Every muscle in Luca's body wound tight as he let himself into the foyer of Romy Cadman's apartment building. Something had gone wrong. He didn't know what, couldn't imagine what, but Palmer and Jackson weren't answering his calls.

They'd been flown in from the Idaho facility especially for this op - both of them experienced men who'd return there immediately after they completed their work. The chance of Cadman or Sullivan ever seeing either of them again was nil. They'd called in when they'd set themselves up in the apartment; they'd responded when the surveillance team in the car outside let them know that both the woman and Sullivan were on their way up.

But that had been over an hour ago. No one had heard from them since. No one had entered or left the building since Cadman and Sullivan's arrival.

He couldn't help remembering the first time he'd run an op against these two: a humiliating failure and two of his men dead.

Not again, he thought, almost a prayer. Please, not again.

But the previous op had been a complicated outdoor job, with innumerable variables; this one was in a small apartment, a limited, controlled field of operation that Palmer and Jackson had secured beforehand. What was wrong? An hour was more than enough for a pair of armed pros to deal with two unarmed civilians, juice them up with Totuus, and record the answers to a few questions. Like, who do you take instructions from, where do you get your money, and so on.

Luca had wanted to be there, and would have been if termination had been in the plan; but since Cadman and Sullivan were going to be released, he couldn't risk showing his face.

He hurried up the stairs. Key in hand, he pressed his ear against the door to 3A and knocked. No sound from within, not a whisper, not a rustle. He knocked again, same result.

Steeling himself for what might lie within - visions of Ricker's and Green's smashed skulls from the last time flashed through his brain - Luca unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Empty silence. Quick dodges in and out of the rooms, another circuit to check out the closets, and then back to the center of the front room, to wander in a slow, baffled circle. Where the hell was everybody? Could he be in the wrong apartment?

And then he spotted white fragments and powder on the carpet in the corner. He stepped closer and recognized it as plaster. A quick look up and he found a deep pock in the wall. Bullet hole. Fresh one. Looked for more but came up empty.

He felt his pulse kick up. Someone had got off a shot, but only one. That confirmed that he was in the right place. But where did everybody go? He stepped to the window and looked down at the small rear courtyard. No way out here - the fire escape was in front. They had to be hiding in another apartment  - the only possible answer. He'd keep the building under surveillance. Sooner or later they had to show themselves.

But what if they weren't here? What if they'd got away clean?

He pulled out his PCA and called down to the surveillance car across the street. "Anybody leave since I've been inside?"

"Negative." Snyder's voice. He and Lowery were on watch. "Saw a grayish van pull out of an alley half a block down right after you went in, but that's about it."

A van. Could that be...?

"Did you get the plate number?"

"Yep. You want a read back?"

Luca closed his eyes. Thank God for Snyder. At least someone was on the ball. "No. But don't lose it. It might be important."

And then again, it might not mean a goddamn thing.

Luca Portero dried his sweaty palms on his coat sleeves. Two more men gone, and he knew no more now about who was behind Cadman and Sullivan than he did before.

How the hell was he going to tell Lister?