“Go, go, go!” Marcus yelled as he bolted out of the house and into the Mercedes.

“Where’s Kraskin?” Morris asked, visibly stunned to see her partner alone.

“Never mind. Floor it, Jenny,” Marcus ordered.

The CIA’s top operative in Russia bristled, but with the choppers inbound she did as she was told.

Marcus reloaded his rifle and prayed for his crazy scheme to work as they blew through the front gates and tore down the slick back roads at dangerously high speeds.

It was still pitch-black. The clock on the dashboard said it was only 4:28. Few other cars were on the roads at such an hour, but the snow was coming down even harder now, and Morris had the windshield wipers on full blast. As blood continued oozing down his left leg, Marcus reached into the backseat, grabbed his backpack, and pulled out his first aid kit.

“I have the flash drive,” he said at last as he fished through the kit until he found a hypodermic needle, loaded it with a painkiller, and jammed it into his left thigh.

“Good,” Morris said. “But where is Oleg? Was he killed?”

“No, he’s alive,” Marcus said. He spread antibiotic ointment over the wound and wrapped it with gauze and tape. “He said he’d meet us at the airport. But first he has to go see Luganov.”

“Why?”

“He said he had to see him about something critical that might help stop the war.” Marcus stuffed the first aid kit back into his pack and tossed it behind him as he scanned the skies for the inbound hostage rescue team. At the same time, he was looking from side to side for the SUV that had gotten away, lest it was lurking in the shadows, waiting to ambush them. He knew full well he was edging close to a line. He wasn’t lying to her, not quite. But he couldn’t tell her a thing. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

“Ryker, that’s not acceptable,” Morris shot back. “We had orders from the president of the United States to bring the Raven out alive.”

“Look, he knows the risks, especially with Luganov launching an all-out mole hunt. But he was adamant. He believes he has to go see the president one more time. There was nothing I could do.”

“You could have grabbed him anyway.”

“Kidnapped him?”

“Call it what you want, Ryker —the president gave us the green light to execute a plan you initiated. Not just to get the files but to get the Raven.”

“And we will. I told you, he said he’d meet us at the airport.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“It is now.”

“Please don’t tell me we just killed eleven Russians to retrieve a thumb drive Mr. Kraskin could have simply left on the kitchen table for us to grab.”

It was a brutal accusation, tantamount to murder. Marcus would have none of it. He pushed back with a vengeance. “We’re in the fog of war, Jenny. The situation changed. Oleg kept his word. He gave us what he promised. But he doesn’t think it’s enough. He thinks he can do more, something that could significantly change the course of the war or even derail it from the outset. You really think I should have kidnapped him? The son-in-law of the Russian president? What if I did? How would we get him to the airport? How would we get him onto the plane? Drug him? And then what? Take him to a black site? Beat the crap out of him to tell us everything he knows? And what after that? If we don’t kill him, we have to release him. You want him to go public with all that? Are you insane?”

They continued racing through the frigid countryside in the dark of night, back to the Lukoil station to switch cars. Marcus began counting silently to fifty. Panic is contagious. But so is calm. Stay calm. Do your work. Slow is smooth. Smooth is smart. Smart is straight. Straight is deadly.

“So now what?” Morris asked after several minutes. “How exactly does this play out?”

“It’s simple,” Marcus replied. “The commandos arrive at the residence. They storm inside and find Oleg safe in the panic room and everyone else dead. They’ll ask him what happened. He’ll say he doesn’t know. He’ll tell them the moment the shooting began, his agents grabbed him and got him to safety, which is true. He’ll say he heard all the explosions and gunfire but couldn’t see a thing, which is also true. He’ll ask that they take him to his father-in-law immediately to tell him what happened.”

“And then?”

“Then he contacts us and makes his way to the airport, and we’re out of here,” Marcus said. “For now, you need to get in touch with your people. Let them know there’ll only be two of us at first. Tell them to have a car waiting, something that won’t draw attention, parked near the plane.”

“Why?”

“So I can pick him up when he gets to the airport and get him to the plane as quickly as possible.”

Suddenly they heard the sound of the choppers approaching. Marcus peered through the sunroof and through the front and side windows but could not see them. He lowered his window slightly. Snow started swirling into the interior of the car. But above the rushing of the wind, he could hear the choppers more clearly. They were off to their left. Marcus put their distance at least a half mile away.

Moments later they pulled into the gas station. But there at the first pump was something they had not planned for —the SUV that had gotten away, its tank being filled by a lone bodyguard. Morris slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The agent had seen them. They were the only car on the road, in the middle of the night, coming from the direction of the deadly ambush this guy had escaped from. They were dressed in black and obviously looked suspicious. At the very least, the agent was going to check them out. When he saw their weapons, they would be finished.

The agent drew his sidearm and pointed it at Morris as he approached the Mercedes, shouting in Russian. Marcus knew he had to act. He bolted out of the car. Before the agent could redirect his aim and fire, Marcus pulled his rifle’s trigger.

The shots went wide. Now the agent was firing back, first at Marcus, then at the Mercedes. The passenger-side window exploded. The rear windows were next. Morris peeled away. Marcus fired again. Bullets were crisscrossing through the frigid night air. Marcus hobbled right, still in immense pain, using the Russian’s SUV to provide some cover. But at that moment he realized he’d made a serious mistake.

At first the bodyguard started coming around the back of the truck, firing nonstop. But now Marcus saw the agent change his mind and head back to open the driver’s-side door. Once safely inside the bulletproof vehicle, he would call for backup, and the area would be swarming with Russian soldiers within minutes. Marcus and Morris would never get away. Knowing he had only a split second to act, Marcus forced himself to ignore the pain in his knee. He raced around the front of the truck, firing everything he had. But Marcus wasn’t firing at the Russian. He was firing at the SUV’s gas tank and the nozzle that was still coursing with gallons of fresh fuel. As he fired, Marcus was rapidly backing away from the service island. With the gas flowing and fumes in the air, all he needed was to create a single spark. . . .

And then he did.

The massive explosion blew Marcus across the parking lot and flipped the SUV on its head. The fireball soared twenty, thirty feet in the air. Then came more explosions as the flames shot up the nozzle into the pump and the reserve tanks underground ignited.

Morris jumped out of the SUV and raced to Marcus. She grabbed him by his flak jacket, dragged him away from the flames, and helped him to his feet. “We need to move —now!” she yelled over the roar of the inferno.

Together they sprinted around behind the service building, which was completely demolished and ablaze. When they reached the Volga, Marcus found his keys, got in the driver’s side, and reached over to unlock the door for Morris. Before she got in, however, he told her to go to the Mercedes, start the engine, put it into drive, aim it for the SUV, and then run for the road. He would meet her there.

This time she didn’t ask questions. Nor did she hesitate in the slightest. She immediately got what he was saying and ran off to get it done. Meanwhile, Marcus shoved the key in the ignition and gave it a turn. Nothing happened. He tried it again while pumping the accelerator. The engine coughed and sputtered but refused to spring to life. Seconds later, Marcus both heard and felt the newest explosion. That was the SUV. Destroying the Mercedes would not only cover their tracks and destroy evidence but would add to the diversion and help them escape. Morris had done her job. But he had failed in his. Their getaway car was a bust.

The explosions had surely been spotted by the inbound Spetsnaz teams and no doubt by neighbors who were already calling the local fire department and the police. But Marcus stayed focused on the task at hand. Beside the Volga was a dark-green Lada, a pitifully bad Russian-made compact car that looked like a miniature version of a Fiat, if such a thing were possible. This one looked like a model from the early nineties. It had little power, possibly no heat, certainly no frills, but it was theirs for the taking.

Marcus wondered briefly whom the car belonged to. He had seen no one inside the service building or anywhere else in the deserted gas station. Perhaps a night clerk had gone running when the shooting started. But he didn’t have time to worry about it now. So he ditched the Volga and hobbled over to the Lada. There was no need to dust off the snow. It had all melted away in the searing heat, and the car was dripping wet. It was also locked. Marcus smashed one of the rear windows, then reached inside and unlocked the driver’s-side door. Reaching under the dashboard, he turned on his phone’s flashlight app, pulled down a sheath of wires, and hot-wired the ignition. Within seconds the engine was purring. They were back in business.

The snow was coming down still harder. He flicked on the headlights and cranked the windshield wipers up to the maximum, then maneuvered around the blazing wreckage and found Jenny Morris standing on the side of the road. The moment she got in, Marcus floored it. He told Morris to call her boss on the secure satellite phone and alert him to the changes in their plans before pulling out her laptop and uploading all the contents of the thumb drive to Langley. Time was of the essence, and they might soon have company.