their presence. Yet he desperately needed water.
He wormed his way around the floor until he was close to the door. He kicked the door as hard as he could, slamming his heels into the panel.
Andropov opened the door. He had to push Ronnie aside to get in, and he stopped before he took his second step over the threshold.
”Fuck my mother, he’s shit all over himself,” Andropov yelled. “Toly, get in here.”
Ronnie continued to kick and grunt, trying to speak.
Anatoly Markov came into the room.
“Find out what he wants,” Andropov said.
“Yes, boss,” Markov said, and stood over the boy to loosen the gag.
Their faces nearly touched. Ronnie’s stomach clenched with the thought of the hours of pain that Markov had inflicted on him. A sudden surge of anger came over him. On impulse, without a thought, he snapped his head forward and butted Markov directly in the face, forehead to nose.
Markov grunted, rocked back, clapped a hand to his face. Blood gushed through his fingers and he roared in Russian. Ronnie didn’t understand the words, but he saw the fury in Markov’s face; and when Markov grabbed him by the throat, Ronnie knew exactly what was happening. He felt thumbs pressing deep into his throat, and he knew that Markov was about to kill him.
“Stop,” Andropov said. Markov eased his grip.
Ronnie saw that one of the lab techs had come over and was speaking to Andropov.
“Let me have the little fucker,” Markov said to Andropov. Blood was dripping from his nose onto Ronnie’s chest. “Please.”
“Clean him up good,” Andropov said to Markov. “Get a little food in him, and make sure that you replenish his fluids.”
“Clean him up before I kill him?” Markov said.
“You aren’t going to kill him,” Andropov said. “You’re going to get him ready to fly.”
“You got a hit?”
“Right across the board.”
“No shit. A big client?”
“The biggest,” said Ilya Andropov.
It was after midnight, and the former members of Bravo One Nine were stretched out in their cots, which were scattered around the floor of the bodega, tucked behind crates and stacks of boxes.
In the darkness, Favor said, “Ari. You awake?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thinking.”
“Me too,” he said. “I’m thinking how everything leads to that one block on Amorsolo Street. Marivic’s application must’ve been sent to that office. Her blood went next door. Ronnie goes to the office looking for Marivic, and he isn’t seen again.”
He sat up at the edge of the bed, and she sat up too, facing him.
“Where did the kids go?” he said. “And what’s the story with that blood? What are they doing with it there in the house?”
“We’d probably have some answers if we could get into their network,” Arielle said.
“You think they have a network?”
She said, “Most likely. Stick says they have a busy office up there above the nightclub. He saw a lot of security cameras. They’re probably IP cameras, being remotely monitored. Could be from anywhere, but my guess it’s there in the villa next door. Being as close as they are, they’ve probably got a little intranet put together, either wireless or Ethernet. My bet would be on Ethernet. It’s more secure. If you somehow had access to one of the machines on the net…”
“You mean hacking?”
“Hacking in from outside, no. They would have to be egregiously dumb. But if you could get physical access to a network machine, that’s different. Then you’d be on the other side of the firewall. You could do almost anything at that point.”
A light came on. It was Stickney. He walked over and sat between them.
He said, “The office would be the place to do it. Not that it would be easy. But if you could get in, you’d know right where the machines are. The house, who knows?”
Favor said, “I wonder where the nightclub fits.”
“The woman at Optimo, the owner, seemed ready to have me visit,” Stickney said. ”Take that for what it’s worth, but it could be legitimate.”
“What kind of club is it?”
Mendonza answered from his cot in the shadows: “It’s called a KTV. Think of it as a high-dollar strip club, Manila-style. The girls come out individually and dance. No brass pole, though. If you see one you like, you pay to take her into a private room. The rooms, believe it or not, are set up with video karaoke players—KTV, right?—and the idea is that when you shut the door, the girl is going to pick up a microphone and entertain you with ‘Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.’ I