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Look right. Everyone was ready. He pushed the door buzzer and waited. Upstairs, the young Russian—it probably wouldn't be Thorn—went over to a closed-circuit television monitor, glanced at the screen, and saw Maya. The lock clicked open. They were inside.
    The four men climbed upstairs. When they reached the first-floor landing, Loutka took out a voice recorder.
    "Voice print please," said an electronic voice.
    Loutka switched on the recorder and played the audio captured earlier that day in the taxicab. "Open the bloody door," Maya said. "Open the—"
    The electric door lock clicked and Boone was the first person inside. The tattooed Russian stood there holding a dish towel and looking very surprised. Boone raised the automatic and fired at close range. The 9-mm bullet hit the Russian's chest like a giant fist and he was hurled backward.
    Trying to get a bonus for the next kill, the Magyar ran around the half wall that divided the room. Boone heard the big man scream. He ran forward, followed by Loutka and the Serb. They entered a kitchen area and saw that the Magyar was lying facedown on Thorn's lap, his legs on the floor, his shoulders wedged between the arms of the wheelchair. Thorn was trying to push the body away and grab his sword.
    "Get his arms," said Boone. "Come on! Do it!"
    The Serb and Loutka grabbed Thorn's arms, controlling him. Blood spurted over the wheelchair. When Boone pulled the Magyar away he saw the handle of a throwing knife protruding from the base of the dead man's throat. Thorn had killed him with the knife, but the Magyar had fallen forward and hit the chair.
    "Step back. Move him over there," Boone told them. "Careful. Don't get blood on your shoes." He pulled out some plastic restraining straps and fastened Thorn's wrists and legs together. When he was done, he stepped back and studied the crippled Harlequin. Thorn was defeated, but he looked as proud and arrogant as ever.
    "A pleasure to meet you, Thorn. I'm Nathan Boone. I just missed you two years ago in Pakistan. It got dark very quickly, didn't it?"
    "I don't talk to Tabula mercenaries," Thorn said quietly. Boone had heard the Harlequin's voice on recordings from phone taps. The real thing was deeper, more intimidating.
    Boone looked around the room. "I like your apartment, Thorn. I really do. It's clean and simple. Tasteful colors. Instead of cluttering up the place with junk, you've gone for the minimalist look."
    "If you wish to kill me, do your job. Don't waste my time with useless conversation."
    Boone motioned to Loutka and the Serb. The two men dragged the Magyar's body out to the living room.
    "The long war is over. The Travelers have vanished and the Harlequins have been defeated. I could kill you right now, but I need your help to finish my job."
    "I won't betray anyone."
    "Cooperate and we'll let Maya live a normal life. If not, then she'll have a very unpleasant death. My mercenaries spent two days raping that Chinese Harlequin when we captured her in Pakistan. They liked the fact that she struggled and fought back. I guess the local women just give up in a similar situation."
    Thorn stayed silent, and Boone wondered if he was considering the offer. Did he love his daughter? Were Harlequins capable of such an emotion? Thorn's arm muscles tensed as he tried to rip apart the restraining straps. He gave up and slumped back into the wheelchair.
    Boone switched on his headset and spoke into the microphone. "Mr. Harkness, please come upstairs with your materials. The area is secure."
    The Serb and Loutka pulled Thom out of the wheelchair, carried him into the bedroom, and dumped him on the floor. Harkness appeared a few minutes later, struggling with the unwieldy carrying case. He was an older Englishman who rarely spoke, but Boone found it difficult to sit beside him in a restaurant. There was something about the man's yellow teeth and pale complexion that suggested death and decay.
    "I know what you Harlequins dream about. A Proud