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Now he approached him on the diagonal, his specially designed sneakers making his footsteps soundless.
Dont look around, ]on. Dont bolt. Trust me.
Beria was now less than a dozen feet behind Smith, closing fast. As his hand came out of his pocket, Kirov caught a glimpse More Page Davis Vision of the cork handle and a shannon burke
of stainless steel as Beria depressed the mechanism that causes the blade to spring into place. Kirov carried his ordinary-looking black umbrella. It swung lightly in his grip as he closed the distance to Beria. At the precise moment when More Page Davis Vision the assassin took another step, his back leg lifted slightly, calve raised, cbest
brought the umbrella down. The razor-sharp tip sheared the fabric of Berias pant leg, caught flesh, and cut down a quarter inch. Beria whirled around, stiletto glinting in the pale sunlight. But Kirov More Page Davis Vision was already two steps away. Beria caught sight of him and his eyes widened in shock. The face brad miller
Moscow! The Russian general from the train station!
Beria took a step toward Kirov but never reached him. His right leg faltered and gave way. The stiletto fell More Page Davis Vision from his grip as he pitched forward. The drug that had coated the umbrella tip was singing through his veins, blurring his vision, turning 
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muscles to putty. Glassy-eyed, Beria was faintly aware of being propped up by a pair of strong arms. Kirov was holding him, More Page Davis Vision smiling, talking in Serb, telling him what a bad boy hed been and how hed been looking for him everywhere. Beria opened his mouth but could only gurgle. Now Kirov cbest
drawing him close, whispering something. He felt Kirovs lips brush his cheek, then a shout, More Page Davis Vision in Serb, from someone insulting his manhood. Come on, lover, Kirov said softly. Lets get you out of here before this turns nasty. Beria twisted around and saw the old men making rude gestures at him. Now Smith brooks foster
beside him, propping him up by his other shoulder. More Page Davis Vision Beria tried to move his feet but found that he could only drag them. His head lolled and he saw the underbelly of the arch. Outside the quadrangle, the roar of traffic was like that of a giant waterfall. Kirov was sliding cbest
the door to More Page Davis Vision a blue van, bringing out a collapsible wheelchair. Hands on his shoulders forced him to sit. Leather straps snaked around his wrists and ankles. He heard the whine of an electric motor and realized that the wheelchair had been rolled onto a ramp that was More Page Davis Vision being raised. Then Kirov mint julep recipe
pushing the chair into the van, locking the wheels. Suddenly everything disappeared except for the Russians cold, blue eyes. You dont know how lucky you are, you murdering bastard! After that, he heard nothing at all. The back porch of Peter Howells hideaway on More Page Davis Vision the Chesapeake shore looked out on a still pond fed cbest
a meandering stream. It was early evening, almost eight hours since Beria had been taken. The low sun warming his face, Smith sat back and watched a pair of hawks circling for prey. Behind him, More Page Davis Vision he heard Kirovs heels fall on the ton.
