered his night vision goggles back up and moved to a bedroom with windows overlooking the front yard. Seeing no movement in the vehicles, he pressed the button to the Russian radio system and gave the all clear signal exactly as Jenny had said it and prayed it did the job. Then he waited.

Would they buy it or bolt?

A minute passed, then two, though it seemed like an hour. Finally he heard the radio crackle to life. The head of the detail, presumably, was giving the order. It was in Russian, but its meaning was plain enough. Doors began to open. The Russians began to exit their vehicles. They’d bought it. The mission was still on.

Marcus pinned himself against a wall on the second floor, next to the stairs but out of position for anyone to see him if they glanced upward. He was amazed at how calm he felt. His breathing was steady. His pulse was barely above normal. The initial rush of adrenaline he’d felt minutes before had drained out of his system. His equilibrium had settled. He was back in control. The odds of complete success were long, to be sure. But at this point he gambled that even if he died in a firefight inside the house, Morris could eliminate everyone outside and pick off the rest as they tried to rush Oleg back to one of the SUVs. Whether she’d live long enough to talk to him, much less grab the thumb drive and get it uploaded to Langley, he had no idea. But he now put the odds at fifty-fifty, and given the scenario, that really wasn’t so bad.

He asked his partner for a head count.

“Seven bogeys out of their vehicles, heading for the front door,” she said.

These, plus the agent he’d killed and the one in the backyard, made nine. But that was odd. That left only the drivers, both of whom were certain to stay in their vehicles, keeping them running and ready for a quick escape if necessary. Was only one agent going to walk Oleg inside? Sloppy, Marcus thought.

Morris radioed again. “Keyhole to Razor —the headlights of both trucks just went dark. Both drivers are getting out, along with what looks like the head of the detail. They’re putting a tight cordon around the subject and moving him toward the front door.”

Marcus was surprised and went to the window to make sure Jenny was right. Sure enough, she was. If the drivers were shutting down their vehicles and getting out, it must mean the detail saw no immediate threat inside or outside the house. That was good news. It meant he and Jenny still retained the advantage. Still, there were now ten highly trained Russian bodyguards in the house, and Marcus was going to have to take them on by himself.

“Eyes on? Over,” he whispered, making sure his math was correct.

“Eyes on one —repeat, eyes on one —the one they left to guard the front door,” Morris replied.

Marcus didn’t like the fact that they had no eyes on the agent stationed out back. But it couldn’t be helped now. He listened for the last group of agents to enter the house with Oleg. He could soon hear Oleg talking in Russian, and though he couldn’t understand a word the man was saying, it was obvious what the Raven was doing —he was putting the men at ease. They were laughing now. He could hear someone opening the refrigerator, kitchen cabinets opening and closing. A microwave started running. A moment later, he heard some glasses clinking and the unmistakable sound of a wine cork popping. It seemed highly unlikely that the men assigned to Oleg’s protection were going to start drinking. Luganov would have their heads. But Marcus wouldn’t be surprised at all if Oleg started drinking. He was nervous. He would want to take the edge off.

Marcus hoped Oleg wouldn’t drink too heavily. He would need his wits about him tonight. That was for certain.