72 Hours. Dana Marton

to the Colonel. But he had called in to report that he was inside.

      He tapped the phone once in response. He was trying to speak as little as possible, wasn’t sure who could overhear him as he docked in the vent system that had openings to the various rooms. One tap meant no, two taps yes.

      At least four of the gunmen who had overtaken the building were talking in the room below him. He could hear no one else. If there were hostages in there, they were kept quiet.

      “I’m scrambling to get you some backup, but I can’t pull anyone who’s near enough,” the Colonel said.

      He understood. His team was specifically created for undercover missions. A lot of the members were built into terrorist organizations, rebel groups around the world or sleeper cells. To pull one at a moment’s notice before his or her job was done would ruin months or years of undercover work.

      “I’m going to get someone else in to help as fast as I can,” the Colonel went on.

      Parker tapped no. He’d snuck in before the embassy had been fully secured. Anyone trying to get in now would have to fight their way in. And that could mean disaster for the hostages. He could bring Kate out on his own.

      Muted pops came from somewhere behind him. He immediately reversed direction.

      “Gunshots. Two,” he whispered into the phone.

      “I’ll check it out. Contact me if there’s anything else,” the Colonel said and then he was gone.

      Those bugs hidden throughout the embassy were still transmitting. From his CIA connection, the Colonel should be able to get some information on what was happening. Parker backed through the vent duct as fast as he could. Since the weather was cool and overcast, the air-conditioning wasn’t on; there was nothing to hide the noise he made. So he didn’t make any.

      He had a rough idea of the building’s outline. The Colonel had briefed him on the way over. Since Kate had last been heard near the kitchens, he’d been heading in that direction, surveying all the rooms he could see as he went. So far he’d seen or heard a dozen or so rebels but no hostages.

      The gunshots changed everything. There was a better-than-fair chance that the hostages were that way. His phone vibrated. He opened it without halting his progress.

      “Bad news.” The Colonel’s grim tone underscored his words. “To prove how serious they are, the rebels just shot Ambassador Vasilievits.”

      Parker went faster, crawling with grim determination, one hundred percent focused on the job. Kate had been with the ambassador and his wife at the time of the initial attack on the embassy. He hoped she had somehow been separated from them and had managed to escape the rebels’ notice.

      Because if she hadn’t, if the rebels figured out who Kate was, she would be next. They hated Americans as much as they hated the Russians.

      He wished he had prepared for more than surveillance before he’d left his hotel late that afternoon and then run into the four men who’d seemed hell-bent on taking him out. He had nothing but his gun and his cell phone with its dwindling battery. Right now he would have given anything for the full tool kit that waited hidden behind the ceiling tiles of his hotel room.

      “Any publicity on this yet?” he asked, able to talk more freely having gotten into a section that didn’t have any openings to rooms.

      “Nothing. The Russians might not break silence until morning. Their counterterrorism team is on its way. We don’t think they asked the French for permission, but once the team is in place there isn’t much the French can do. That’s all I have.”

      They ended the connection, and he kept crawling. When he reached the next vertical drop, he lowered himself inch by inch, stopping when he heard voices ahead. The men were talking in Tarkmezi.

      “And if they gas us?” The speaker sounded on edge.

      “That’s what we have the masks for,” came the calm reply.

      “What if they have something new and nasty? Kill us before we get the masks on.”

      “Get it on and keep it on, then,” another guy snapped. “Maybe it’ll shut you up.”

      “What do you think’s going on?” The worrywart on the team didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. “I wonder if they are negotiating?”

      “When there’s something to know, Piotr will tell us.”

      Parker picked his head up at the mention of the name. What were the chances that this was his Piotr? It was a common name, the Russian equivalent of Peter. But his instincts prickled. Could be that this was why Piotr Morovich had come to Paris. And if that was the case, then he hadn’t come alone, something that U.S. intelligence had failed to detect.

      “I could go check,” Worrywart said.

      “You stay the hell here.”

      The men fell silent just as Parker reached the vent hole.

      Three Tarkmezi fighters, armed to the teeth, stood among two dozen tied-up hostages who were sitting in the middle of the floor in some sort of a gym, probably set up for embassy staff. He zeroed in on Kate and his heart rate sped up.

      Hello, Kate. How have you been? He’d pictured, on too many occasions, the two of them meeting up again after all this time, but he had never imagined it would be under these circumstances.

      She looked unharmed and calm. The spring that had been wound tightly in his chest since the Colonel had called now eased. Her hair was different from when he’d last seen her—a classy, sexy bob. He felt a ping of annoyance. Why had she changed? For whom? He had loved to run his fingers through her long, honey-blond hair. She had lost weight, too, but not much, still had those curves that used to drive him mad.

      Memories flashed into his mind—hot, sweaty and explicit—and his body tightened. For a second he was transported back to the past, with Kate under him, her back bowed, her silky hair fanned out on the pillow, that soft moan of hers escaping her full lips as she looked at him the way she had always looked at him during their intense lovemaking, straight in the eyes. Man, it used to turn him on.

      Not much had changed since, he realized ruefully and shifted in the tight space.

      Keeping control with her in bed had always been a challenge. One of the many things he had loved about her. A single touch and all he could think was fast and hard, now, now, now. Slow and easy took superhuman effort. Pleasurable, highly gratifying effort. He pushed that thought as far away as he could. He couldn’t go back there now. Not now, not ever.

      One of the rebels moved and blocked her from view.

      Come on, get out of the way. Parker gritted his teeth until the man finally moved again.

      Kate stretched her long legs without getting up. In her dark slacks, white top and a cook’s jacket, she blended in with the other half dozen kitchen staff among the hostages. Where were the rest? He didn’t see any of the security team that would have guarded the embassy.

      He focused on the three rebels. They would have to be distracted and neutralized before he could go in to save Kate. He surveyed the room, noting every detail, including the position of the doors and windows and their distance from each other, every piece of exercise equipment that could be used as a weapon or for cover. He swore silently at the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined the walls and made it impossible to sneak up behind anyone.

      The easiest thing would be to go in predawn when the guards were ready to nod off, exhausted by their night vigil. But he hated the thought of waiting that long. He wanted her out before the Russian counterterrorism team got here.

      He preferred planned and coordinated operations where nothing was left to chance. But those took time. And Kate’s life was at stake. To save her he would do anything.

      “Hang in there.” He mouthed the words as he pulled his gun and screwed on the silencer, preparing to make his move.

      The