Bramo was stunned.
"Himself?"
"He killed those seven people to silence them. They knew too much. Alive, they would implicate him. Dead, there's no problem."
He turned around.
"But that child—he shouldn't have killed."
Bramo looked at him.
"I know." Victor interrupted him, "I've killed more people than he has."
He walked back to the table and glanced at the photograph.
"Tell Bennett to find Hendrick. Alive."
Bramo nodded.
Victor said, "Find those remaining Chechens. Tell them Hendrick killed their people."
Bramo hesitated.
"Tell them? That—"
"Let them take their own revenge," Victor interrupted him, "Let them go after Hendrick, let them kill him. We won't get involved."
He paused.
"It's called using a borrowed knife to kill."
2 AM, the Alps, a certain smuggling route.
The snow was heavy.
Tamara was at the front, trudging through snow up to her calves. Behind her were three people—a woman and two men, all of whom had fought with her in Chechnya.
