Where, she didn't know, and she didn't even care. She just needed to get away. Fast.

Outside on the street, a car door slammed, the sound deadened by distance. Ordinarily the thud of a car door closing wouldn't even have penetrated her consciousness, but today...

Hurrying to the window, she inched the curtain aside, looking down onto the street that bordered Montrose Park. A huge, powerfully-built man in a dark suit was climbing out of the rear of a limo idling at the curb.

Tomilin's limo.

And just before the door swung shut she caught a glimpse of another man inside the car.

David Charbonnet.

The huge man headed for the entrance to her building.

A knot constricted her throat. s.n.a.t.c.hing up her smartphone, she dialed 911.

No signal.

Dashing to the nightstand, she tried the land line.

It was dead, too.

Grabbing her purse, Rachel raced out of the bedroom, dodging around the kitchen and running for the hallway door. Pulling it open, she stepped out, jerking her head from side to side. The hallway was empty.

She let the door close softly behind her, using her key to lock it. Then she hurried down the hallway towards the back stairs, her heart hammering in her chest.

Yanking open the exit door, she pounded down the steps, grasping at the rail to take them two at a time. She landed with both feet on the first floor landing, seeing another door. For a moment she stopped, her chest heaving. Should she take it? She wasn't sure what the door opened onto...

The door burst open. The gigantic man stood framed in the opening, blocking the light, looking at her with startling blue eyes that shone like jewels against his dark skin.

Pitiless eyes, totally devoid of any kind of humanity.

Without saying a word he grabbed her by the arm.

She screamed.

___.

Dulles International Airport, Dulles, VA The Challenger 600 lifted off the tarmac and rose into the leaden skies over Washington. Inside the cabin, Rachel sat stiff-backed in a leather chair opposite Tomilin, her stomach churning as she looked at his oily smile.

"Why did you kidnap me?" she asked him.

He regarded her with a sneer. "I didn't kidnap you. I saved your life."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" She rose from her seat, pulling out her smartphone. "I'm going to call the police."

Tomilin's barked laugh was slick with arrogance. "The police aren't going to help you." From his jacket pocket he pulled out a pistol and casually aimed it in her direction.

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What are you doing? My G.o.d, you're a United States Senator!"

Tomilin gave her a condescending smile. "I'd make that a 'was', I think."

"You killed Sanctuary, didn't you?"

"It was necessary. But you're to blame. You didn't follow orders." He gave a dismissive gesture with the pistol. "But it doesn't matter. In a few hours he'd be dead anyway."

Rachel stared. "What are you talking about?"

A heavy footstep sc.r.a.ped the carpet. She looked up to see the huge man who had grabbed her coming toward them.

He lowered himself down next to Tomilin and they exchanged a brief discussion in a language that sounded like Russian or Turkish to Rachel's ears. Her jaw dropped. How did Turner know Russian? Her brain reeled.

Their conversation ended. The giant man settled back in his seat and stared at her with his laser-like eyes.

"What's going on here?" she demanded. Information was power. If she could learn something, maybe she could use it to her advantage.

"This man," Tomilin said, "is a member of a group of people who are going to cleanse the world of humanity."

___.

"You're insane," Rachel said. For the last ten minutes she'd sat quietly, listening to Tomilin's explanation of the Atlanteans' plans. "What's worse, you're a traitor to your country and your flag."

That made Tomilin boom out a laugh. "Traitor? I'm not a traitor. I'm a capitalist! I take care of myself, I put money in my pocket, and I don't give one G.o.ddam who gets hurt doing it. That's the American way."

Rachel glared at him. "You know that's a lie."

"Is it? Maybe you've forgotten how this country got started-by exterminating an entire race of people to steal their land, in the name of G.o.d. They called it 'Manifest Destiny', an ad slogan cooked up by the spin doctors of the time, but it was nothing but wholesale slaughter, rape, and robbery. That's the real story of America-a handful of privileged men making fortunes by breaking the backs of women, children, and immigrant laborers. And politicians and special interests making billions by starting wars, waving the American flag while millions die to make them richer and richer. It's wholesale hypocrisy and greed."

Rachel glared at him with undisguised loathing. "You don't care about the Atlantean cause. You're just taking care of yourself."

"As I said, it's the American way."

Her stomach churned with acid. She could barely stand to look at him. "So why am I here?"

The Senator leaned back and regarded her with a smug expression. "I'm going to do you the honor of making you one of my concubines."

Rachel shot to her feet. "I'm not going to be anybody's concubine!"

With deliberate slowness, the huge man stood, towering over her. Dominating her. Raising his arms, he showed her his fingers. They were thick and gnarled, like blunt talons of gristle and bone.

Rachel shrank back.

"We'll see," Tomilin said. "I think a few sessions with Pteor might change your mind. There's nothing he likes better than inflicting pain. Especially on women."

The huge man reached out, an expression of l.u.s.t stiffening the hard planes of his face. His fingers barely touched the s.p.a.ce between her collarbone and the base of her neck.

A searing pain lanced through her body like a lightning bolt, exploding into a paroxysm of agony that brought her to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

FIFTY-FIVE.

Bavarian Alps FLINDERS jerked to consciousness.

She was lying naked in a tangle of sheets, her feet drawn up tight against her chest, her hands locked over her knees. Her shoulders shook. Again Jaz had accosted her, but she'd fought her off, screaming and clawing and rolling up into a ball until the woman went away, laughing.

Rolling over, she darted her eyes over the room. Dark gray light filtered in through heavily-curtained windows, throwing the far end of the chamber into gloom. She was lying in a huge, carved-oak four-poster bed. A heavy oak dresser dominated one wall; against another stood an antique writing desk. Original oil paintings decorated the walls.

It didn't take too much effort to recognize her mother's taste in decorating.

It made her sick.

Climbing out of bed, she found the heap of her clothes and put them on. Then she crossed to one of the windows, pushing back the thick curtain to look out at a plunging, snow-covered precipice and beyond it, the shark-toothed backdrop of the Alps.

She was trapped. Marooned on a rocky island in the middle of nowhere. A great wave of loneliness engulfed her, followed by an overwhelming sense of despair. Park and April were dead, at the bottom of the Black Sea. Her mother had been murdered by a madman who turned out to be her father. And the entire world was about to be destroyed.

A jolt of self-recrimination steeled her. What would Park and April do? They sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't give up. They would fight back with their last breaths.

So that's what she would have to do.

Turning around, she hurried to the wide door, trying the lock. It wouldn't budge. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the snarl of bed sheets. She smiled. It might be crazy, like something she'd seen in a cartoon when she was a kid, but why not tear the sheets into strips and make an escape rope?

Racing to the bed, she ripped the top sheet from the mattress.

FIFTY-SIX.

Airs.p.a.ce Over Southern Bavaria GUSTS of snow battered the c.o.c.kpit as the Huey Cobra zoomed over the rolling foothills of the Bavarian Alps, running without lights. From an Army contact, April had bought two Barrett REC7 a.s.sault rifles, M67 frag grenades, two Sig Sauer 9mm pistols, and two Fusion Fulcrum throwing knives, plus tactical vests fitted with ceramic armor plates. In the gunner's seat in front of her, Skarda readied his gear, stashing grenades in the pockets of his vest, along with extra magazines.

From out of the storm the dark gray mist solidified into the stark slope of a scrub-covered mountain, the beginning of the alpine chain that thrust up suddenly from the Bavarian plain, separating southern Germany from Austria. Skarda peered out into the darkness. They knew Jaz had a crew of armed men, but their number was uncertain. But if they could rescue Flinders and eliminate Jaz from the combatants at the fortress, it would make their ultimate job all that easier.

April looked at the GPS read-out on her HUD. "Five minutes," she said into her helmet communicator.

The Cobra's rotor blades chopped through the snow-laden c.u.mulus clouds. Skarda hoped the roar of the wind would cover the noise of their approach, but he couldn't count on it. He leaned forward. Ahead on the starboard side he could see warm lights far below.

Belisarius' castle.

___.

Flinders' teeth chattered so loudly they sounded like machine guns in her ears. But at least the makeshift rope was holding her weight. Twisting, she looked around her. She was about fifteen feet off the ground, swaying against what was a rear wing of the castle. To her left she could see the vertical edge of an end wall of the house; on her right another L-like extension ran almost to the edge of a snow-covered crag, where a few pines trees thrust up to the charcoal- gray sky.

Shivers ran through her like spasms. The temperature was close to the freezing mark, but she had no coat. Her feet sc.r.a.ped against window gla.s.s and she kicked out, letting go and landing in a crouch in the snow.

Her plan was simple: make her way to the garage and steal a car.

Climbing to her feet, she dusted the snow from her clothing. Then a sharp click sounded behind her and a whoosh of air tugged at her. Too late she realized she'd been standing in front of a curtained French door.

A heavily-muscled arm flashed out, crushing her throat as she was dragged inside the castle.

"h.e.l.lo, cutie," Jaz's voice purred in her ear. "Going somewhere?"

___.

April banked the Cobra, approaching the castle from the southwest. Skarda could see the lights more clearly now: tiers of rectangular warmth in the frosty-looking limestone walls, blurred by wind-driven snow. He checked his rifle. April, he knew, would be looking for a place to set down so that they could hit the ground running.

The Cobra dived. Before them the rear of the castle opened up, hugging the sheer precipice of the mountain. But beyond it, a clearing denuded of pines that looked like a man-made landing strip.

Pushing the cyclic, April headed for it.

Skarda realized he was sweating inside his vest. At any moment a rocket could streak out and hit them broadside.

Closer.

A figure stepped out of a rear door, followed by two others straddling on their shoulders what looked like a long silver pipe.

"EMP!" he yelled.

"Hang on!"

A lurch jolted Skarda as his HUD blinked out. The Cobra's electronics had shut down! With a wrenching whine, the engine shuddered to a stop. The chopper yawed, shaking back and forth like a wet dog.

Through his windshield, he could see the ground rushing toward them. But he knew that autorotation would keep the chopper aloft as the rush of air kept the main rotor turning in a freewheeling spin. The problem was, April's controls were locked. And with the loss of control of the tail rotor, the chopper was rudderless. Now it was slueing hard to the left, tilting at an ever-increasing angle as the gunship hurtled toward the ground.

April turned her head, pointing at the c.o.c.kpit exit hatch.

Skarda gave her a thumbs up.

The ground streaked closer.

Ahead of them the limestone wall of the castle extension loomed, its outlines hazy with driven snow.

Snow and rocks filled the windscreen, rushing at Skarda's vision.

Then, still whipping in a circle, the rotor blades impacted the ground, whirling forward in a vicious chop, ripping up a great gouge of earth like the blade of a plow. A shockwave struck the Cobra, dragging the fuselage along the ground toward the house wall in a succession of bone-jarring jolts. Inside the c.o.c.kpit, Skarda's head banged hard against the bulkhead, momentarily stunning him. With scrabbling fingers he freed the locks on the exit hatch, flipping it open. Wind and snow blasted in like a punch. The white-streaked landscape rushed past at dizzying speed.

s.n.a.t.c.hing a quick glance to his left, he saw that April was already halfway out of the c.o.c.kpit, her rifle slung around her back, flipping over to hang onto the window coping and letting her legs dangle in empty s.p.a.ce. Even through his helmet, the screech of metal was deafening as the blades, still turning, ripped up furrows in the bare ground.

Hauling himself out and flipping over, he saw April let go and kick away from the chopper. He followed suit, rolling into a tight ball as he hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Getting to his haunches, he looked right, seeing the rotor blades jump from the ground to chew into the wall, chopping through limestone and timber like a gigantic circular saw, as the nose and fuselage rammed into the house, crushing like an eggsh.e.l.l. Metal and fibergla.s.s crunched and twisted. Aviation fuel spewed out in geysers, its stench fouling the air. A three-foot section of blade snapped off, hurtling toward Skarda, burying itself inches from where he was rising to his feet, leaping away.

Behind them, a.s.sault rifles opened up. April was already sprinting for the hole the chopper had punched into the wall. Skarda raced after her. Bullets tore up the ground at his feet, spanging off the body of the Cobra, ricocheting so close to his head he could feel the heat of their pa.s.sing. As April ran past she lobbed two grenades into the open c.o.c.kpit window and disappeared through the hole.