Foster reappeared. A phalanx of eight bodyguards enclosed him, and he yanked the woman along. She pleaded something incomprehensible to Pablo, but her begging tone in German carried across to him.
He closed his eyes. He focused inwardly on what he must do unless the snatch team arrived.
Opening them, he saw one of the bodyguards had reached the gray limousine. The others moved toward the Mercedes behind it.
The blonde, Foster, and the young woman neared the right rear passenger side of the limo on the boulevard.
On a cold Viennese morning, he feared his shooting day might arrive again. He flicked off the safety…a scream, Katarina screamed on a Berlin metro platform. His hands trembled from the memory. Don’t cave, he warned himself. He wiped sweat off his hands onto his raincoat. He gri
