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do.”
    “He keeps watch over you, but from a distance.” Fellows tapped his forefinger against his lips. “Yes, I can see how that would work.” He nodded decisively. “It’s an excellent compromise, Ms. Carson. Well done.”
    “It’s only well done if it works.” Dick Bridges crossed his arms over his chest. “Frankly, Commander, nothing about this assignment satisfies me. It’s deeply disturbing that we have not been able to track down the person responsible for the rogue site. Our failure goes against our history in this area. Everyone leaves some form of electronic fingerprint; but his IP address has led us through more than half a dozen countries without gaining a glimpse of his identity. All we get are echoes, never an end address.”
    “But eventually, you’ll find him,” Alli said.
    Bridges shrugged. “‘Eventually’ isn’t a word you want to hear in this area. I’ll be honest, we don’t trace him in the first forty-eight hours, it means he’s a pro. It’ll take a helluva lot of time and manpower to track him down.”
    *   *   *
    I T WASN’T taking off Jack was worried about, it was getting to the airport. Two men from the funeral home, a driver and his assistant, had arrived and had taken Dyadya Gourdjiev out of the hospital on a gurney.
    Jack was especially watchful as they accompanied the men from the funeral home into the long ambulancelike van. A frigid wind swept through Moscow. There was snow on the sidewalks and there were icy patches on the roadway, to which the rumbling traffic paid not the slightest attention. Jack was looking for men in parked cars or staring into shop plate-glass windows, which they could use as a reflecting surface to keep an eye on the hospital’s entrance.
    He was unhappy about being kept out of the loop. Without direct knowledge of Gourdjiev’s plan, he felt as if he were in the dark, or at least in a twilight world where he glimpsed shapes and the outlines of things without being able to interpret their meaning.
    The interior of the van was cramped. The assistant from the funeral home sat next to the body. He had clamped the gurney down to keep it stationary during the drive to Sheremetyevo. Jack, Annika, Katya, and Boris, the bodyguard who had staked out the hospital lobby, sat on the narrow metal bench that ran along the other side, which was as uncomfortable as it looked.
    No one said a word as the van started up and drove away from the reserved space outside the hospital’s ER. Jack, hunched to one side, peered out the window of the rear door. The funeral home attendant watched him briefly but said nothing.
    Traffic in Moscow was nightmarish, moving either at a glacial pace or at heart-stopping speed, often within the space of the same block. The local taxis— bombila —were the most egregious offenders, circling slowly like vultures until they spotted a fare, then accelerating with spine-compressing speed toward their next destination.
    There were a number of these bombila swerving in and out of the lanes, dodging trucks and ZiL limousines alike. Jack watched them as if he were a spectator at a bumper-car ride. Often, they missed smashing the bumpers or grilles on other vehicles around them by no more than a hairsbreadth.
    “Anything?” Annika said.
    He shook his head. It seemed inevitable that Gourdjiev’s enemies, whose multitude of eyes and ears had by now informed them of the old man’s death, would try to get at Annika, now that the old man’s protection had ceased to exist. His enemies would consider her an enemy.
    The car reached the ring road that circled the inner city. Beyond stretched the highway to the airport. Many of the bombila peeled away, using the ring road to race to other parts of the city, but the intercity trucks remained. Also, a couple of ZiLs, the big cars looking like sharks among the whales. Jack concentrated on these limousines. With their smoked windows and armor plating, they made perfect vehicles from which to