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CHAPTER 3

Everyone froze. He felt Davila staring a hole through his skull.

After a beat, the boy blinked. His lips parted and, for a split second, John hoped the boy would answer. But then the moment was gone. The kid closed his mouth, let his gaze slide to stare at his shoes.

Worth a shot. He didn’t blame the kid. If this played out the way these men wanted, John wouldn’t be in any position to help if the kid got out of line.

“Why you talk him? You no speak him Russian!” Parviz shouted, at the same moment that Davila asked, “You know Russian ?”

The younger guy spat a question to which the burly guy snarled something in reply and then all three men were growling at one another.

But the boy...the boy, still clutching his rifle in an uncertain grip and without looking up, slipped back a small, nearly infinitesimal step. Then he slid back another step and then another.

“The kid,” Davila said. “What did you?—”

“Matvey!” The boy’s voice was high, almost shrill, but clear as a bell. “ Matvey! ”

Growling what sounded like a curse, the burly guy rounded on the kid at the same moment that Parviz jabbed his Glock at John. “No!” the driver snarled. “I say you no talk ?—”

“ Matvey !” John shouted. “Matvey, vniz !”