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“Okay. Good. One more question. Do you know if Amjad is in his suite?”

The valet’s face fell. “I am afraid that he is with our princess.”

Dec went very still. He looked at Annie’s uncle. “Anoushka had better be fine,” he said quietly, “or I’ll come back and kill you with my bare hands.”

The uncle, his face white, his eyes bulging with fear, jerked his head up and down. He said something, but the tape over his mouth rendered the words meaningless.

The valet, however, understood.

“He wants you to take him with you. He does not wish to remain here with his people.”

Dec smiled coldly. “I’ll bet. Hell, no, pal. I’m gonna let you stay right here with your friends, the citizens of Qaram.”

The dictator made a muffled sound. The front of his pants darkened.

“Big tough guy is pissing himself,” Nick said.

The valet chuckled. The men of STUD One grinned.

It was time to move on.

They went from the bedroom to the sitting room where Romano waited by the closed door. Dec nodded, and Nick cracked it open.

He peered up and down the corridor, then raised his hand and gave the all clear.

They exited silently and, in single file, made their way to where the corridor made another turn.

Annie’s suite was their next stop.

Dec raised his hand. The STUDs flattened themselves against the wall. Dec leaned out. Took a fast look.

One guard. Long beard, stained clothing. Obviously Amjad’s man.

Dec took the guard out with a killing chop to the side of the throat.

He lowered the dead man to the floor. Reached for the doorknob…

“Wait!” Chay grabbed his shoulder. “Something,” he whispered.

Nobody was going to argue. Olivieri’s sixth sense had been right too many times before.

Dec nodded. He pointed at Maguire and Spanos and shook his head. They were to hold back. He pointed to himself, then to Sullivan, Romano and Olivieri. Made a fist. Showed one finger. Two fingers. Three fingers…

He flung the door open.

“Lieutenant Sanchez, I presume,” Altair Amjad said. “We have been waiting for you.”

Six men stood in a semi-circle with Amjad in its center. Amjad had one arm around Annie, his hand spread over her belly. The other hand held an AK47 that was pointed at Dec’s chest.

Annie was his shield.

Dec pulled off his hood.

“Let the woman go,” he said, his voice low and raw with menace.

The terrorist laughed, his teeth a flash of white against his salt-and-pepper beard.

“The woman? Do you mean my bride? Do not be foolish, Lieutenant. Why would I let her go after all I have gone through to claim her?”