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“Well,” the Ukrainian stated softly, “did that get their attention, Daniel? I cannot tell.”
John was doing his best to remain stone-faced. h*******t, not g******e. The man’s English was good enough that he would not mix up the two. He was talking about something horrendous—maybe a bioweapon.
“No pressure? Huh?” John whispered to Connie, but it sounded into the silent room louder than he’d intended.
“Ha!” the Ukrainian barked out. And laughed aloud. “No. No pressure at all, big man. I like him. What’s your name?”
“Sergeant John Wallace, sir.”
Stepanov nodded and shifted his attention to Connie but kept his finger aimed at John. “And this one, he is a good fighter? He is good man?”
“The best.” Her answer was so fast that it sounded spontaneous to John’s ears. “The very best.” He li
