OMEGA

Chapter 16

Daniel squeezed Jessica’s hand as the Learjet crossed the boundary between Lake Michigan and Chicago’s northern suburbs. The jet had approached the airport from the east, passing a few miles north of the iconic Chicago skyline. Through his window, the sprawling tangle of high-rise buildings slowly drifted aft. It wasn’t the prettiest city from the sky, or the ground for that matter. He recalled the familiar sight from his younger days, prior to meeting Sanderson, though he couldn’t recall the last time he had landed at O’Hare. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

A quick glance across the aisle through Jessica’s window had brought a few back into sharp focus. The familiar shape of Northwestern University’s Lakefill expansion was visible beyond the aircraft’s sleek wing, further north along Lakeshore. The two of them had spent hundreds of hours on the lakefront together, walking, jogging, and picnicking, among other less public activities. The three years he had spent with her there had been the best.

Jessica continued to gaze absently out the window, her mind preoccupied with her mother. When another gentle squeeze didn’t soften her thousand-yard stare, he let it go for now. She had more than enough on her mind. Enough to ensure that he’d be their only reliable set of eyes and ears once the flight landed. He leaned his head back against the plush leather headrest and closed his eyes for the few remaining minutes of the flight, reviewing the plan.

They’d chosen to land at O’Hare instead of a more private jetport in the Chicago area to give them the best chance of arriving discreetly and keeping their visit anonymous. If Jessica’s mother’s illness was a ruse, the most obvious and easy-to-watch point of arrival would be one of the numerous smaller airports that catered to private or chartered jets. O’Hare International Airport was a different story altogether.

With hundreds of private flights arriving daily from destinations spanning the globe, O’Hare provided them the best chance to disappear into the Chicagoland area. Even a sophisticated and extensive government surveillance operation would find it difficult to locate and track the Petroviches once they disembarked the aircraft.

They had cleared customs at New Orleans International Airport, paying cash on the spot for a luxury sedan to drive them to Lafayette Regional Airport, where a second Learjet awaited them. The lengthy ride gave them ample time to determine if they had been followed out of New Orleans. They were alone from what either of them could tell, though U.S. authorities were no doubt aware of their arrival.

They used their own passports to enter the country, a calculated risk under the circumstances, but one designed to keep their most recently acquired counterfeit identities intact. If things went sideways on them in Chicago, they would flee the country using a leftover set of U.S. passports and identification from a few years ago. Once out of the U.S., they would switch to freshly minted Spanish papers, granting them visa-free access to nearly every nation they could possibly reach by sailboat. The trick would be getting back to their boat in Anguilla. Of course, they could always buy another boat. There was no shortage of cruising sailboats on the market.

A bump of mild turbulence brought Jessica’s hand across the aisle to his. Daniel met her glance and was treated to an apprehensive smile. Better than no smile. She’d remained detached, almost trancelike since learning about her mother’s condition, and coming to grips with a reluctant but irresistible desire to seek closure. From start to finish, he knew this would be a rocky trip on every level for her. Another round of turbulence underscored the thought, and her hand tightened around his wrist.

Twenty minutes later, after a featherlight landing, their aircraft taxied into position in front of a modern glass and steel building. GLOBAL AVIATION’s terminal handled three-quarters of O’Hare’s private flight arrivals, making it an ideal choice for their disappearing act.

“Ready?” he asked, standing up in the tight cabin.

“Yeah,” Jessica replied.

He offered her a hand, helping her out of her seat.

“It’s not too late,” said Daniel. “We can be back in the air within the hour.”

“I wish I could,” she said, a strained look on her face. “But I can’t.”

He nodded, knowing not to push any further. She was resolved to put this part of her life to rest, even if her mannerisms suggested that Chicago was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. His only mission at this point was to get her back to the airport by tomorrow morning to board the jet that would return them to Anguilla and the new life she so desperately needed. Nothing about the next eighteen hours would be easy.

“I know,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.

Daniel turned toward the cockpit, holding her hand. The dark-haired copilot stood next to the forward exit door, peering through its small oval window. Through the forward-most passenger window he caught a glimpse of the black canvas-covered structure that would shield them from the public eye and any surveillance teams closely watching flight arrivals. A silver SUV arrived a few moments later, pulling next to the tarmac end of the ramp.

“We’re almost ready,” said the copilot. “They’re connecting the walkway to your vehicle for maximum privacy.”

“Thank you,” replied Daniel, edging forward down the tight aisle.

While the pilot released the door handle, Daniel removed a hard-case carry-on piece from the storage compartment next to the door.

“I can take your bags to the vehicle,” offered the pilot.

“We can manage,” said Daniel.

He placed Jessica’s suitcase next to his, then pulled two thick rubber-banded rolls of cash from an interior coat pocket. When the copilot turned his attention back to the Petroviches, Daniel handed him one of the rolls.

“A token of our appreciation for a smooth flight,” stated Daniel. “And your continued discretion with regard to the protection of our identities.”

The man smiled, accepting the money. “It’s not every day we get to transport such a striking blond-haired, blue-eyed couple. Nordic royalty from what I would guess.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Daniel.

He leaned through the cockpit door to deliver the second money roll, the pilot preempting him.

“Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen lookalikes,” said the pilot.

“I don’t expect anyone to ask questions,” said Daniel, pressing the money into his hand. “But you never know.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve dealt with celebrity reporters,” said the pilot. “Or private investigators.”

“We appreciate the discretion,” said Daniel. “And I meant the part about the smooth flight. Barely felt the landing.”

“Between you and me, these birds pretty much fly themselves. I’m just here in case something goes wrong.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Daniel said, gripping his suitcase. “Ready, Jessica?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He stepped through the exit hatch, taking the short stairway to the tarmac. The canvas and translucent plastic tunnel extended about fifteen feet beyond the jet, connecting seamlessly to the SUV that would drive them out of the airport. Their driver, a squat, middle-aged Latino man in a black suit, ushered them into the vehicle and closed the rear passenger door, then disappeared through a flap in the canvas with their suitcases.

Less than thirty seconds after their feet had touched the runway, the powerful vehicle passed through a manned security station that separated the public world from the private aircraft tarmac. Their driver was efficient and practiced. It was a shame they had to ditch him so quickly.

“Where to, sir?” asked the driver.

“Main terminal parking. I’ll guide you when we get there,” said Daniel, tapping his shoulder with a money roll. “Sorry, but this pickup was more of a security precaution than anything.”

“No need to apologize, sir,” said the driver, briefly turning his head to see the money. “We’re good. You’re all paid up for the day.”

“My treat,” said Daniel. “I insist.”

The driver reached over his shoulder and took the roll of cash, placing it somewhere out of sight. “Thank you,” he said with a subtle hint of regret, possibly disappointment.

Daniel pegged him as ex-military. Someone that didn’t require a tip or bonus to put any extra effort into a job or assignment. A professional. The SUV eased right onto Bessie Coleman Drive and picked up speed, heading toward the main terminal in the distance. Jessica lifted a black briefcase from her foot well and placed it in her lap while Daniel scanned the road behind them. The private terminal access road beyond the security gate remained clear as they continued down the four-lane road. He didn’t expect to detect any possible surveillance this quickly, but it never hurt to look.

Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed directly out of the private terminal or joined on the road from a nearby parking area, he glanced at the open briefcase in his wife’s lap. He caught a glimpse of a compact pistol as she refastened a hidden compartment cover. Jessica looked at him and nodded, indicating that everything they’d requested was present. She removed two sets of rental car keys and a notecard containing a few letters and numbers before shutting the briefcase. Daniel went back to watching the road behind them.

Jessica leaned toward the driver. “Terminal One departures. United.”

“Copy that, ma’am.”

Definitely ex-military.

One of Sanderson’s people? Someone neither Jessica nor he had met? That would be an interesting twist and not completely out of the realm of possibilities. Sanderson had reached out to them after Karl Berg’s phone call, to talk them out of going. Failing that, he offered to coordinate the logistics for the trip and provide personal protective equipment upon arrival in Chicago. They’d taken him up on the offer since neither of them had the kind of contacts needed to procure firearms that quickly, and because Sanderson footed the bill for the flights.

He dismissed the idea as fast as it materialized. Sanderson had also orchestrated the next part of their countersurveillance maneuver, which entailed ditching the driver entirely. Daniel didn’t care either way. If Sanderson wanted to keep an eye on them, there wasn’t much they could do about it, and there were far worse things in the world than having Black Flag operatives watching their backs.

Jessica held the notecard where he could see it.

“Ramon?” said Daniel.

“Yes, sir?”

“Looks like we’ll be using your services on the way back to the airport.”

“I’m happy to hear that, sir,” said Ramon.

“Why do I get the feeling you already knew it?”

“I’ve arranged a sedan through a cooperating agency for the return trip. Wanted to change things up. I’ll still be your driver.”

“That’s good to know,” said Daniel.

“Any particular reason?” said Jessica.

Daniel gave her a quizzical look.

“Unique skillset, ma’am,” said Ramon.

“Sounds familiar,” muttered Jessica, squeezing Daniel’s hand.

The driver glanced into the rearview mirror, briefly making eye contact with Daniel. A look of acknowledgment passed between the two of them. The guy was definitely Sanderson material, and it was no coincidence that he had been chosen to drive them. To the general’s credit, he maintained an extensive list of loyal and capable people around the world. The man had that kind of effect on people, a sort of infectious attraction that you could never fully shake. He couldn’t even begin to guess how Ramon had come under Sanderson’s spell.

After taking another long look at the road behind them, he kissed Jessica on the side of her mouth. She smiled flatly, taking a deep, but quiet inhale. Her stomach inflated and deflated slowly, a breathing relaxation technique she had mastered over the years. Not that he thought it would help her right now.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispered, instantly regretting the clichéd statement.

“Don’t.”

Message received. In a way, he was glad they would take separate cars to Palos Hills. The closer they got to the source of her rage, the worse it would get. Daniel stole a glance at his watch. Seventeen hours and forty-seven minutes until they could officially start a new chapter in their life.

A lot could go wrong in eighteen hours.

Chapter 17

Jessica pulled her carry-on suitcase into the restroom on the departure level and maneuvered it into the nearest open stall. She laid the red luggage piece flat across the toilet seat, quickly opening it to expose a smaller black carry-on bag fitted snugly inside. She removed a compact pistol and two spare magazines from her oversized red leather handbag and transferred the items to a zippered compartment on the outside of the nested bag.

After separating the two pieces of luggage, she removed her stylish black jacket and hung it on the back of the door. A few moments later, she left her old suitcase in the stall, closing the door behind her, and headed for the exit. She slowed in front of the mirrors to adjust the wig she had retrieved from the original carry-on suitcase. She could use a lipstick refresh too, but decided against it. A quick turnaround in the bathroom was more important right now. On her way past the paper towel dispenser, she pushed the handbag into the stainless steel trash bin, retaining a black clutch purse that had been hidden with the wig.

Less than ten seconds after Jessica entered the restroom, she walked out with cropped red hair, black luggage, and a trendy white blouse. Not exactly the most radical transformation, but hopefully enough to temporarily throw off anyone that had hustled into the terminal after them.

She followed the signs for the baggage level, which took her toward a distant escalator. A casual look toward the bucket seats in front of the terminal’s floor-to-ceiling windows eased her fears. Daniel rubbed his right eye with the back of his hand, their prearranged signal that he hadn’t detected any surveillance.

Jessica kept going, never pausing to look back. Daniel would wait for her phone call before heading for his car. By that time, Jessica would be on the road to Palos Hills, most likely stuck in afternoon traffic. She remembered how brutal the congestion could be in the areas around the city, especially near the airport. The thirty-mile drive could take an hour and a half at this time of day. All the better. She was in no hurry to get to the hospital.

She walked through an automatic door near the center of the baggage carousel pickup area, immediately choking on diesel fumes. She’d forgotten how nasty the air was on the arrivals level. A dozen or more buses and airport shuttles sat idling at any given time in front of the exits. More passed through every minute to discharge exhaust into the concrete and pavement hell beneath the arrival lanes constructed above. Dark. Dirty. Smelly. Airport planners had managed to make a traveler’s first taste of Chicago a shitty one.

Taking shallow breaths, Jessica hustled to the pedestrian crosswalk and crossed two wide rows of uneven traffic to emerge into the sunlight. She stopped to fiddle with her suitcase, taking the moment to scan the people she could observe in the shadows underneath the overpass. Nearly everybody hauled luggage. Nobody stood out.

Once inside the garage, she quickly analyzed the signage and headed in the direction of row G. A silver Nissan Sentra with Wisconsin license plates finally responded to her repeated press of the key fob. With her suitcase situated on the front seat and the zippered pocket containing her pistol opened, Jessica backed out of the space and followed the signs to the exit. She stopped the car several feet in front of the automated pay gate, mumbling curses. No. It was too late to turn back, and it would be the cowardly thing to do. Her mother deserved her forgiveness, and Jessica wanted to give it.

“You will fucking do this,” she whispered, easing her foot off the brake.

Ten minutes later, after paying for three hours of parking with a preloaded credit card, she sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic, pointing south on Interstate 294. She called Daniel to report a seemingly uneventful departure from the airport.

“Coast is clear?” he asked.

“Couldn’t say,” she said. “I’m at the American Airlines counter, booking a flight back to Anguilla.”

A long pause ensued. “You sound like you’re in a car.”

“Parked on the expressway,” she said. “I didn’t detect anyone paying attention to me on the way out.”

“I think we arrived undetected,” said Daniel.

He didn’t bring up the obvious, which she appreciated. It was one of his best qualities. Never making her feel worse about a situation, particularly one she’d created for herself.

“Arriving clean was never the real challenge,” she said.

“We’ll be just as cautious at the hospital,” he said. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll be over the Gulf of Mexico.”

“I hope so,” she said, not sure why she threw that at him.

He didn’t take the unintentional bait. “I found a tapas restaurant in Oak Brook. We could both use a bite to eat. A drink wouldn’t hurt either.”

“I’m not really hungry. Or thirsty.”

Her statement didn’t reflect the truth. It was more like the warped perception of how she thought she should be feeling. She could eat her way through an Old Country Buffet right now, heat-lamp-preserved food and all.

“Well, I’m kind of starving, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat something before we roll into Palos Hills,” said Daniel. “Plus we need to kill some time outside of town. It doesn’t start getting dark until around seven.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“Get off at Cermak, headed west. Take a right on Spring Road. El Tapareya is in Le Meridien.”

“The restaurant is in a hotel?”

“I didn’t think you’d care. Not being hungry and all.”

“Just saying.”

“I was eyeballing a nearby Long John Silver’s, if you want to know the truth,” Daniel cracked.

“Hush puppies and French fries. You know the way to this girl’s heart,” she said.

“Trust me on the tapas.”

“I could go either way, honestly,” she said, half meaning it.

“Your choice,” he said.

“Cermak then Spring Road. I’ll grab a table.”

“Facing the door, please.”

“That goes without saying.”

She needed to get him off the phone. Their conversation would dance around the edge of nothingness, a never-ending banter tinged with anxiety and framed by the gravity of her approaching reunion. Fuck that. She was better off tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and creeping along in traffic with her thoughts for the next hour. On top of that, they each needed to pay attention to their surroundings. Close attention. One slipup could cost them everything.

Part of her hoped the whole thing was a setup, and it was sprung before they got to the hospital. That would be the easy way out for her. Fight and win, no holds barred, just like she’d been trained. But this wasn’t a trap in the traditional sense. She was most certainly trapped, but not by any of the enemies they’d made in the past. No. The worst enemy possible had cornered Jessica. The one guaranteed to fuck up everything. Her guilt. And there was absolutely no way she was getting out of this one.

She’d let this enemy convince her to make a potentially dangerous trip, right on the cusp of sailing away from her shattered past. Her battle with this adversary ended tonight. She heard Daniel’s voice, but didn’t catch what he said.

“Sorry. What was that?”

“I said I’ll let you go,” said Daniel. “Stay alert, and let me know when you get there.”

“I will,” she said. “And… thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Sometimes you do it frighteningly well.”

“That’s because we’re a good match. Catch you in an hour or so.”

Jessica eased her car forward with the mass of traffic, the hope of a breakthrough short-lived. After stopping, she craned her head back and scanned the windshields behind her in a mostly useless gesture. It would be nearly impossible to spot a tail in this mess and not likely worth the effort. Unless someone wanted her dead, badly, she was as safe here as anywhere.

Safe. A relative term for people with their kind of background and history. Even at their home in Anguilla she never felt completely safe. That was the underlying problem with their life. One she hoped to permanently leave behind when they sailed away on La Ombra. She just needed to keep her shit together for a few more hours. By this time tomorrow night, she could be on their boat, making final preparations to put an entire ocean between the past and a new future.

Chapter 18

Daniel examined the reflective sign on the left corner of the intersection, which read “main entrance.” Unfortunately, that would be their only option for tonight’s visit. There would be no forged keycards and identification cards allowing them to enter more discreetly. They would walk through the visitor entrance to the hospital as Daniel and Jessica Petrovich, until they reached her mother’s room, where she would have to identify herself as Nicole Erak, daughter of a dying woman.

He slowed for the turn across the empty intersection, his car’s headlights drowning out the subtle lights highlighting a wide Welcome To Palos Community Hospital sign. Once past the bright sign, he caught a glimpse of a tall illuminated building between the thick stand of evenly spaced trees lining the right side of the road.

Research on the Internet gave him little useful information about the facility. Images of the exterior and interior suggested it had undergone extensive renovations at some point recently. A few buildings had been added, mainly outpatient surgery and physician office facilities. His best guess was that the hospice rooms would be located in the main patient building, which towered over the rest of the hospital.

Security inside the place would be a mess. He couldn’t think of any effective way to sweep the areas they’d need to move through, clearing a path for Jessica in advance. The best he could do was observe the areas outside the entrance for any obvious snatch-and-grab teams. Anyone wishing to do Jessica and him harm faced the same complications inside. There was no way to go about business inconspicuously unless your plan was to kill and you really didn’t give a shit about keeping it covert. A distinct possibility in this case.

Daniel had no intention of letting his guard down outside or inside the building. Their greatest ally would be time. The sooner they got in and out, the better, and that would solely depend on Jessica. He hated to admit it, but part of him hoped Vesna Erak was incommunicative or unresponsive at this point. Jessica could spend some time in the room “talking” to her mother, and they could get the hell out of here within the hour. Quicker possibly. Or would that just make matters worse for Jessica?

He knew the best outcome would be for his wife to spend as much time as she needed to clear the air and say goodbye to her mother. All he had to do was keep her safe. As his car cleared the trees, the main entrance appeared, directly across from a three-story parking garage.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Google Earth hadn’t shown a parking garage, which changed his plan. He was no longer dealing with a straight line-of-sight surveillance situation across a parking lot. He’d need to accompany Jessica the entire way instead of hanging back to watch the surroundings. Too many nooks and crannies in a parking garage to ensure her safety. He dialed her phone.

“What’s up?” she answered.

“There’s a massive parking garage instead of a parking lot. I’d feel better about this if we walked into the hospital together. We can put some space between us once we’re inside. I’m going to pull into the drop-off area in front of the main entrance and wait for you to get here. Pull up behind me and we’ll find adjacent spaces in the garage.”

“I guess we should have driven together after all,” she said.

“It would appear so,” replied Daniel. “I don’t see any other parking options, either… hold on.”

The kit provided by Sanderson included handicap placards, so there might still be some hope. He scanned the area around the entrance for handicap parking spaces, finding a few rows of cars in a small lot located directly in front of the garage. They might be able to station at least one of the cars as close as possible to the building in case they needed to make a quick exit. No such luck.

“Never mind,” he said. “I thought we might be able to use a handicap space.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m about five minutes out,” she said.

“I might take a look inside the lobby before you get here.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Jessica.

He disconnected the call and eased into one of several unoccupied patient pickup spaces under a wide, two-story-high roof sheltering the entrance. The moment he stopped the car, an older gentleman dressed in pressed khaki pants and a red sweater vest over a white collared shirt emerged through one of the main entrance doors and ambled toward him. Daniel met him on the other side of the car, halfway to the door.

“You can’t park here, sir,” stated the man.

Daniel read the plastic name tag pinned to the vest.

“My apologies, Tom,” he said. “I’m supposed to grab my sister-in-law here and drive her home. My wife’s mother is in one of the hospice rooms, and everyone is in from out of town. I’m doing what I can to get people back and forth. Do you mind if I leave the car here while I have a look around the lobby?”

“As long as you don’t linger,” said the venerable parking sentry.

“I’ll be gone in a minute or so,” said Daniel. “Thank you.”

The man didn’t change expression, clearly unimpressed by his promise. He’d undoubtedly heard every excuse in the book at this point.

“I’ll be right back.”

“We tow,” warned the man.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Daniel pressed the blue handicap access button plate on the thick metal post in front of one of the automatic doors. By the time he reached the entry, the door had opened far enough for him to slide into a glass-enclosed, three-story atrium. The lobby looked more like something you’d find inside fancy tech start-up headquarters than a community hospital, which made his job easier. He had clear sightlines to all of the seating areas scattered throughout the space.

Pretending to search for his sister-in-law, he was able to cross the few people seated in the lobby off his running list of obvious lookouts. No police either, or any discernible security sensors like a metal detector or X-ray machine. Not that he had expected to find that kind of security in Palos Hills. He might find a cop at the emergency entrance on the opposite side of the hospital. Not that it really mattered. His pistol was concealed, and there was no reason to search him. He sensed a presence behind him.

Instinct told him it was Tom, but it could be anyone. Well-practiced and perfected skills beat instinct any day in this business. Not that his current skill level met either description at the moment. Covert operations field craft involved highly perishable skills, their easy expiration directly related to an abysmally low survival rate. He turned his head slightly, confirming the red vest. He hated living like this. They couldn’t get back to the sailboat quickly enough.

“Do you see her?” asked the man.

The guy was relentless, which Daniel decided might work to his advantage.

“I don’t see her,” said Daniel. “She’s supposedly been here a while. Like almost an hour.”

The man took a quick look around, shaking his head.

“I’m going on five hours here, and I haven’t seen anyone hanging out in the main lobby for that long.”

“Maybe hidden back in the café?” said Daniel, looking in that direction.

“Café closed at six thirty. That group just sat down a few minutes ago to grab their kids a snack from one of the accessible vending machines,” said the man. “She might be waiting in the hospice wing. They have a comfortable lounge for family there.”

Tom had the lobby locked down tight. Anyone lingering here would have drawn his attention long ago.

“Maybe she went back up to the hospice floor. Let me move my car, and I’ll get this all sorted out,” said Daniel. “I know she didn’t walk home. At least I hope she didn’t. Right?”

The man nodded, feigning a smile. All business. Daniel returned to his car in time to take a call from Jessica.

“I’m turning onto the main entrance road,” she said.

“I’ll meet you at the parking garage entrance. The lobby is clear.”

“I can’t wait,” said Jessica.

She sounded distinctly different than a few minutes ago. In fact, she sounded remarkably like she had in Belgrade during their final days in that mess. The closer she got to seeing her mother, the worse this would get. The trick was keeping her from a complete breakdown, and if anything had the potential to trigger one, this was it.

Daniel pulled the car out of the drop-off zone and waited at the top of the drive for Jessica. He prayed for a short visit, fully aware that it would be a long night no matter what.

Chapter 19

Jessica rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, single-mindedly focused on one thing: not freaking out. Actually, she was more concentrated on not showing any outward signs that she was on the verge of breaking down. Daniel’s concerned glances and sympathetic smiles indicated she wasn’t doing a good job. Or maybe she was. She had no idea. All she knew for sure was that she would see her mother in a few minutes, and the thought terrified her.

It shouldn’t. If anything, this moment should be one of those cathartic, transcendent kind of moments that alter the course of your life, but she wasn’t interpreting her body’s response that way. She knew exactly what it felt like to have a nervous breakdown. She’d spent the better part of a year downing Xanax like Tic Tacs to little avail in Serbia. And another year after that convinced that the new life she was building with Daniel would come crashing down at a moment’s notice.

“Fuck. This shouldn’t be so hard,” she murmured, barely aware that she had spoken out loud.

Yeah. She wasn’t doing a good job at concealing this at all.

“Sorry,” she said.

“About what?”

“This.”

“You’ve endured worse,” said Daniel. “Way worse. Don’t lose sight of that.”

His words didn’t make a dent in the field of nervous energy that radiated from her chest. She was nearly shaking from it, like an adrenaline boost, except this neurochemical reaction wasn’t helping her in any way she could interpret. It was drawing her inward, where she could least afford to be. For all practical purposes, they were in enemy territory, and she was dead weight. No. She was worse than dead weight. More like a zombie.

When the elevator door opened, Daniel stepped into the lobby and glanced around, nodding for her to exit when he saw it was safe. A backlit sign on the wall pointed them in the direction of the room block used for hospice care. Rooms 440–459. Elevator C would have delivered them closest to the rooms, but Daniel insisted they use a different elevator as long as the areas connected. She would have taken the shortest route. The most obvious route.

She hesitated for a moment, desperately wanting to return to the lobby. Daniel placed his hand against the inner door, making sure it didn’t shut. He kept his eyes in the hallway, waiting for her to move or stay put. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other. Right now, he served as her bodyguard and not much more than that. He wasn’t her husband, lover, or best friend. Daniel was her only protection from a potential attack or trap.

Jessica stepped out of the elevator and immediately felt dizzy. She didn’t stumble, but it must have been clear from her face, because Daniel looked worried.

“I’m good,” she said, starting to walk.

A firm grip on her shoulder stopped Jessica in place.

“Wrong way,” he said, giving her a funny look.

“What?”

“You need to get this out of your system,” he said.

It was an odd thing for him to say, especially after successfully tiptoeing around her for nearly two days.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You need to find the nearest bathroom and reboot your system,” he said.

That was right! Danny remembered. As a deep cover CIA operative in Serbia, she occasionally induced vomiting before a nerve-racking mission or field operation, particularly if she felt like she was losing the battle with anxiety. Initially admitting that to her handler had put her under close scrutiny.

Excessive anxiety was viewed as a liability. The CIA’s behavioral health division maintained that a certain degree of anxiety was beneficial to the job. It tended to keep operatives on their toes — and alive — but they didn’t like the kind that led to mistakes, which ultimately led back to the agency. A few months after confiding in her handler, she was ordered out of the field. An order she refused, because she’d reunited with Daniel, and they’d hatched a plan to walk away from it all. Together. With a lot of money. They were on the cusp of escaping again. This time for good. The thought made her smile, and she felt oddly better.

“I can hold your hair for you,” said Daniel.

“I’m wearing a wig,” she reminded him.

“I didn’t say I would go into the bathroom with you,” he said. “I can hold your hair in the hallway.”

“Such a gentleman,” she said, seeing an illuminated bathroom placard down the hallway.

He gripped both of her shoulders and stared into her eyes with determined love and seemingly infinite compassion.

“You’re going to be fine. I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but—”

“No. I need to hear that,” she said. “We’re going to be fine, as soon as I get to that bathroom.”

Chapter 20

Daniel situated his far more lucid-looking wife on a deep, brown leather couch in the hospice lobby and made his way to the caregiver station. A tall intense-looking man with glasses looked up from his computer monitor as he neared, the screen reflecting in his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Can I help you find someone?” asked the man.

“Yes,” said Daniel. “My wife is here to see her mother, Vesna Erak.”

The man started typing on his keyboard. “Just a second. Ms. Erak hasn’t received any visitors since arriving in hospice. I need to see if — no, she hasn’t placed any restrictions on visitation. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. We’re pretty well appointed here, as you can probably tell. Family members can order from the hospital’s twenty-four-hour menu. Anything you need, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m here until eight in the morning. My name is Dave. Your wife’s mother is in room 451. Would you like me to show you the way?”

“Thank you, Dave. That’s all right,” said Daniel, glancing over his left shoulder in what he assumed was the direction of the hospice rooms.

It was the only hallway open to the generously furnished and empty lobby. The hospital had gone out of its way to make the hospice area as soothing and comfortable as possible for grieving families. The walls were painted a warm color and the lighting was softened compared to the patient hallways they’d travelled to get here from the distant elevator. The institutional feel had been erased, a far cry from the room his mother had died in. Not that he ever saw her alive in that room. She’d been delivered to the funeral home by the time he managed to get back from Japan. Car crashes didn’t wait for your ship to pull back into port.

“All of the rooms are down this hallway, right?”

“Correct. 451 is on the left side, about halfway down,” said the attendant.

“May I ask you an odd question?”

Dave slid his chair to the left of the monitor and looked at Daniel over his glasses. “Yes?”

“My wife hasn’t been back to this area in a long time,” said Daniel. “A lot of that has to do with an ill-tempered ex-fiancé connected to some unsavory Serbian gentlemen. Organized crime, she thinks, though he’s never been formally linked. Anyway, this guy has gone out of his way to harass my wife in a number of different states. We live in Baja, Mexico, now, if that gives you any indication of the degree of hassle he’s given her. This won’t be a long visit for that very reason.”

Dave looked absolutely enthralled by his tale, barely blinking.

“There’s obviously a sizable Serbian community in the surrounding towns, so it wouldn’t be unusual for Serbian Americans to visit the floor, but have you seen any men in their mid-thirties that might fit the bill? Perhaps someone visited her mother and left quickly or hung around here waiting? Someone asking questions?”

The man shook his head slowly. “I’m not the only person that works this station, but we always log activity, even information requests. Nobody has visited her or asked about her. I can’t speak for the other attendants, but nobody comes up here unless they have a relative or friend in one of those rooms. Hospice gives people the creeps.”

“You aren’t kidding,” said Daniel. “All right. If you don’t mind, I’d like to check out the room first. I know it sounds crazy, but—”

“That’s fine.”

“I might glance into the other rooms from the hallway, just to be sure.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, as long as you stay out of the other rooms.”

“How many rooms are occupied?”

“About half,” Dave said.

“Last crazy question. Is the room directly in front of hers occupied?”

The man looked uncomfortable with the question.

“I know it sounds paranoid, but these people have given us hell over the past several years.”

“The woman across the hallway is asleep. Her family left about an hour ago. She sleeps soundly through the night.”

“Serbian?”

“Hispanic. And nobody has entered her room since they left.”

“Final question. Not a crazy one.”

“Your questions are fine,” said the man, looking relieved.

“Does her record say what happened? Why she was put in ICU in the first place? We didn’t get any details. A friend of my wife’s got in touch with us a few days ago. She didn’t have any information.”

“You’d have to ask the doctor that admitted her or Ms. Erak herself. Patient confidentiality. Once they come through these doors, we keep them comfortable according to the plan they have in place. I can tell you that she’s on palliative care, which means… that’s pretty much it,” he said. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” said Daniel. “Thank you.”

Daniel returned to Jessica, who looked a little less composed than when he left her. He needed to get this moving along. She was starting to slide backward.

“I’m going to take a quick look around. Make sure we don’t have any surprises. Be back in a minute. Are you good here?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Okay.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead.

The plan was simple. Walk up and down the hallway, looking into each room. He’d briefly enter Vesna’s room, checking the bathroom and any possible hiding spots. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. Once Jessica was inside the room, he’d move one of the chairs where he could watch the hallway and wait for Jessica to emerge.

He could generally guess which rooms were occupied by the lighting scheme or the obvious presence of family members. Each room contained a couch that was visible from the hallway and a comfortable-looking chair, though he suspected the rooms likely contained more furniture that could be moved closer to the bed. Room 451 had a solitary light on somewhere deep in the space, probably on a table next to Vesna’s bed. He kept going to the end of the hallway. Nothing stood out from what he could tell, and he now had a good sense of which rooms held patients and posed less of a threat. Someone would have to go through a ton of trouble to hijack an occupied room. He filed the information away for later. All of the rooms were well within his center-mass pistol-shooting capability, the majority of the rooms an easy headshot. The problem would be the time needed to make the shot if someone darted out of nearby room. He’d have to borrow Jessica’s handbag to conceal his pistol in a quickly accessible location. There was no way he could draw from the concealed holster on his right hip.

The only other thing that kind of bothered him was the service elevator located at the end of the hallway. Generally, it was an odd location for an elevator, which he suspected had been selected specifically for the hospice floor. Patients put in these rooms always left the same way. The elevator’s remote placement spared anyone resting in the lounge from an early funeral procession. From a security perspective, it represented a significant danger.

The elevator was a wild card. He and Jessica could be under remote surveillance right now, a sizable team waiting in the basement for the right moment to take the elevator to the fourth floor. Daniel would have no warning, just a sudden rush of men from the end of the hallway, which he’d meet with rapid, accurate gunfire. Once Jessica’s gun joined the fight, they could neutralize the threat and withdraw. The more he thought about it, the elevator was his only real concern at this point.

Now for room 451, just in case. He stepped lightly inside the room, finding the bathroom where he expected it. Like nearly every hotel room, it was right next to the entrance. He pushed the bathroom door open slowly, finding its hinges surprisingly quiet. A quick check confirmed it didn’t hold a hidden assailant. Backtracking out of the dark bathroom, he faced the rest of the room. Almost tiptoeing at this point, he approached the corner wall of the bathroom, which gave the bed privacy from the hallway.

Daniel peeked around the corner, observing any remaining hiding places. The room was clear. He glanced up at Vesna, expecting her to be asleep, but instead finding her eyes wide, locked onto his own. Shit. He barely recognized her. Actually, he didn’t at all. She looked moments from death. Grayish-yellow, a look beyond exhaustion. The face of someone trying to will themselves to die because they’re too physically weak to end it with their own hands.

Staring into her eyes, he felt an overwhelming compassion for the woman, despite his brief history with her. He’d met her twice, under rushed and strained circumstances, one of them overtly hostile when he had to rescue Jessica, then Nicole, from a family dinner turned violent. He’d wanted nothing to do with her family after that, which had suited her fine. She didn’t seem to want anything to do with them either.

He nodded at her, and she formed a thin smile.

“Nicole came to see you,” he whispered.

Her smile broadened for a moment, then waned, as if the simple effort of using her facial muscles was too much to bear. This was going to be hell on Jessica, but there was no going back. His words had sealed that.

When he returned to the lobby, Jessica sat on the edge of the couch, waiting. She stood and walked over to meet him.

“Did you see her?” she asked, glancing nervously toward her mother’s room.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to do this,” said Jessica.

“The room’s clear,” he said. “As far as I can tell, the floor is clear. There’s a service elevator at the end of the hallway that makes me a little nervous. I’m going to move a chair where I can watch the entire corridor. If anything happens out here, I’ll yell ‘left’ or ‘right,’ and you’ll know which direction to scan for targets. I need your handbag to keep my pistol immediately accessible.”

She handed him the bag, her hands shaky. “I can’t believe I’m like this,” said Jessica. “I’d rather be in a knife fight.”

“A knife fight sounds wonderful right about now,” he said. “Not with you, though.”

She stifled a quick laugh.

“Take your time,” said Daniel. “Regardless of what happens inside, you close this chapter in your life by walking through that door.”

Jessica’s eyes moistened.

“Get on with it before you change your mind,” he said, and briefly touched his lips to hers.

She nodded and turned around, slowly making her way to the room. He waited until she was inside before going to work on the furniture.

“Mind if I move this chair where I can keep an eye on the hallway?” he said to the attendant.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Can’t be too careful,” said Daniel.

“Go ahead.”

He grabbed one of the cushioned chairs surrounding a wide, circular coffee table and positioned it where he could see the entire width of the hallway. He also had a peripheral view of the main elevator lobby across from the attendant, and the double doors leading to the rest of the fourth floor. While lowering into the chair, he removed his concealed pistol from its holder and tucked it into Jessica’s handbag with one swift motion, nobody the wiser. He set the bag next to his right thigh and placed his hand inside, making sure he could draw the pistol without it catching. All he could do now was wait.

Chapter 21

Jessica paused in front of the bathroom. She could see the outline of her mother’s legs under a familiar patchwork quilt toward the foot of the bed. Her mom had made that for the family room couch when Jessica was in elementary school. She remembered the day she proudly unfolded it like it was yesterday. A flood of memories followed. Good ones. She had expected the opposite. Instead of the anger and betrayal she’d anticipated, she felt a bittersweet nostalgia. She could do this. A few more steps brought more of her mother’s body into focus. Another step and she’d be face-to-face with her mother for the first time since she left for Langley.

“Nikki?” said a gravelly voice. “Is that really you?”

She took the final step. Any trace of the anger she’d harbored for years drained away permanently. Jessica knew it was gone. Regret filled that void, replace by a warmth toward her mother that she didn’t think could be rekindled.

“Mom,” said Jessica, unsure what to do.

“Come here, sweetie,” said her mom, struggling to raise her arms to beckon her.

Jessica rushed to the side of her bed and hugged her gently, careful with her frail body. Vesna’s arms barely managed to apply any pressure to the embrace. Jessica kept the side of her face pressed lightly against her mother’s, crying uncontrollably while holding her.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she sobbed. “So sorry.”

Her mother patted her back. “You have nothing to be sorry about, sweet one,” whispered Vesna. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I always understood. You took good care of me.”

“I didn’t take care of you, Mama,” whimpered Jessica.

“Nonsense,” said Vesna, in a firm voice.

Jessica pulled away from her, staring into surprisingly resolute eyes. They appeared to be the only part of her that was still alive, sunken deeply in darkened sockets. What the hell had happened to her?

“Look where I am. And where I’ve been. You’ve taken good care of me, my angel. More than I had any right to expect.”

“I should have taken you away from this place,” said Jessica. “Things would have been different.”

“I’m right where I was always meant to be. You must believe that.”

Jessica leaned in again, holding her mom as close as possible. She’d seen and smelled death in its most sickening and violent forms before, but something about this was far worse. The stale air, the near absolute absence of any vibrant color, a feeling of complete depletion.

“I love you, Mama,” she barely managed to say between sobs.

“I love you too, my angel,” said Vesna, keeping her close.

After a few minutes, Jessica pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed and held her mother’s hand.

“How did this happen?” Jessica asked.

“Nobody knows,” her mother answered. “Organ failure. Pain all over. It started a few months ago, coming in waves, and just kept getting worse and worse. None of the tests showed anything.”

“You don’t have cancer?”

“They couldn’t find anything.”

Something stirred in Jessica. None of what her mom said made sense. It sounded like she’d been poisoned.

Vesna squeezed her hand. “Let’s not talk about it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just so happy to see you. This is like a dream come true. Maybe I’m already in Heaven.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mama.”

“Promise me something,” said her mom.

“Sure. What?”

“When you walk out of here, you don’t look back. Ever. You go off and live a good life with that young man,” said her mom. “I remember him from the last time I ever saw you. He had the devil in his eyes that night. Like he could kill a man.”

“He almost did kill a man that night.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” said Vesna, her eyes looking glassy and distant. “I’m just so happy to see you one last time.”

“I should have come sooner.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. You deserved to get out of here. A lot of your friends didn’t.”

If only her mother knew where she had ended up. That was the irony of it all. Jessica had traded one nightmare for another and, in all likelihood, would have been better off staying. There was no psychiatrist’s couch for the things she’d seen and done after “escaping” Palos Hills.

Jessica started to respond when she heard the sound of an elevator chime.

Chapter 22

Daniel sat up in his chair when the elevator chimed. A quick glance to his right told him it didn’t come from the elevator lobby. Neither of the indicator lights next to the doors had illuminated. He turned his head a little further to catch the hospice attendant’s eye.

“Service elevator,” said the man.

“You expecting anyone?” asked Daniel, tightening his grip on the pistol.

A bright green plastic laundry cart emerged from the service elevator, pushed by a man wearing maroon hospital scrubs.

“That’s just Kevin. He takes away dirty towels or sheets left in bathroom hampers. He comes by once a shift.”

Daniel confirmed that Kevin was the only person to get off the elevator. The attendant raised his hand to acknowledge the man’s arrival. The gesture was returned in kind by the man maneuvering the cart into the center of the hallway.

“You’re sure that’s Kevin?”

“He’s been on the night shift for close to a year,” said the attendant, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“Does he go in all of the rooms?” Daniel asked, keeping his eyes locked on the man in scrubs.

“He has a list of the occupied or recently vacated rooms. I send it to janitorial services through the computer. Sometimes he forgets it, though,” he said. “Kev, you got the list?” he called.

“Got it, man!” replied the guy, lifting a sheet of paper out of a tray attached to the cart. “I’m already pretty full, so I might need to make two trips.”

“Tell him to skip 451 and the room across the hall,” said Daniel.

“Dude, you need to seriously take it easy. Unless Kevin’s your wife’s ex-boyfriend, there’s no problem here. You’re acting like there’s some kind of international cartel out to get her.”

You have no idea.

Despite this initial thought, the attendant’s last sentence somehow eased Daniel’s tension. He was indeed being ridiculous. The line between healthy caution and morbid paranoia could be a fine one in this business, but he wasn’t vetting a meet-up location with a clandestine field contact. He was sitting in an upscale hospital outside of Chicago, waiting for his wife to finish visiting her terminally ill mother. He didn’t trust the U.S. government to honor his immunity deal, especially the new administration, but if they’d really wanted him in custody, there wasn’t much he could do except get on that sailboat and vanish.

“You good, man?” the attendant queried.

Daniel eased his grip on the pistol. “As long as you know this guy.”

“I see him every night. You can go hang out down by her room if it would make you feel better.”

Not a bad idea. Daniel started to get up.

“Just don’t bother Kevin or I’ll have to call security.”

He sank back into the cushions. There was no way he wasn’t going to bother Kevin if he got up, and the last thing he needed was a run-in with hospital security or, even worse, a police officer.

“That’s okay,” said Daniel, turning his head toward the attendant for a moment. “Sorry if I’m making you nervous.”

“I totally get it. Just trying to keep things low-key around here.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

Daniel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, bringing his surface-level tension down a notch. He checked his watch, dismayed by how little time had passed since Jessica entered her mother’s room. On the bright side, it was enough time to convince him that the visit wasn’t going to end in disaster.

Chapter 23

Dragan Ilic shifted uncomfortably in the cramped laundry cart, his knees nearly touching his cheeks. When the cart bumped across the lip of the elevator door, the hard plastic base of the cart jarred his tailbone. He should have put one of the towels under his ass before climbing inside. Better yet, he should never have agreed to this insane plan. How the fuck was he going to pull this off without both of them in the same room?

He craned his neck as far forward as possible without pulling a muscle and squinted through the two-inch-diameter hole that had been drilled into the front of the cart. Even worse, Marko Resja, or whoever the fuck he really was, had a clear sightline down the hallway. The son of a bitch had moved a chair to the edge of the lounge and was staring right at him!

“How are we doing up there?” he said softly, but loudly enough for Kevin Shaw to hear.

“Everything is normal. Just like it always is,” said Shaw. “Just like I said.”

“It better be, for your family’s sake.”

“I guarantee you it will be fine,” hissed the man, in a tone Dragan didn’t care for. “As long as you don’t keep talking.”

“You better watch your tone,” said Dragan. “I alone determine what happens to that little girl of yours. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” said the man in a defeated voice. “Is the plan still the same? I see a guy watching us.”

“The plan is that you do exactly what I say, when I say it. Service the rooms as normal.”

“Understood.”

Srecko had a few guys “babysitting” the man’s wife and daughter. If all went as planned, the man’s family would be released within the hour. Unfortunately, he’d never see his family again. Dragan needed to make a slight adjustment to the plan in order to ensure a clean getaway from the hospital. With Resja watching the hallway like a hawk, he couldn’t take the chance that Shaw might make a noise and draw the trained operative’s attention.

The original plan had been to take them both down in the old woman’s room. Kill Resja with a suppressed pistol and Taser “the whore,” then knock her out with a strong sedative for the return trip. Things would go down differently.

The whore. He had to laugh. Srecko had called her by no other name since he’d been hired to work on this job. Not even during the detailed briefings leading up to tonight. He’d warned Dragan repeatedly that she was lethal and that he wanted her delivered alive. He wouldn’t get paid a penny beyond the down payment if he killed her or allowed her to kill herself.

“Do not underestimate this one,” Srecko had echoed, over and over again.

The woman intrigued him. From the limited number of newspaper clippings Dragan had found hidden in a shoebox, he’d learned surprisingly little about Nicole Erak, “the whore,” that had arranged the upscale town house on her mother’s behalf. She’d been one of those varsity athlete, National Honor Society types, got into a good college, graduated with honors, then essentially disappeared — at least from her mother’s life.

He’d found no pictures or evidence of a father. How she’d ended up in Belgrade, infiltrating Srecko’s Panthers, remained a complete mystery. If any clues had been kept in the house, he would have found them. He’d spent the better part of the past two months as Vesna’s daytime caregiver at the town house. Ironic considering the fact that he had been the one to prick her skin at the nearby Jewel-Osco grocery store with a tiny drop of dimethylmercury, guaranteeing her rapid, but controlled decline.

Framed photos of Nicole alone or with her mother adorned the mantel and nightstand at the town house, all of them taken long ago. The daughter had been a seriously hot piece of ass back then. She’d looked pretty damn good in the dossier Srecko had given him too. Dragan seriously hoped Srecko let him take part in the rumored festivities planned for the woman. He might even consider discounting the job to get a backstage pass. Why not? It wasn’t every day you got to be part of a snuff film. And a patriotic one at that! Nicole Erak had apparently played a major role in the downfall of Srecko Hadzic’s Panthers, one of the cornerstones of Serbia’s Nationalist movement.

Dragan bumped against the sides of the cart as his hostage went about the business of removing and replacing the towels and linens left in each bathroom. As discussed prior to exiting the elevator, he was to drag the cart at least halfway into each room to conduct his business. The front of the cart had been modified to swing open so he could slip out undetected and load Erak’s unconscious body into the bin. A false top had been installed three-quarters of the way up the interior of the cart, layered with used towels. Anyone casually inspecting the contents would see a nearly full bin full of dirty laundry. Anyone pushing the inspection any further would get a hollow-point bullet to the face.

Smaller holes had been drilled into the sides of the cart, allowing him to see in either hallway direction when the cart was parked inside each door. Marko Resja appeared to remain alert in the lobby, never taking his eyes off the cart. He’d have to be extremely careful in the final stages of this operation. Any slipup would undoubtedly lead to a messy situation. He was convinced that he could deal with Resja if necessary, but he had little confidence in his ability to take out Resja and silence the attendant simultaneously from this range. Dragan cursed the moment he refused the offer of a suppressed, compact rifle. With that type of weapon, he could Taser “the whore” and quickly hit both Resja and the attendant with headshots and be long gone before somebody raised the alarm. Based on his hostage’s assurances, the place was a mausoleum at night. Figuratively and literally. Everyone here was on death’s doorstep, including Resja and Nicole Erak.

After a few more minutes of rumbling through the hallway, he heard a distinct sound: triple knocking against the back of the cart near his head. After a long pause, the triple knock sounded again. Their next stop was the room across from 451. He acknowledged the notification with a double knock. Now for the moment of truth.

The cart turned and stopped, the interior darkening when Kevin repositioned himself in front of the cart to pull it into the room. Four knocks indicated they were safely in position within the room. Dragan felt along the left, front side of the cart and released two latches. He slowly opened the door and peered into the dark room. Half of Kevin’s body was visible, outlined by the illumination from a night-light in the bathroom.

“It’s all clear,” the man whispered in a barely audible voice.

Dragan twisted his head at a nearly impossible angle to press his left eye against the hole drilled into the back of the cart. He wasn’t taking any chances with Kevin. People did crazy things under pressure. Across the hallway, the couch and chairs visible from his point of view remained empty. He could still make this work.

“Hold the cart,” said Dragan.

When Kevin’s hand firmly grasped the horizontal handle along the rim, Dragan slowly and carefully inched his way out of the cramped hold and onto the carpeted floor. He sat there for a few seconds, listening intently. He then reached into the cart, quietly removing a duffel bag.

“Get inside the bathtub and lay down. Shut the shower curtain,” whispered Dragan.

The man complied, disappearing into the bathroom. When Dragan heard the shower curtain ruffle and the plastic tub creak under Kevin’s weight, he unzipped the bag and withdrew a suppressed pistol. He pushed the bag onto the bathroom tile and crawled into the softly lit space, standing up once he was completely inside. Equipped for handicap use, the bathroom was spacious, allowing him to shut the door without getting too close to the bathtub. He needed the door shut. The sound of a suppressed pistol, no matter how quiet, would be immediately recognizable to a trained operative.

“You okay in there?” he asked quietly.

“I think so,” said the man. “Hey, there’s a solid stainless steel handle in here. It might be easier just to tie me up in here.”

Dragan opened the shower curtain a quarter of the way with his left hand, keeping the pistol concealed behind his right thigh. The handle would have indeed served his purposes well if the plan hadn’t changed so drastically. He raised the pistol and aimed it at the man’s forehead, pressing the trigger before the guy could react. A single hole appeared above the eyebrows and his body went slack. The subsonic 9mm hollow-point projectile had obviously done its job. There was no need to fire a second bullet. He closed the curtain and knelt next to the tub, removing a black wig and a pair of thick-rimmed, nonprescription glasses from the bag.

After a few seconds of adjustment in the mirror, he closely enough resembled the man lying dead in the bathtub. The disguise wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but at the distance between here and the lobby, he should be able to go about his business without drawing any scrutiny.

Dragan opened the bathroom door and placed his duffel bag on top of the dirty towels, shoving it far enough down to remain undetected. He reached inside the bag and removed a Taser and a gray auto-injector syringe, placing them on the tray attached to the cart handle.

He pushed the cart into the hallway, avoiding eye contact with Resja or the attendant. Halfway across, Dragan swung the cart around so he could pull it into the room instead of push it. This was where it got a bit tricky. He stepped through the open doorway and started to bring the cart with him.

“Hello?” said an alert female voice, followed by movement.

Dragan gripped the Taser in the cart, keeping his back toward the room. He turned his head in time to see a redhead with tightly cropped hair appear at the foot of the bed. Her right hand was hidden behind her right hip, most likely gripping a pistol. He wasn’t going to win this quick-draw match.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “There’s rarely anyone here at this hour. I should have checked with the desk. I even saw someone sitting in the lobby. I’m so stupid. Sorry to have interrupted you.”

The woman’s tense posture eased, but her hand didn’t come away from the concealed weapon.

“Can I help you?” she said sternly.

“I’m just collecting dirty towels. I can come back later,” Dragan said in a wimpy, deferential voice.

“It’s fine. He comes in every night,” said a weak voice from somewhere deeper in the room. “He’s a nice fellow.”

Her arm shifted forward, just slightly. Still not enough for him to take a chance with the Taser. He’d been warned about her.

“It’ll only take a few seconds, but I don’t mind coming back,” he said. “I’m on shift all night.”

She put her hands on her hips, which sealed her fate.

“That’s fine. Just do it qui—”

Dragan turned his body, simultaneously extending the hand gripping the Taser. The woman reacted swiftly, her hand slipping behind her hip, but fifty thousand volts of electricity prevented her from taking any further action. She dropped to her knees, momentarily fighting the Taser’s effects before tipping over onto the floor, her back arched and limbs locked into place.

Keeping the Taser in his right hand, he grabbed the auto-injector syringe and approached her twitching body. A quick jab to one of her legs delivered the sedative. All he had to do at this point was wait several seconds for the strong dose to take full effect. This left him just enough time to take care of the old woman. He glanced in Vesna Erak’s direction, catching her horrified look. She raised her head off the pillow, trying to form words. Nothing escaped her lips beyond a continuous, low-volume gasp.

He stepped past Nicole Erak, placed a hand over Vesna’s mouth, and stabbed her twice in the Adam’s apple with the business end of the auto-injector. It was messy work, better suited for a knife, but it did the job. Her head immediately lowered to the pillow, a weak gurgling sound sputtering from her lips.

Turning his attention back to the target, Dragan disengaged the Taser. When Erak’s body relaxed, he kicked her sharply in the side of the rib cage, eliciting no reaction. She was out cold. Less than ten seconds later, he pushed the fully loaded cart into the hallway.

Chapter 24

Daniel kept a close watch on the man that pushed the cart into the center of the hallway. The guy had taken a little longer in room 451 than the one across the hall, but he’d heard Jessica’s voice, so he assumed his wife had briefly interrogated him. The man turned briefly to give the attendant a wave.

“I’m full. Be right back,” he said, pushing the cart to the end of the hallway.

The man pressed the elevator button and moved behind the cart, immediately pushing it into the elevator carriage. Daniel squinted almost imperceptibly, feeling that something was off. He hadn’t heard a chime, and the guy hadn’t paused for a moment before maneuvering into the elevator, almost like the door had already been open. But why would he press the button? Shit. He’d only do that to try to maintain some semblance of normal procedure — to keep Daniel from instantly reacting.

He burst out of his seat, holding Jessica’s purse, and sprinted toward the end of the hallway. By the time he reached the elevator, the brushed steel doors had been closed for a number of seconds, the hum and whir of the elevator machinery audible through the thick barrier. Responding out of desperate instinct, he tried to pry the doors open with his hand, just as quickly abandoning the futile attempt. An insistent voice from the opposite end of the hallway momentarily distracted him. The attendant had finally gotten off his ass and was heading in his direction — and he didn’t look happy. Fuck. He didn’t need any complications right now. Processing the information on hand, he made a few decisions and headed swiftly toward the attendant.

“Dave, I think they took my wife in the laundry cart!”

The man shook his head, continuing to approach. “Dude, nobody kidnapped your wife.”

“Check the room,” said Daniel. “Just do that for me.”

The guy broke into a lazy jog, clearly wanting to get to the room before Daniel. “I’ll check the room, but I need you to stand clear,” said the man, pointing a finger at him. “Then I need you out of here. Back in the main lobby. Security will walk you down.”

Daniel nodded, slowing his pace. “Thank you. Sorry to be like this, but we have reasons to be cautious.”

“Yeah. I bet you do,” said the man, pausing in front of room 451. “Stay right there, or security will do more than just walk you out of here.”

Daniel stopped several feet from the room, nodding his understanding. “Hurry.”

The man shook his head and rolled his eyes, stepping into the room. The instant he disappeared, Daniel drew the pistol out of the handbag and slung the bag’s handles over his shoulder, slipping into position right next to the door.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered the attendant, a touch of confusion in his voice.

Leading with the pistol, Daniel entered the room, finding the attendant fumbling with the handheld radio attached to his belt.

“Stop what you’re doing and raise your hands,” said Daniel.

The man let the radio hang half connected to his belt and put his hands up. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“What floor does Kevin take to offload his cart?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” said Daniel.

“S-two. Second subfloor.”

“Can I get there from the stairwell?”

The attendant thought about it for a little too long. “David, I need an answer right away,” said Daniel, shifting his aim to the man’s head.

The guy turned his head and lowered his hands in front of his face, a fairly natural reaction for untrained civilians when a firearm is pointed at their face.

“Jesus! You don’t have to point that at me,” he said, suddenly blurting an answer. “You can get there, but you’ll need an access card to open the door. My card doesn’t open any of the sublevel doors. Swear to God!”

Daniel snatched the radio off his belt with enough force to break the plastic clip barely keeping it in place.

“Sit on the couch and don’t move,” Daniel hissed, sliding next to Vesna’s bed to reach the nightstand.

The gruesome sight didn’t distract him. Daniel was single-mindedly focused on taking the steps necessary to save Jessica, and Vesna Erak’s dead body didn’t weigh into that equation. Every fraction of a second counted now. He ripped the phone on the nightstand out of its connection and tossed it on the other side of the bed. A quick scan of the room on his way out didn’t reveal an intercom system.

“I’m going to shut this door. If it opens and I’m still here, you’re a dead man. Understood?” he said, keeping the pistol aimed at David’s head.

The man nodded emphatically. “Understood.”

Daniel closed the door behind him and took off for the lobby. He could shoot his way through the sublevel door if necessary, or take a card from someone on the way down. One way or the other, he was getting through that door. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps when the service elevator chimed.

Coming to finish me off? Big mistake.

He reversed direction and bolted for the end of the hallway, diving into position on the floor in front of the doors as they started to open. Steadying his aim from a prone position, the doors slowly peeled back, revealing the blue cart.

What the fuck?

“Daniel?” said a familiar voice from the elevator car. “It’s me, Munoz. We don’t have time to fuck around.”

Munoz? Sure as hell sounded like him. Sanderson must have sent a team to keep an eye on them. Fucking Sanderson!

“Show yourself,” said Daniel.

A head slowly appeared from the right side of the elevator, confirming Munoz’s identity. He was dressed in the same type of maroon hospital scrubs the kidnapper had worn. Daniel hopped to his feet and rushed into the elevator, frantically digging through the blood-splattered towels and linens. He looked up at Munoz while still tossing the cart.

“Where is she?”

“She’s out cold in a hidden compartment underneath the towels,” said Munoz, pressing S2 on the elevator panel. “Vitals are strong. She’s fine.”

“How the fuck do you get this open?”

Munoz grabbed his shoulder, forcefully pushing him back. “I need you to focus here. Jessica is going to be unconscious for a while. We’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Daniel knocked Munoz’s arm away and knelt next to the cart, examining the plastic bin as the elevator doors closed.

“There’s a plastic latch on the front right corner,” said Munoz.

He immediately located the latch and pulled it upward, releasing the door. Jessica lay crumpled inside, her head lolling on the base of the container. He placed his hand on her neck and felt for a pulse, finding it quickly. Slow but steady, definitely sedated. The elevator started to descend.

“We need to get her somewhere safe until she’s conscious. Then I’m flying her out of here,” said Daniel. “I assume you’re staying somewhere off the books?”

“We have a bigger problem,” said Munoz.

“I don’t care about your bigger problems,” said Daniel. “I have a plan to get her away from all of these problems. It was a mistake coming here.”

“You definitely fucked up,” said Munoz. “Almost got her killed.”

“Fuck you,” said Daniel, then he muttered, “And thank you.”

“Thank you?” said Munoz with an amused look. “Sanderson was right. You are going soft.”

Daniel rubbed his face and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He’d almost lost her. How careless and stupid. To get this close to escaping their previous lives and fuck it up so stunningly. Sanderson was right. He was getting soft, and it was time to walk away for good. Either he’d get them killed, or she’d get them killed, sooner or later. They’d had too many close calls lately. The only way their departure on La Ombra could have been timed better was if it had happened two weeks ago. They’d planned to permanently cut every communications tie to anyone in their past.

“You there?” Munoz prodded.

“Just thinking.”

“Well, here’s something to think about. Srecko Hadzic is alive and well, not too far away from here.”

“Hadzic? He died in a botched rescue attempt. I thought that was confirmed?” said Daniel, closing the hidden door.

“Apparently not,” said Munoz, pausing to listen to his earpiece.

Daniel shut the latch on the cart and stood up, studying the longtime Black Flag operative. Munoz’s face was a storybook of scars, the most recent addition visible on his forehead, just below his dense hairline. They’d both had close calls in Uruguay. Sanderson nearly lost the two remaining graduates of the first Black Flag class in the same operation. The operative responded to whatever message he’d received.

“We’re almost to S-two,” said Munoz, listening again.

“Copy,” he replied, hitting S3.

“Change of plans?”

“Always. Melendez found the van.”

“What are we dealing with here?” said Daniel.

“Our electronic surveillance team picked up some encrypted transmissions piggybacking the in-hospital signal-boosting system. They were able to pinpoint the location to the second subfloor, near this elevator. Melendez and I have been stashed in a closet on S-one for the past hour, waiting for the two of you to arrive.”

“GPS trackers on the cars at the airport?” said Daniel.

“And one sewn into the briefcase,” said Munoz. “We eliminated a two-man team waiting with a stretcher and body bag by the elevator on S-two just as the elevator started its return journey. The guy that pushed the cart onto one of the elevators never saw it coming. We weren’t sure if they had more men roaming around, so I pushed the cart back in and came straight back to you. Melendez located a van with a single driver waiting in the loading bay.”

“How do you know this is Hadzic?”

“We don’t, but the electronics team has already identified the guy that kidnapped Jessica as Dragan Ilic. He’s a Serbian-born contract killer, based out of New Jersey, with suspected ties to Serbian nationalists released by the tribunal. It’s only an assumption, but a fair one at this point.”

“Jessica and I made a lot of enemies there at the end. This could be anyone,” said Daniel.

Munoz pulled a smartphone from one of his pants pockets and showed Daniel the screen. “Recognize that?”

Daniel did. He had a faded version of it high on his right arm. A black panther head, the symbol of Srecko Hadzic’s infamous paramilitary group. If Hadzic was alive, he and Jessica would never be safe. Daniel had to end this tonight, once and for all.

“How much time do we have to put together a plan?” he asked.

“Little to none. Text messages going back and forth between phones indicate that Jessica is expected shortly.”

“Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting,” said Daniel. “How many operatives do we have for the operation?”

“You, me, and Melendez, plus the two electronics wizards.”

“Jesus,” muttered Daniel.

“I suspect He’s gonna steer clear of this one,” said Munoz as the elevator came to a stop at its destination.

Chapter 25

Srecko Hadzic paced the concrete floor, drawing deeply on a cigarette. He wasn’t supposed to smoke them after the heart attack and had mostly given them up, but tonight he desperately needed his old friend nicotine. He was minutes away from fulfilling a long overdue promise made to himself and his precious nephew, Josif, who was so callously slaughtered by that viper of a whore.

He only wished the other traitor could be here to bear witness, but it had been deemed too risky to try to grab them both. That was fine by him. The traitor would get a bullet to the head like any traitor deserved, and the whore would get what a whore deserved. He was well supplied with heart medications and his little blue pills, everything he needed to make sure he could savor the next few days, and not only as a satisfied observer. No. Srecko planned to take this woman over and over again, cutting her eyelids open if necessary to make sure she had to endure his face on top of her.

“How long?” he demanded.

One of the men seated on a folding chair thumbed a message on his phone and waited a few seconds for a reply.

“About five minutes out.”

“And the whore is still alive?”

He sensed a flicker of insubordination, possibly a quickly halted eye roll, before the man sent another message. This newest breed of Panthers was pathetic compared to the dedicated and skilled men he’d commanded during the Yugoslav Wars. Few of these punks would have been worthy of consideration in the old Panthers, but like the old saying went, “beggars can’t be choosers.”

In Srecko’s situation, the phrase pretty much fit him literally. He’d come close to spending the last of the money he’d managed to keep hidden from the war crimes tribunal, paying for his escape and putting together this operation. The lust for revenge was only a small part of why he’d gone to such careful and expensive lengths to capture the whore.

The Petroviches, as they now called themselves, had stolen close to one hundred and thirty million dollars from Srecko’s European accounts before they lit the spark that started a bloody civil war between the Panthers and Mirko Jovic’s Eagles, a war that essentially destroyed both groups and accelerated the fall of Milosevic’s regime. He was hell-bent on retrieving what was left of that money and had even convinced an old colleague to come out of hiding just for the occasion.

Mirko Jovic had disappeared during the brutal month of fighting between the Panthers and Eagles, rumored to have been killed in a coup attempt within the Eagles. Srecko had little reason to doubt the rumor, since his own paramilitary organization had come apart at the seams, factions turning on factions. Srecko held on to the bitter end, surviving the bloodbath, but Jovic had been the smarter of the two. While the rest of them clung desperately to their empires, while NATO bombers pounded the regular Yugoslavian forces into submission, he’d fled the country, taking his money with him.

Despite escaping with his life and money, Jovic still had an axe to grind with the whore and Marko Resja. Once again, a most literal interpretation. Jovic’s youngest daughter had been found beheaded in a Belgrade ditch on the outskirts of the city, supposedly last seen in the company of Zorana Zekulic. Srecko had always assumed that Marko Resja had killed both of them, only delivering Zorana’s head to him in that duffel bag. Years later in prison, when he discovered that Zorana had been in league with Resja all along, it suddenly made sense. They’d hacked Jovic’s daughter’s head off and passed it off as Zorana’s!

After his escape from the Hague Detention Unit, he got in touch with Jovic through an intermediary and negotiated a sit-down meeting to explain the depth of the deception that had led to the war between them. Srecko hadn’t done this out of a need to mend fences, he’d done it to raise capital for this operation and to recruit one of the most ruthless torturers in recent history. Jovic had a talent that made him indispensable to Milosevic. He could make anyone talk.

Srecko held up his hands. “Well? Are you going to answer me?”

“He’s still typing,” said the soldier.

“I’m not paying him to type a fucking novel!” yelled Srecko. “Dial his number and give me the damn phone.”

The man pressed a button and handed him the phone. Srecko put the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Is she still alive or what? I’m not paying you to deliver a cadaver. I can buy a sex doll for about a thousand times less than your fee.”

“You’re really going to regret saying that,” replied a gravelly voice in Serbian.

For a brief moment, he thought Dragan had gone rogue, suspecting that the hit man had somehow discovered the value of Srecko’s remaining fortune and decided to extort more money out of him. He always assumed that a conspiracy or double-cross was in the works and that everyone was out to get him. That was how he stayed one step ahead of these jackals. A fleeting thought, the memory of that voice hit him like a sledgehammer. Dragan had somehow failed. He dropped the cigarette.

Srecko cleared his throat. “Marko?”

The men around him stiffened, looking to him for guidance. A few preemptively stood, readying their weapons. Mirko Jovic sat in the corner of the warehouse office, apparently unmoved by the mention of the name.

“In the flesh. Well, I’m not there yet, but I’m getting close. Your guys really shouldn’t put important locations in their navigation systems. It’s almost too easy.”

Srecko motioned with his empty hand for the men to leave, pressing the phone against his chest to muffle any sound.

“Something went wrong at the hospital. We’re out of here,” Srecko whispered to Obrad, the man in charge of his security detail.

“We’ll be out of here in thirty seconds,” said Obrad, turning to the men.

As his crew piled out of the office, he glanced toward Jovic, who remained unmoved in the corner, sipping what had to be the tenth coffee made with the Krups machine he’d insisted Srecko provide.

“Are you coming or what?” said Srecko.

One of Jovic’s security guards started to get up, but the former paramilitary leader put a hand on the guard’s shoulder.

“I’ll take my chances in here,” said Jovic.

“You’ll die in here,” said Srecko, rushing to the office door. “He’s coming.”

“He might already be here,” said Jovic.

The statement stopped Srecko in his tracks. He gave Jovic’s comment a quick thought, glancing between the dozen men running for the vehicles inside the warehouse and the three men seated in the office. He’d take his chances with the larger group. He put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hello? Did you have another heart attack?” Marko Resja taunted.

“Fuck you!” he spat into the phone. “I’ll fucking kill you and that whore no matter what it takes. You’ll never be safe!”

“Don’t get your heart all worked up, Srecko. I wasn’t all that impressed with that hospital,” said Resja. “Speaking of unimpressed, where did you find that joke, Dragan? I hope you didn’t give him a down payment. I don’t think you can afford to throw money away like that.”

Srecko threw the phone against the warehouse floor, scattering plastic pieces in several directions.

“Three vehicles. All SUVs. Four men to a vehicle. You’re with me in the middle vehicle!” he yelled to his security chief, the last sentence fading to a grunt as the pain in his chest became unbearable.

While Obrad organized the men, Srecko dug under his collar and pulled a gold chain necklace out of his shirt. He feverishly worked the cylindrical gold pill fob hanging from the chain until he’d retrieved one of the nitroglycerine pills he kept for chest pain emergencies. The rest of the pills fell to the floor. He only needed one! With a trembling hand, he forced the pill into his mouth, under his tongue. Unable to draw more than a short gasp of air, he stood frozen several feet from the loaded vehicles.

Obrad rushed over and escorted him into the backseat of the middle SUV while the tall warehouse door slowly opened. His breathing had eased by the time the line of vehicles had reached the sliding gate fifty yards in front of the warehouse. The effects of the nitroglycerine were finally kicking in.

“Get us as far the fuck away from here as possible,” he ordered.

The wide, reinforced chain-link gate ambled along its track, seemingly making little progress.

“As soon as they can fit through, they go,” he barked, not wanting to spend a single moment longer than necessary in the open.

Obrad relayed the order, and the first SUV edged closer to the gate.

Chapter 26

Daniel lay as flat as he could manage behind the motor unit opening the chain-link gate. The long, six-inch-high concrete platform holding the motor in place gave his legs just enough concealment to remain unseen. He hoped. As the trucks’ headlights swept the fence line and the gate and tendrils of bright light poked through the motor housing, he felt entirely exposed. When the gate rumbled to life and he could see right into the driver’s side window of the first SUV, there was no question about it. He was exposed. Staying hidden for several more seconds was critical to their hastily assembled plan.

Munoz was hidden in a patch of scrub next to the fence, twenty yards on the other side of the gate, outside of the facility. Ideally he would be inside the fence line to engage the rear vehicle, but their surveillance team didn’t have enough time to analyze the warehouse’s electronic security signature. A few wireless motion or disturbance detectors hidden along the perimeter could trash the element of surprise. They had their hands full with something more important and impactful.

The team had hijacked the remote control signal for the gate motor, and Petrovich had reached through the gate and snipped the wires powering the automatic motion sensor inside. Under normal circumstances, when the vehicles pulled up to the gate from the inside, the gate would automatically open. Access from the outside required a paired remote control. According to the techs, control of the gate was solely in their hands. Of course, none of this could be tested prior to the vehicles’ arrival, but it seemed to have worked. Unless he’d cut the wrong wires and the motion sensor was still operational.

Even if the trick didn’t work, it wouldn’t matter. They could pound the trucks with bullets and sniper fire until everything was quiet. He’d lose the opportunity to return Srecko to prison, where he’d most certainly be held without possibility of release, but that was a price he was more than willing to pay. Just knowing he was gone would be satisfaction enough.

He watched the gate roll slowly past the stones he had set in the road. When the rollers passed the second of four rocks, he triggered his radio.

“Stand by to engage,” he whispered.

No response followed. They had checked and rechecked the communications just prior to the warehouse door opening. He was passing information to Melendez, who lay on top of the warehouse a hundred or so yards beyond Daniel. The rollers passed the third rock.

“Stand by. Stand by.” The rollers reached the fourth rock, where he’d calculated the vehicles would be able to squeeze through. “Fire!”

The lead vehicle lurched through the opening in the gate, and Daniel pressed the suppressed MP-7’s trigger, sending several 4.6mm bullets through the driver’s window. Before he could fire again, a supersonic crack snapped overhead, Melendez’s bullet hopefully taking out the driver of the second SUV. Daniel’s second burst peppered the rear driver’s side window and upper door. The SUV continued past the gate, the driver’s foot stuck on the accelerator. He’d anticipated this possibility.

“Munoz, switch targets with Melendez.”

The entire motor housing unit shook next to him as the second SUV lurched to a stop halfway through the gate. The surveillance team had reversed the gate in time to catch the second vehicle’s rear driver’s side door, halting its forward motion and pressing it against the opposite gate post. The door dented inward with the continuing pressure, trapping the rear passengers. Daniel fired a quick burst through the already shattered driver’s window at the head of a man yelling in the front passenger seat, instantly silencing him.

Staccato bursts of suppressed gunfire echoed across the road from Munoz’s position, repeatedly striking the unobserved side of the lead vehicle with hollow, metallic thumps until it finally slowed.

“Melendez?” Daniel said.

“I got one more fucker playing hide-and-seek behind the last vehicle.”

“Munoz?”

“All quiet in the lead vehicle,” Munoz replied. “I have some frantic movement in the backseat of the middle truck. Watch yourself. I don’t have a good angle on them.”

Neither did Daniel, and he wasn’t keen on raising his head above the motor unit. He reloaded the MP-7 and waited for the standoff at the rear vehicle to play out. Srecko wasn’t going anywhere. A supersonic crack was followed by a report.

“Rear vehicle neutralized. Want me to put a round through the back of Srecko’s SUV?”

“That would be kind of you,” said Daniel, still flinching when the bullet passed several feet above him, shattering the SUV’s cargo compartment window.

“Srecko!” said Daniel.

Gunfire erupted from the backseat, bullets pinging off the fence and motor. Daniel pressed himself into the hard dirt until the fusillade ended.

“I can see right into the backseat now. Srecko is leaned up against the passenger-side door, grasping his chest. There’s one other guy in back with him, staying low. Probably reloading.”

“Can you hit the gunman low through the door?” Daniel asked.

“Bravo units, this is control. I have multiple 911 calls reporting gunfire coming from the Crestwood Industrial Park. Average response time for this department is five minutes and thirty-three seconds. We’ll need another minute or two to get clear of the area. Not a lot of traffic around here at night.”

“Copy that, control. Good job on the gate, by the way,” said Daniel. “Munoz, hit the backseat with a full mag. Melendez, confirm the results.”

Munoz’s MP-7 chattered first, followed by Daniel’s, each of them methodically firing short burst after short burst into the rear passenger area. Sixty bullets — total overkill for the situation.

“They’re gone,” said Melendez. “Heading toward primary pickup.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Daniel, picking himself off the ground.

He ran cautiously past the lead SUV, seeing four heads lolling at unnatural angles. The surveillance team’s passenger van appeared in the distance, driving toward the warehouse used by Melendez. Daniel slowed long enough for Munoz to catch up, and they took off for the van.

Chapter 27

Mirko Jovic stayed seated inside the office until the gunfire ended with a dramatic crescendo. Srecko’s final stand.

“Should we go, Mr. Jovic?” asked one of his security men.

“Give it a minute to be sure,” said Jovic. “I suggest you grab a cup of coffee and a few of those snack bars they have stashed in the cabinets.”

“Coffee?”

“My guess is we’re not driving out of here,” said Jovic. “It’s going to be a long night on foot getting back to the hotel.”

“I’ll start scouting a location to cut the fence behind the warehouse,” offered the guard. “We have a pair of bolt cutters in the truck.”

“Patience, Goran. You can’t reach the truck without exposing yourself to that vast wide open. We leave when the sirens start. Whoever’s out there will be gone by then.”

“Of course, Mr. Jovic,” said the guard, settling back into his seat.

“I’m serious about the coffee and snack bars,” said Jovic. “The hotel is several miles from here and we’re not stopping until we get there. Not even for your beloved Long John Silver’s or Wendy’s.”

“Really?”

“Really,” said Jovic, mildly annoyed. “Why do you need to eat again, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Bored.”

“Good. Let’s hope this stays boring,” said Jovic. “If it stays that way until we get back to the hotel, I’ll treat us to Denny’s. It’s open twenty-four hours.”

The prospect of Denny’s seemed to cheer up his sullen crew. He understood why they were disappointed. He felt the same way, though for a different reason. While the guards were justifiably let down by the loss of the sex toy they had so eagerly awaited, something far more important had just slipped through Jovic’s fingers. A rare and likely once-in-a-lifetime chance to exact revenge against the snake that had lured his precious Mira into that murderer’s trap. The thought of what had happened to his daughter dropped a crushing weight of sadness on him. And anger. The Styrofoam cup trembled in his hand.

Jovic pounded the last of the lukewarm coffee and set the cup on the floor. He considered taking the cup and his fingerprints with him, but there was no point. There was no way he could wipe down every surface he might have touched in here. Fucking Srecko. He should have known the guy would fuck this up. The fat slob was a shell of the man he used to be. At least he’d served one final purpose.

The faint whistling sound of a faraway siren arose.

“I think it’s time,” said Jovic.

While his men rushed to the remaining SUV to retrieve the gear they would need to cut their way out of the perimeter, Jovic walked slowly to the warehouse door, peeking outside. The volume of bullet holes in Srecko’s convoy indicated that Resja hadn’t been alone. This had been the work of a highly trained and well-coordinated team, not something their target had thrown together at the last second. There was more to Resja these days than met the eye. Something Srecko had failed to discover, and he’d died horribly because of it.

The dim red glow of distant taillights penetrated the darkness between rows of warehouse buildings. Resja and company, no doubt. His fists clenched. So damn close! He took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing his hands. Maybe there was hope. If that idiot Srecko could find the Petroviches, so could he. The sirens grew louder, their echoes bouncing off the surrounding warehouses. The taillights disappeared, and Jovic turned to his men. They had a long night ahead of them.

Chapter 28

Karl Berg savored the last bite of the short ribs swirled in butternut squash puree. Perfect every time. He set his fork down on the bottom right corner of the plate next to the knife, tidily arranging them in the 11 o’clock position. He was officially done with the main course.

“You’re eating like somebody’s chasing you.”

Darryl Jackson cut into his halibut with a fork, a slight faux pas in a restaurant like this, and swirled the detached piece around in the sauce on his plate before eating it.

“A hard habit to break,” said Berg, purposely leaning back in his chair and sipping a glass of red wine. “Is that better?”

“It’s a start. You’ve been making me nervous the whole meal,” said Jackson. “Makes me think twice about eating out in public with you.”

“Even if I’m paying?”

“Especially if you’re paying,” said Jackson. “I have two kids in college. If you’re footing the bill for a two-hundred-dollar bottle of Ceretto Barolo, I don’t want to feel like we need to chug straight from the bottle to finish it. I get whatever they serve at Applebee’s, if I’m not drinking it at home. Did I mention I have kids in college?”

“It may have come up a few hundred times,” said Berg, taking a generous sip of the exquisite wine. He felt himself loosen a little.

“See? Doesn’t that feel better?” said Jackson, cutting another piece of fish.

Berg’s eyes diverted to the plate. A third of his fish still remained. They’d be here all night.

“That’s right,” said Jackson, smiling. “You better settle in with that glass of wine. My ass isn’t going anywhere fast.”

“You’re on a business trip. You don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Bingo. That’s the concept you need to start embracing. When you have nowhere to be and nobody telling you what to do, you need to be able to stop and smell the proverbial roses or it’s going to be a long-ass retirement. How’s that going, by the way? You’ve been awfully quiet about it.”

“I’m waiting for the right time,” said Berg.

“Uh-huh,” replied Jackson with a raised eyebrow.

Berg looked around again.

“Can you please stop doing that?” said Jackson. “You do know they have more sophisticated methods of eavesdropping these days. The old hand to the ear right when you’re about to say something important method went out of style a few hundred years ago.”

“Very funny,” said Berg.

“It’s bad enough I have to put up with your daily check-ins.”

“I just want to make sure they know I’m not a threat before I leave.”

“Who? The new idiots in charge of this town?” said Jackson, keeping his voice the same volume.

Berg couldn’t stop himself from starting to scan the room.

“You’re doing it again. Trust me. You’re not the only CIA employee to retire with some serious secrets lodged up there,” said Jackson, pointing his fork at Berg’s head. “Have any of your former retired colleagues vanished or died unexplainably?”

Berg shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

“Exactly. They’re all professors at colleges. Working for think tanks. Advising corporations. All kinds of cushy stuff. Some of them might even be sitting on their asses, retired. Imagine that,” said Jackson, holding the last piece of his dinner up with his fork. “All you have to do is follow your own advice. Keep your head down, don’t make any waves, slowly fade into the background.”

Berg feigned a smile, nodding stiffly, then taking another long pull of the velvety-smooth wine. Jackson studied him while taking the last bites of his meal. The rapidly expanding warmth of the wine did little to ease his underlying tension. His friend of many years shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Busted.

“You fucked it up, didn’t you?” said Jackson.

“I might have been passed some information I couldn’t ignore,” Berg admitted.

Jackson put his hand on the bottle of wine. “Should I tip this back right now? I hate to see it go to waste if the restaurant is about to blow up.”

Berg laughed softly. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Their waiter appeared, offering to pour the wine for Jackson, who graciously released his grip on the bottle and let the waiter fill his glass.

“Are you sure? You look a little — let me rephrase that—a lot out of sorts,” said Jackson. “I was just busting your chops earlier, thinking it was retirement nerves. How bad is this? Really.”

“It’s something our new overlords would prefer to remain buried. But the information could seriously help them throw some more dirt on that certain something.”

“Then this is a good thing. Maybe get you bumped up a retirement tier or two as a thank you,” said Jackson, holding up his glass for a toast.

“I’d be happy to get out of there without a bull’s-eye painted on my back,” said Berg.

“Well, it doesn’t sound like something you need to worry about.”

“Maybe not from that angle. The information itself is another story.”

“I assume it’s highly classified and completely inappropriate to share in public, especially over an expensive wine, which you’re ruining.”

“I apologize for the dour mood. Here’s to you having enough money to retire after paying for college,” said Berg, clinking his glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Jackson.

They declined dessert, earning a momentary look of confusion from the waiter. The prix fixe meal included dessert. They opted for a fine cognac instead, instantly redeeming themselves in the establishment’s eyes, particularly at thirty dollars a glass. After another twenty minutes or so of purposefully, and sometimes awkwardly, avoiding the topic of their jobs, Berg paid the bill without looking at it. He didn’t trust his eyes not to freeze on the total, and the last thing he wanted to do was make his friend uncomfortable. The iconic Georgetown restaurant wasn’t the most expensive in town, but it gave the Michelin-star establishments a run for their money. His money. He treated himself at least once a week to an exquisite meal, an expense he could afford without kids in college.

They’d walked halfway to Darryl’s car, parked just past Thirty-Fifth Street on Prospect, when Berg realized they’d left the bottle of Barolo at the restaurant. Despite Jackson’s protests over not having paid for the wine, he’d convinced his friend to take the rest of the bottle back to his hotel.

“I forgot the wine,” said Berg. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t go back and get it on my behalf,” said Jackson.

One way or the other, he was leaving it with Jackson. Money really wasn’t an issue for Berg, but the thought of leaving fifty dollars of wine behind didn’t sit well with him.

“You’re not getting out of taking the wine,” Berg insisted.

Jackson held up his hands. “I wasn’t trying. You don’t have to twist my arm too tightly. I’ll pull the car up. See you in a few.”

“Yep,” said Berg, turning on the red brick sidewalk and heading back toward the restaurant.

The streets were quiet, mostly Georgetown students moving from friends’ apartments or returning from happy hour at one of several dozen bars or nightclubs within easy walking distance of the university. The closer to the weekend, the more hectic and chaotic the streets would get. He reached Thirty-Sixth Street, the restaurant’s entrance visible just past an annoyingly oversized black Suburban blocking his way. The SUV stayed in place, the driver’s silhouette barely visible through the tinted glass. He waited a few moments, deciding to walk behind the vehicle.

Some self-important asshole in the back was no doubt distracting the driver. Even the most modest homes in Georgetown often housed diplomats, politicians, or generationally wealthy families. None of whom cared the slightest about a man on a mission to retrieve fifty dollars’ worth of Italian wine.

The Suburban’s rear cargo doors sprang open, unleashing a blur of darkly dressed figures wearing ski masks. Before Berg could react, a hood was jammed over his head, turning his view pitch black. He pulled fruitlessly hard against the strong hands gripping his arms. A quick sideward jab from his right foot connected with something solid, producing a snap and an agonized groan. The grip on his right arm instantly tightened, his attacker’s weight pulling Berg toward the street.

Berg’s body locked in place, an incredible pain radiating from his stomach. The pain continued, along with an inability to voluntarily move. All he could do was fall to his knees. When his knees hit the pavement, he was lifted and pulled into the back of the Suburban by multiple hands. He heard the doors slam shut and somebody yell, “Let’s go!” The Suburban lurched forward.

Despite the residual pain and the oversized man literally sitting on him in the rear cargo compartment, he had enough mental clarity to determine that they had turned left, heading in Darryl’s direction. Berg genuinely hoped he hadn’t inadvertently killed his friend by inviting him to dinner.

“What about the other one?” said a voice.

“Negative. Get us out of here. I guarantee we had a witness or two,” replied a voice from the front of the SUV.

A few seconds later, the team leader spoke again.

“Scorpion, this is Stinger. Grab successful. Primary target undamaged. No collateral business.”

Undamaged?

He didn’t like the sound of being delivered undamaged. That implied someone else wanted to damage him.

“Possible street-level, passerby detection. No cameras in vicinity.”

Jesus. How long had they been watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity? He couldn’t have set it up better for them unless he’d opened one of the rear passenger doors and invited himself inside.

“Copy that. We’re about thirty minutes out,” said the voice.

Thirty minutes until his status would most likely change from undamaged to damaged. Very damaged. He hoped Jackson acted fast. His friend had nearly died laughing when Berg explained the details of the insurance policy he had arranged. The laughing stopped when he explained the steps and passed along the information Jackson needed if he disappeared.

Berg wasn’t sure if he stopped laughing because he took it seriously, or he’d written Berg off as clinically paranoid. Either way, he prayed that Jackson hadn’t tossed the information in the trash. Karl Berg hadn’t been grabbed for a stern “talking to” by True America goons. He was ultimately headed for permanent retirement, in a crematorium, plastic tub of acid, or tied to a block of concrete in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. In his contorted, pretzel-like position, he managed to inch one of his hands along his right shin. It was all in Jackson’s hands now.

Chapter 29

Darryl Jackson squeezed between his front bumper and a minivan that hadn’t been there when he parked the car with Berg.

“Goddamn. Get any closer?” he muttered, remembering the vast space separating the minivan and the car in front of it.

A black Suburban zoomed past, headed east on the tight street at an extremely unsafe speed.

“It’s not the interstate, you fucking idiot,” he said a little louder.

Jackson looked around the minivan to make sure the first SUV wasn’t part of some VIP convoy. Especially the diplomats. They wouldn’t even stop if they hit you. They’d drive to the embassy and dial it in ten minutes later. No harm, no foul. Diplomatic immunity. Satisfied that the streets were safe, he got in his car and spent the next minute inching backward and forward between the minivan and the car parked uncomfortably close behind him. Berg was probably swigging from the bottle at this point.

He arrived at the corner of Prospect and Thirty-Sixth Street, assuming Berg would be waiting for him on the side of the street. A quick look around killed that thought. A few students walked past the restaurant entrance on Thirty-Sixth, turning west on Prospect, toward the university. Jackson eased the car through the intersection slowly, still not seeing Berg. His friend was probably still inside, dealing with the wine. He parked between the no-parking sign and corner of Thirty-Sixth, far enough into the pedestrian crosswalk for Berg to see him if he emerged from the restaurant, and waited.

Jackson considered himself to be a patient man, but when three minutes passed and Berg didn’t appear, he started to get impatient. Karl knew a lot of people in this town, and it wasn’t unlike him to get distracted by an acquaintance, particularly a lady friend. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him in the least to find Karl inside, chatting it up with someone and generously sharing the rest of the bottle. Tonight wasn’t going to be that night. He still had to drop Karl off at his apartment and check in to the hotel.

He left the car double-parked and headed into the restaurant, where the hostess immediately approached him with the corked bottle of Barolo.

“I thought you might be back,” she said, holding it out for him. “It’s a wonderful bottle.”

“It is,” he barely uttered, searching the restaurant for Karl.

“Is everything all right?” asked the hostess.

He absently took the bottle. “My friend didn’t come back inside?”

“I’ve been here since the two of you left. By the time the bottle reached me, I didn’t see either of you on the street. I went outside to check. Sorry.”

“No. That’s… uh, that’s fine. Do you mind holding onto this while I check the men’s room? Just in case. He was supposed to have grabbed the wine and waited outside.”

“Sure. No problem.”

The bathroom was empty, and he returned to the hostess with a bad scenario developing in his head.

“Didn’t find him?”

He shook his head. “You didn’t happen to see a black government-looking Suburban around a few minutes ago, did you?”

“Absolutely. It sat at the stop sign for a little longer than usual. I thought it might be some kind of VIP drop-in. I even looked through the reservation book to see if I could create a table, just in case.”

Jackson stood in front of the hostess stand and looked at the street. “You couldn’t see the entire vehicle. Right?”

“Just the front, really.”

They took him. Those motherfuckers had actually grabbed him off a public street, in front of a restaurant. Karl must have been onto something bigger than he guessed. He started for the door.

“Sir? Your wine,” said the hostess.

Jackson didn’t reply. He hustled down the sidewalk and got into his car, opening the dashboard and removing a concealable holster. He released his Sig Sauer P228 from the holster and placed it on the front passenger seat along with two spare magazines. The pistol was far from legal in the District of Columbia, but so was snatching people off the street. He shifted the car into drive and continued west on Prospect Street until he found a parking spot just past the “Welcome to Georgetown University” sign.

He grabbed the pistol and spare magazines and got out of the car, quickly concealing them on his way toward the campus. He needed to make a call, and he couldn’t make it from his car. They might have bugged it. In fact, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to use it until he could sweep it for electronics. He’d have to do that from the tow lot. Without a parking sticker, the car wouldn’t last the night parked on campus.

With that in mind, he returned to the vehicle to get the concealable holster. No reason to raise any alarms with the D.C. police. They had a tendency to take unauthorized firearms seriously in this town and would be on the lookout for him by morning. Jackson couldn’t afford to be stopped at this point. His friend’s life depended on it.

Chapter 30

Daniel pulled the covers past Jessica’s shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. Whatever they had given her had been potent, delivered by an auto-injector. He found the nasty wound it had inflicted on her right thigh. This hadn’t been a little EpiPen. Something far more serious, like the kind of injectors used in the military-issued Mark I kits to counter the effects of a nerve gas attack. The thick needle had been powerful enough to penetrate her jeans.

He had no idea how long she’d be out, but he wanted to be the first face Jessica saw when she opened her eyes. She’d likely seen her mother stabbed right in front of her, unable to stop the man or make a sound to help her. He had no idea what kind of mental state she’d be in when she woke, but he assumed it would not be a good one. He needed to be there to hold her, make sure she knew everything was safe.

Once she was ambulatory, he would contact the private jet company and expedite their departure, no matter what the price. They had a number of jets on standby in the area, and he wanted be on one capable of a nonstop flight to Anguilla as soon as possible. He kissed her again and stepped out of the room, leaving the door open wide enough to hear if she called out. Not that he planned on being out of her sight for long.

The bedroom hallway led directly into the dining room, where Anish Gupta and Timothy Graves, long-standing members of the team’s electronics warfare branch, sat next to each other at the dining room table, their open laptops illuminating their faces. The usual array of wires, power cords, black boxes, and other gear cluttered the table. Daniel once again marveled at the electronic miracles they could work with that mess.

He felt oddly comfortable having them here. Their type of warfare might as well be magic spells and potions as far as he was concerned. Daniel was far from a technophobe, having been extensively trained in the use of commercial and military-grade encryption devices, communications gear, and electronic field gear, but he was just an end user. Guys like Graves and Gupta stood on the cutting edge of technology, creating the gear and carving out the cyber advantages that gave people like Daniel and Sanderson an edge. It was easy to take them for granted.

Nights like this reminded him how critical they could be to the success of an operation, not that he needed reminding with these two. He’d heard the stories about Uruguay. Graves had done more than type at a keyboard that day. Daniel leaned on the table with both hands, careful not to disturb any of their gear.

“Thank you.”

“Any time,” Graves said. “Good to see you again.”

“We have to stop meeting like this, Daniel,” Gupta added.

Graves looked at his counterpart.

“What? I’ve been waiting, like, a year to say that. It’s funny,” said Gupta.

“Don’t quit your day job. The delivery is way off.”

Daniel found himself laughing at and with them. The two made the oddest pair, but it worked brilliantly.

Graves inclined his head toward the bedroom door. “How is she?”

“I can’t find any serious physical trauma beyond the injector site and the Taser probe holes. She has a nasty bruise on her ribs, probably from a kick, but nothing to stop her from getting on a plane and flying out of here first thing.”

“You just got here,” said Gupta, winking at Petrovich.

Graves groaned and shook his head. “See what I mean? Way off.”

“I think your friend there is fucking with you,” said Daniel. “Sorry to dime you out, Anish, but you shouldn’t take advantage of your elders.”

“He is old. I’ve told him that,” said Gupta. “Glad to hear Jessica is all right. The two of you gave us one helluva fucking scare.”

“Thanks again. Seriously,” said Daniel. “That Serbian guy was good. Snatched Jessica right out from under me.”

“That didn’t sound right,” said Gupta.

Graves lightly hit the back of Gupta’s head. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He’s fine. I still have a sense of humor,” said Daniel. “I’m going to check in with the other wonder duo.”

“Can you tell Munoz junior to take a break? I got this covered,” said Gupta.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” said Graves, pushing his chair back. “I need one of those delicious-smelling coffees.”

He found Munoz at the kitchen table, doing exactly what he expected — drinking coffee, presumably one of his own brands by the toasty aroma. Melendez stood by the couch in the TV room, peeking through the edge of the curtains.

“I thought we had cameras doing that job,” said Daniel.

“I’ve seen these mofo’s hack enough cameras to keep me awake twenty-four seven,” Melendez replied.

Gupta yelled from the dining room, “We take active countermeasures to keep that from happening.”

“And they take countermeasures to counter your countermeasures. It’s a never-ending cycle of electronic cluster-fuckery, and I don’t understand any of it.”

“That’s your real problem with it,” said Gupta.

“I think you can stand down,” said Daniel, looking to Graves for support.

Graves nodded. “He really does have it locked down.”

Melendez relented, drifting toward the kitchen table.

“Fresh pot of the good stuff,” said Munoz, motioning toward the simple coffee maker on the counter. “Best I could do with the paper filter.”

“What’s Sanderson’s take on this?” asked Daniel.

“He’s concerned,” Munoz answered.

“Still? Does he know something we don’t?”

He was getting out of there as soon as Jessica started coming around. Munoz could read it on his face.

“We’re safe here. The town house isn’t connected to Sanderson in any way. Airbnb.”

“Air what?”

“Airbnb. It’s an online service where people turn their homes into hotels,” said Graves.

“Never heard of it,” said Daniel.

“You need to get out more,” said Munoz.

“If this is what getting out gets me, I’m happy hiding out for the rest of my years.”

“I’m just messing with you,” said Munoz. “Our only concern here is a nosy neighbor.”

“The windowless van in the driveway isn’t exactly inconspicuous,” said Daniel.

“That’s why we didn’t bring it to the industrial park,” said Graves. “We had it near the hospital, but not close enough to draw any connection.”

“We’ll be out of here soon anyway,” said Munoz.

“Back to my original question,” said Daniel. “What’s bugging Sanderson?”

“The fact that Hadzic managed to orchestrate and conceal his escape, continued to elude authorities for the better part of a year, only to emerge in the United States as the ringleader of an elaborate kidnapping attempt.”

Daniel nodded. “It does boggle the mind.”

“He doesn’t think money alone would be enough to pull it off,” said Munoz.

“State sponsored?”

“That’s what he’s thinking.”

“Russia,” said Melendez.

“Sanderson’s program has certainly dealt them a few serious blows over the past few years, and your remarkable resemblance to Marko Resja, made public by the war crimes tribunal, wouldn’t be a stretch to connect.”

“Why go through the trouble of using Hadzic?”

“Deniability. Impact.” Munoz shrugged. “Let’s be honest, the Russians undoubtedly have some unsavory characters available for brutal and sadistic work, but Hadzic would have taken it to the next level. Sanderson is convinced it was the Russians, going for the heart and soul of the Black Flag organization.”

“Sounds a little melodramatic.”

“If Hadzic’s plan had succeeded, think of the impact,” said Munoz. “Seriously, give it some thought relative to the program.”

Daniel hadn’t thought about it like that. He’d justifiably been focused on Jessica and himself. If Hadzic had pulled off his twisted plan and created a video even a fraction as graphic as the one Jessica had made of Srecko’s nephew’s demise… just the thought of it made him sick. The impact would have sent shockwaves through Sanderson’s ranks. An unmistakable message. Fuck with Mother Russia again, and you’re next. The ultimate anti-recruitment video.

“So now what?” said Daniel. “I’m one flight away from disappearing for good.”

“On La Ombra?” said Munoz.

Daniel tried his best not to react.

“Don’t worry. Sanderson is pretty sure your secret remains intact. If the Russians knew where to find you, they could have sent Hadzic straight to Anguilla. It would have been a lot easier to grab you on a deserted stretch of Route One coming back from one of your favorite places on the northwest coast. Probably could have set up shop at your house on Lockrum Bay.”

“Fucking Sanderson,” Daniel growled.

Munoz started to open his mouth, but stopped, pausing for a few seconds before proceeding. “I don’t need to say what I was about to say.”

“I know,” said Daniel. “Thank you. All of you. If it wasn’t for Sanderson’s close interest in my well-being and your high give-a-shit level, things would have turned out very differently for us.”

“I might have substituted give-a-shit for dedicated professionalism,” said Munoz, cracking a grin.

“Fuck you, Jeff. You get what you get.”

“Don’t get upset. Works for me,” said Munoz. “Grab a cup of my world-famous coffee.”

“I didn’t realize you had a piece of the world market,” said Melendez.

“I’ve shipped it to Canada.”

Daniel laughed along with them, but his mind was on Jessica and the long journey ahead of them. The more he pondered Sanderson’s suspicions about the Russians’ involvement in this fiasco, the more he wanted to get on with his plan to take La Ombra through the Panama Canal and into the wide-open Pacific. The possibilities felt endless, their anonymity nearly guaranteed. A second, darker path appeared to Daniel, steering him in the direction of the puppet masters responsible for sending Hadzic to rape and murder his wife. Nothing good would come from that path, but he saw it anyway, and it held a frightening appeal.

Chapter 31

Sanderson stood alone in the worn hillside lodge, stoking a dying fire. He’d probably be up most of the night, waiting for the final word from Munoz. The general’s suspicion had been right about Jessica’s mother. More like an instinct. Mostly self-preservation. He simply couldn’t afford the numerous risks presented by the capture of either Petrovich, or the emotional burden of consigning them to the kind of fate their long list of enemies would impose.

Daniel and Jessica stood on the precipice of escaping the past, a rare triumph in this business. Few walked away, and not because they were trapped. Most stayed because it was in their blood, part of their programming long before they ever turned up at a military recruiter’s office, Langley, or wherever their formal training started. They were different. Some far more than others, and the Petroviches were no exception.

Jessica hadn’t been recruited because she spoke Serbian and studied international relations at a top university. A seasoned recruiter had seen something more. An unquantifiable quality that set her apart from thousands of college students graduating the same year. She was indisputably hardwired for this kind of work and had embraced it openly.

Her husband was a slightly different story. Same hardwired affinity, with an annoying, but ultimately useful twist. Daniel’s pathological aversion to authority nearly disqualified him from the original Black Flag program. The program evaluation survey he unwittingly completed while on active duty in the Navy suggested he was a troublemaker. The fitness reports filed by the commanding officer of his ship confirmed it.

Petrovich hadn’t assimilated into the regular Navy for one simple reason: he couldn’t stand authority, an aspect of his personality somehow missed while he was in the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corp (NROTC) at Northwestern University. The fact that he had come from a Serbian home and spoke fluent Serbian made his file hard to throw away without a one-on-one interview.

Sanderson was sold on Petrovich within the first few minutes of the meeting. It had nothing to do with his answers. He just had a quality about him that the general trusted would be right for the program. His instinct had been richly rewarded. Without question, Daniel had turned out to be the pinnacle of the program’s success, even though he could be an insufferable pain in the ass most of the time.

His satellite phone on the table behind him chirped and buzzed. He hoped to hear that Jessica was awake and the Petroviches could be moved to the airport shortly. He was anxious to get the rest of the team out of the country. If the Russians were ultimately behind Hadzic’s revenge plot, there was no telling what else his Commie friends might have set in motion. It was better to corral the troops and wait. Maybe dig for some answers through Karl Berg, though he strongly suspected Karl had been effectively cut out of the loop at the CIA.

Sanderson didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone. Interesting.

“Hello. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” he said, taking the call.

“Stand by to authenticate your identity. Kilo-bravo-echo-victor identifier,” said an unfamiliar voice.

Very interesting.

“Wait one,” said Sanderson, pulling an encrypted mobile phone from one of his cargo pockets. He quickly found what he needed under the contact “Karl Berg Emergency Verification.”

“I authenticate sierra-bravo-two-niner-eight-seven-delta-romeo-four.”

“Copy your last,” said the voice. “I authenticate delta-fife-tree-echo-one.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you, Mr. Jackson, though I suspect this will not be under pleasant circumstances.”

“You got that straight, and you can call me Darryl,” Jackson said. “Karl Berg was abducted about forty minutes ago.”

“Shit,” was all Sanderson could manage.

Berg and the Petroviches on the same night? He’d been right. Something big was going down.

“Shit is right. I’m on foot right now, making sure none of these fools are following me,” said Jackson. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“Something similar almost happened to an operative closely linked to a few of Karl Berg’s past operations.”

“I don’t want to know any of the details,” said Jackson. “The less I know, the better.”

“You supplied the hardware for a number of those operations.”

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Jackson.

“What exactly happened, Darryl?”

“I had dinner with Karl at a restaurant in Georgetown. He went back to the restaurant to get a bottle of wine I forgot to take with me, and by the time I drove down the street to pick him up, he was gone. He never made it into the restaurant. The only clue I have is a big-ass black Suburban sitting at the stop sign right around the same time. Same vehicle nearly ran me over speeding out of the area.”

“You’re absolutely sure he didn’t pull a disappearing act?” said Sanderson. “He was working on something you might say was slightly on, but mostly off the books.”

“No way he would pull something like that on me. He knows you’d be the first person I called if he didn’t check in.”

“Check in?”

“Yeah. He emails, texts, and leaves me a daily coded message every fucking day. I thought he was nuts. You didn’t know about the check-ins?”

“No. I just have some emergency verification codes,” said Sanderson. “How long has he been doing this?”

“Ever since those lunatics took over Washington,” said Jackson. “You really don’t know more than those codes?”

“That’s it. I’m not even sure how I can help in this situation,” said Sanderson. “I hate to say it, but he’s gone, Darryl.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Karl took out a little insurance policy when True America swept into town,” said Jackson.

“I don’t think True America has anything to do with his abduction.”

“Karl certainly seemed convinced they might pull something like this. What’s your theory?”

“The other kidnapping attempt I mentioned was stopped dead in its tracks, and we most definitively linked it to a Serbian crime syndicate, but I think the whole thing was orchestrated and funded by the Russians. This operative worked closely with Berg to give Moscow a serious black eye. This is not a coincidence.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel more paranoid or less than I already am,” said Jackson.

“He was smart to put together an insurance policy, but it won’t do him any good. Threatening to leak classified information about the full scope of True America’s involvement in that mess is like pointing your gun at the wrong target.”

“Who said anything about information?” said Jackson. “Berg took out a different kind of policy, and he explained exactly how you would cash it in.”

“Something tells me this is going to sound crazy.”

“You have no fucking idea,” said Jackson.

Chapter 32

Daniel had barely drifted to sleep, holding Jessica, when he heard footsteps coming down the carpeted hallway. He rolled onto his back and snatched the pistol from the nightstand, returning to his original position with the pistol hidden behind his leg.

“Daniel,” someone whispered from the hallway, “you awake? We need you in here right away. Karl Berg has been kidnapped.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He was half-tempted to open the bedroom window and disappear with Jessica. Daniel wasn’t sure how far he’d get in the suburbs carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder with a pistol tucked into his pants, but it had to beat sticking around here. He muttered a few curses and got out of bed, taking a few moments to steel himself for a tough decision.

Graves and Gupta had already started packing up their electronics mess when he reached the dining room. Munoz and Melendez sat across from each other at the kitchen table, a small teleconference device between them.

“He’s here,” said Munoz.

“About time,” Sanderson’s voice came over the phone’s speaker. “We thought you had fallen back asleep.”

“I’m not sticking around, if that’s what you’re going to suggest.”

“You’re not gonna get very far alone with an unconscious woman,” said Sanderson.

“You must be reading my mind,” said Daniel. “I’ll have my good friends drop me off at the jet park terminal. They have sleeper couches in private rooms for the privileged class.”

“The team doesn’t have time for that kind of detour. They need to be in the Washington, D.C., area as quickly as that van can deliver them, or Karl Berg dies. Along with any hope of getting to the bottom of these kidnappings.”

“You know where Berg is being held?” Daniel asked.

“Not yet.”

“We both know how this works. Unless you know something I don’t, Karl Berg is gone.”

“It’s my job to know more than you, Daniel,” said Sanderson. “More than you think I know. We have a window of opportunity to find Berg.”

“And that window will be closed by the time we drive from here to D.C.”

“Actually, if the team left within the next fifteen minutes and drove straight through the night, you could arrive two hours before the window opens. With traffic, it will be a lot tighter.”

“Or we might not make it. We’re obviously not talking about an assault window,” said Daniel.

“Yes and no. You might not believe what I’m about to tell you, but I’ve been assured that it’s true. Karl Berg had a transmitter implanted in his leg a few months ago.”

“He had a GPS tracker implanted in his leg?” said Daniel. “That’s like the size of a cell phone.”

“They have smaller versions, but that’s not what he used,” said Sanderson. “The device implanted in his leg is cutting-edge industrial espionage technology. It transmits a virus that specifically targets Wi-Fi receptors, co-opting the Wi-Fi enabled phone or computer. The applications for this kind of device are limitless, but Berg chose one function. Location flagging. The virus will continuously update and upload the infected devices’ locations to a website accessible by our team.”

“What if they’re underground or in a remote location?” said Munoz.

“I’m told it doesn’t matter. It’ll send undetectable calls. Geo-locate by known IP addresses. Daisy-chain with other wireless devices. Like everything, I’m sure this thing has its limitations, but if he’s anywhere within a twenty-mile radius of D.C., odds are good that we’re going to locate him. Then it’s a matter of doing what we do best.”

“Just us?” said Munoz.

“No. I’m gathering a small flock for this one. You’ll have Daly, Mazurov, Foley, and Sayar, plus Darryl Jackson. He’s ex-military, but not an operator. Jackson is the one that brought this to my attention, and he’s good friends with Berg. You treat him like one of the family.”

Timothy Graves joined the conversation. “General, it’s Graves. Tell me a little more about this window. Why can’t I log into the website now and find him? Your operatives are excellent, but the F.B.I’s Hostage Rescue Team isn’t shabby, and they could probably kick in some doors in a few hours instead of half a day.”

“I asked the same question, but Berg has thought this through,” said Sanderson. “He set a fourteen-hour delay for a couple of reasons. First, he figured they would move him around a few times if they intended to interrogate him, so he wanted the signal to activate at his final location.”

“Fourteen hours?” said Melendez. “Break out the SCUBA gear. He’ll be at the bottom of Chesapeake by then.”

“Possible. The other reason is related to battery life.”

“That shouldn’t be an issue if a device is hijacked,” said Graves. “Unless…”

“You’ve probably figured it out. If this is a state-sponsored operation, the attackers will likely possess devices with automated virus scan capability and shifting encryption protocols. There’s a distinct possibility the devices will repeatedly purge the infection, requiring the transmitter to regularly reengage the device. We’re talking a small transmitter, with limited battery power. Berg wanted a rescue team in place and ready to go when it started transmitting.”

“Then we’re burning precious time,” said Munoz. “We can hash this out on the road.”

“I’ll put you in touch with Jackson once you’re mobile,” said Sanderson.

“And I’ll send you a postcard from the Pacific,” said Daniel.

An uncomfortable pause ensued, broken by Sanderson.

“You’re gonna turn your back on Karl Berg?”

“My number one priority is taking care of Jessica,” he said, pausing for what he knew would be a controversial statement. “And I don’t owe Karl anything.”

“I wonder what Jessica might say?”

“Well, considering the last thing she saw was her mother murdered right in front of her, I’m willing to bet she’d like to get on a plane and get the fuck out of here. Karl Berg will be the least of her priorities.”

“Daniel, you can’t run from this.”

“That sounds like a line from a shitty movie,” said Daniel.

“You know it’s true. One attack I can write off, though Srecko Hadzic’s stunt is a damn hard sell as a self-orchestrated incident. Now Berg is snatched off the street in front of a popular Georgetown restaurant? Trust me. This is just the beginning unless we drive a stake through this thing’s heart right now.”

“Then why are we still talking about this?” said a tired female voice, turning all of their heads toward the dining room entrance.

Jessica stood with one of her arms draped over Timothy Graves’s shoulder. Graves held her steady as she trudged on unsteady legs toward one of the empty chairs. Daniel rushed over and helped her into the seat.

“How are you, Jess?” he asked, looking into her barely focused eyes.

“I feel like throwing up,” she said, catapulting Melendez into action.

He placed the kitchen trash bin next to her in time to catch whatever she still had in her stomach from dinner. Jessica heaved a few more times, then sat up and took several deep breaths. Daniel knelt behind the chair, holding her tightly. Her body trembled in his grip.

“I think you should lie back down,” he whispered in her ear. “I can have us on a direct private flight in a few hours.”

“We’re not leaving until this is finished,” she said in a low voice. “Russians? Is that who we’re dealing with?”

“Jessica, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear your voice,” said Sanderson. “And yes, evidence strongly suggests the Russians are behind this.”

“Evidence?” said Daniel. “You don’t even have circumstantial evidence! More like a theory.”

“It’s a moot point. Neither attack is an isolated incident, and we have an opportunity to identify the source. Unless you can revive Srecko Hadzic from the dead and reconstruct the circumstances surrounding his escape.”

“We weren’t given that opportunity,” said Daniel.

“Then we need to make the best of this opportunity,” said Sanderson. “And while I’m certain the team could handle this without you, I’d feel much better if you were directly involved. No offense, Jeff, but he’s better at the direct-action stuff. Even in his slightly deteriorated state.”

“There was never any question about it,” said Munoz, shaking his head with a smile.

“Jessica?” started Sanderson. “Do I really need to say any more? We need both of you on this one. If this whole transmitter thing turns out to be a bust, you’re on a flight within the hour.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” said Jessica.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Daniel asked. “This could turn out to be a deep rabbit hole.”

“We never climbed out of the first one,” she said. “Karl has always looked out for me.”

Daniel pressed his head into hers and held it there for a few seconds.

“All right. We’re in.”

Chapter 33

Karl Berg sat in the pitch darkness on a sturdy wooden chair, his hands tightly bound to its back and his ankles to its thick legs. He guessed the chair was somehow bolted to the wood-planked floor, since his earlier attempts to budge the chair had absolutely no effect. A concentrated earthy smell dominated the air. Dirt and mildew — his favorite combination. From the light cast by his captors’ flashlights when his hood had been removed, he’d noticed thick, rough-hewn wooden girders running parallel across the planked ceiling. The shafts of light played across a few vertical wood beams connected to the girders.

His best guess was that he sat in a farmhouse cellar in Maryland or Virginia, not too far from the D.C. Metro area. The trip hadn’t lasted long enough, and his captors had been in a hurry to reach this destination. They’d grabbed him off a public street, which always carried a risk. A random witness could call in the abduction, putting the police on alert. Anything was possible in a crowded city, so they’d expedited his journey to a prepared location.

Judging by his surroundings, Berg assumed this would be his final destination. The end of the road. Hopefully they’d start his interrogation with a long period of isolation to “deprive the senses and disorient” before moving on to less subtle methods. Fourteen hours ideally. His prospects were dashed moments later when a light spilled down a crudely framed staircase built along what appeared to be an ancient fieldstone wall. He was most definitely in an old farmhouse — with no Wi-Fi. Even the cellular service might be spotty out here.

Three men descended the stairs and approached, one of them activating a lightbulb between the stairs and his chair. The man let go of the string attached to the bulb socket and shook his head. None of their faces were concealed, a foreboding sign in this line of work.

“We have a lot of ground to cover, Karl.”

“Berg or Mr. Berg, please. Until we’re properly introduced.”

The man lashed out at him with a fist, connecting with his left cheek. The blow knocked his head back violently, straining his stiffened neck muscles.

“Don’t fuck around, Karl. I’m sorry. Mr. Berg.”

He got a better look at the man. Mid to early thirties. Athletic, but not overly muscular build straining his untucked, button-down long-sleeved shirt. Clean shaven. Closely trimmed hair — not buzz cut, but the sideburns had been taken too high. A former military guy that hadn’t quite figured out how not to look military. The other two looked the same. All three wore thigh holsters over deep brown or khaki cargo pants. High-end, subdued-tone hiking boots. Their look screamed paramilitary contractor.

“Just trying to keep things civil,” said Karl, forcing a smile.

One of the men chuckled. “Well, that’s completely up to you.”

“That’s usually the way this works,” said Berg.

“Good. Sounds like we’ve come to an understanding. You answer our questions and we keep things civil.”

“That depends on the questions,” said Berg.

The guy hit him again, a vicious downward punch striking his other cheek. A blast of pain rocked his head, blurring his vision for several seconds until he could focus again.

“You answer all of the questions,” said his captor. “Without any bullshit, and to my complete satisfaction.”

Berg considered his response and decided to go with the most painful option. “You really don’t have a clue how this works,” he said, shaking his head and grinning.

The man cocked a fist and fired it at Berg’s face, catching the top of his quickly lowered head instead. Bones cracked, and the man stumbled back with a scream. Berg stared at him as he clutched his broken hand, the man’s face a mix of anger and agony.

“Fuck him up good, but make sure he can talk,” the guy said, wincing in pain. “I’ll be back.”

“Motrin and ice for now, but you’ll need to get that looked at by a professional soon,” said Berg.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Just trying to be civil,” Berg said with a wink.

He never saw the blow that hit his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. It was going to be a long thirteen hours or so.

Chapter 34

Jessica dragged herself out of the van and walked stiffly toward one of the ground-floor rooms the team had grabbed. The early arriving members of the team had struggled to find vacant adjoining rooms in a proper motel with exterior doors, near D.C., settling for a location a lot less centralized than they’d hoped. Berg could be anywhere outside of the Beltway. For all they knew, he was five states away. It was all a mystery that they would resolve in a few minutes.

She reached the second-floor overhang in front of the hotel door and took a moment to stretch her legs and back. The effects of the sedative or tranquilizer, whatever those fucks had used on her, still had a grip on her. She had a splitting headache and still felt a little wobbly. Daniel opened the door before she could knock.

“Spying on me?” she asked.

“Trying. They’re all set up. Less than a minute until showtime.”

“I hope this works and he’s not on a container ship in the Atlantic, headed for Russia.”

“There’s always that possibility,” he said, ushering her inside.

The team had rearranged the furniture, pushing the double beds together and moving a table next to the narrow desk just beyond the foot of the beds, which served as the tech team’s workstation. A low dresser sat next to the desk, strewn with most of the mess she’d seen in the dining room at the Chicago area location. Graves was busy connecting wires while Gupta sat in the only chair, watching his laptop screen intently.

Munoz and Melendez sat at the foot of the bed, looking over Gupta’s shoulder, while a woman Jessica had never seen before splashed water on her face from the vanity sink in the back of the room. She had to be Erin Foley. The woman caught her glance in the mirror and nodded. Jessica returned the gesture.

A few more steps and she could see partially into the adjoining room. Sayar, who she’d worked with before, unpacked the team’s gear with two unfamiliar men. It wasn’t hard to guess who was who. Mazurov, a Black Flag graduate from Sanderson’s original program, had to be about Daniel’s age, pushing forty, except he didn’t look like he’d stayed in the same top physical condition. The other guy didn’t look a day over thirty and was built like an Olympic swimmer. Had to be Daly, a recently recruited SEAL.

They emptied the nylon bags methodically, placing everything on the opposite bed. Weapons, body-armor vests, communications gear, grenades. The kind of stuff you didn’t want housekeeping to walk in on. A tall, annoyed-looking black guy appeared next to the bed, straightening out the gear and mumbling curse words. Jackson. She remembered him from the mission to stop True America. He’d begrudgingly delivered a cache of weapons that had made all the difference in that operation.

Daniel sat on the bed next to Munoz.

“Lie down or something,” said Daniel. “You still look a little unsteady on your feet.”

“I can manage to sit up,” she said, leaning over to speak quietly. “How is Sayar doing? I was a little surprised to find out he was still around.”

“This whole crew is kind of a patchwork, outside of Munoz and Melendez.”

“Finally. A compliment,” said Munoz.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Daniel, inching away from the eavesdropper.

“I have no idea what Foley has been doing. Sanderson thought he could bring her on board full-time, but the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service put a sizable bounty on her head after the Vektor raid, confirmed by the agency. Foley quit the CIA and dropped off the radar. Sanderson has kept in touch, but hasn’t been able to convince her to leave the U.S. I don’t blame her. She’s probably only here because of Berg.”

“How was she involved with Vektor?”

“She took out the Iranian scientist working on the bioweapons program at Vektor, along with his bodyguard. She also managed to steal the keycard that got them into the facility. She’s good, from what I’m told.”

“Mazurov? He looks a little—”

“Rusty?”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said.

Mazurov worked with the new Russian group operatives on an occasional paid-contract basis for Sanderson. He’d spent close to ten years as a sleeper agent in Moscow, teaching school of all things. He played a part in something big around the time of the Vektor raid, but even Sanderson wouldn’t say what he did.

“That leaves Daly, who just left the SEALs. He’ll be sharp, but he hasn’t trained with Sanderson’s people.”

“And then there’s me,” said Jessica. “This is like the Bad News Bears.”

“I heard that,” whispered Munoz. “You don’t have to worry. We’ll do the heavy lifting, like always.”

“Funny,” said Daniel.

Gupta sat up in the chair and started typing furiously.

“You got something?” asked Munoz, leaning forward to see.

“Fucking A. It worked,” Gupta crowed. “I’m getting three independent signals, all clustered in the same location… in Oakton, Virginia. Let me synch this to a better map.”

A satellite image of the area appeared, zooming down to street level. Gupta pulled the image back far enough for them to get the lay of the land. Foley rushed over, wiping her face with a towel.

“Looks like an uncrowded mix of one-acre lots, tighter subdivisions. Some land here and there. Target location is off Hunter Mill Road in an area with a lot of trees and not many roads.”

“Zoom in on the signals again,” Munoz requested.

All three signals were co-located within some kind of structure mostly obscured by trees. A home was visible between the hidden structure and Hunter Mill Road. Gupta centered the screen on the home without anyone asking.

“Do you think that’s visible from the road?” asked Daniel.

“I don’t know. It’s a good tenth of a mile from the road. The target building is a hundred yards past that.”

“I bet the target building is an old barn,” said Foley. “This is a big lot compared to the rest, especially for a town this close to D.C. Not part of the subdivision around it. The original owners probably sold most of their land, but kept this one and a small parcel, which is why they kept the barn.”

“That’s quite an analysis,” said Daniel.

“I grew up on a small farm in Connecticut. That’s exactly what my parents did. They get crazy offers all the time because of the barn. Stockbrokers and hedge fund managers wanting to feel all country-like,” she said, smirking.

“What kind of signals are we getting?” asked Graves.

“Cell phone. One had Wi-Fi enabled. The virus must have called the other phones and daisy-chained,” said Gupta. “This is fucking brilliant technology.”

“Is the system interactive?” asked Graves. “Can you ask it to daisy-chain with other devices?”

“I’m not seeing an interface, and I get the impression we’re not hacking into this system any time soon.”

“Probably not,” said Graves.

“I guarantee we’re dealing with more than three hostiles,” said Munoz. “It would be nice it if gave us more.”

“That’s not its job, but I think we might get what we we’re looking for. The virus clearly felt the need to hijack three phones,” Graves explained.

Jessica shook her head. “You’re talking about it like it’s alive.”

“In a technology sense, it is alive, or smart,” said Graves. “It hijacked three phones, presumably to ensure continuity of signal. It had one, then decided to spread, but it didn’t go any further. It mapped the closest three devices, probably some kind of parameter set by the programmer. I bet if one of our hostiles gets too far away from Berg, the virus will daisy-chain to someone closer, maintaining the three closest points. It might morph strategies altogether and expand to more than three.”

“I guess we have another decision to make,” said Munoz.

“What’s that?” said Daniel.

“Do we wait until dark, or hit them in broad daylight?”

“It’s already been fourteen hours,” said Foley. “The chances of finding him alive grow slimmer by the minute.”

“We don’t have the right night-vision gear to make the best of the darkness,” said Daly, standing in the doorway between rooms. “I counted two sets of goggles and one unmounted scope. No dual-beam lasers mounted to the rifles. Two of us can walk around in the dark, but that’s about the extent of it. If we’re up against professionals that plan on sticking around through the night, they’ll have all the right gear.”

“Nobody’s forcing you to use any of the gear,” remarked Jackson from the other room. “I’m sure that Spyderco knife clipped to your belt will be a real force multiplier combined with your bare hands.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Daly. “We can work with this.”

“Then that’s it,” said Munoz. “Let’s start moving toward the target. Graves and Gupta, I want you mobile and as close to this location as possible. Sayar and Mazurov will provide security. Start looking for a suitable drop-off point along one of the roads behind the property. It doesn’t have to be perfect, we just need a few seconds to slip into the woods.”

“Got it,” said Graves.

The room erupted in a beehive of activity, everyone but Graves and Gupta moving into the other room to kit up. Jessica followed Daniel toward the door, but was stopped by Munoz.

“Jess, you have to sit this one out.”

“I’m not leaving her alone,” said Daniel.

“Then I guess you’re not coming along either,” said Munoz. “We can manage.”

“I’m fine, Danny,” said Jessica. “Seriously. Get Berg and get back in one piece. I’m not going anywhere.”

Daniel stared at her, obviously torn about the decision.

“Let me rephrase this. I will forever think less of you if you don’t go with them,” she said firmly. “We owe this to him. He’s stuck his neck out for us before.”

He paused for a long time, a neutral look on his face. “I’m doing this for you,” he said after the long silence. “Nobody else. And when I get back, we’re out of here. You need some serious downtime.”

“Thank you,” she said. “This is the right thing to do.”

“No, it isn’t, but it’s what I’m gonna do. For you,” he said, disappearing into the other room.

Munoz grabbed her arm. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Despite the fact that Munoz’s statement was one hundred percent, pre-mission pep-talk bullshit, it somehow made her feel better. She felt safe with these people. It was the one thing she would miss about this life.

Chapter 35

Daniel lay between two trees on the northern border of the gap between the farmhouse and the barn. He’d been here for close to thirty minutes, scanning the property with his binoculars for mobile sentries, finding none. Melendez had reported the same from the southern side. The woods were clear to the east. The entire team had confirmed that on the way in.

Graves had found a cul-de-sac connected to a trail that abutted the far eastern edge of the property. Jackson dropped them off at the trailhead and met the van in the parking lot of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Fairfax less than a quarter of a mile away. They’d lucked out with that spot. Berg was being held in the middle of an affluent D.C. suburb, where windowless vans parked on the side of the road tended to draw attention.

The western part of the property looked clean from Daniel’s position. Their only blind spot was the farmhouse’s front porch, a reasonable place to expect a sentry. Back far enough away from the road to avoid detection, with a commanding view of the only passable vehicle approach. A second sentry had emerged from the sliding glass door at the rear of the house and stepped out onto the sprawling covered deck to smoke a cigarette. He’d gone back inside as soon as he was finished.

That brought the likely total to six; five confirmed. The virus had behaved precisely like Graves had predicted. One of the original three targets had left the barn and gone inside the house, “infecting” another member of the team. It hadn’t been the man they observed smoking. The signal remained stationary inside the house when he’d passed along the observation. They now had three in the barn, two in the house, and one possibly on the front porch. All in all, a manageable number.

Security was minimal at the site, but he guessed the property’s present occupants hadn’t anticipated any kind of external threat. Why would they? Oakton, Virginia, was Anytown, U.S.A., if you had a sizeable bankroll. This place looked as sleepy and boring as a well-manicured suburb could get. They’d probably changed vehicles to something more family friendly on the way here and pulled in without raising an eyebrow. The house was owned by a corporation that Graves and Gupta would thoroughly investigate later.

“Overwatch report,” he heard through his ear mic.

Melendez reported all clear. Daniel took a final look around without the aid of binoculars.

“Oscar Two clear.”

“Copy,” said Munoz. “No change to the plan. Initiating assault. Three. Two. One. Assault team moving.”

Daniel limited his field of vision to the house, watching the structure over his scope. Any movement in the windows or doors would draw his undivided, scope-magnified attention. His job was to keep Munoz and his assault team undistracted from the team’s primary mission — securing Karl Berg. He didn’t envy Munoz’s job. They were headed into the unknown, the numbers stacked even. Three on three. The presence of a hostage tipped the scales against them. They had to be careful where they sent their bullets. Their adversaries would have no such concerns.

He caught a brush of movement in the far second-story window of the farmhouse. The assault team had been made. Maybe security was a little tighter than they’d guessed.

“Southwest corner. Oscar One engaging,” said Melendez.

A man with a rifle hopped over the front porch banister and landed with a thud in the grass on Daniel’s side of the house. This group didn’t waste time.

“Oscar Two has a target heading front to back, north side of the house,” said Daniel, shifting his rifle in the man’s direction.

He wasn’t in a big hurry. The scenario had played out in his head dozens of times since he’d arrived in the sniper’s nest. Repeated snaps echoed across the open backyard, followed by the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood. Melendez wasn’t taking any chances with the potential shooter in the far window.

Daniel stopped his scope’s crosshairs on the southeast corner of the house, about five feet above ground level. The gunman from the front porch appeared in the scope, stopping at the corner to peek into the backyard. The suppressed Mk 12 Special Purpose Rifle (SPR) bit into Daniel’s shoulder; a mottled red splotch exploding onto the white clapboard siding next to the man’s head.

He shifted his crosshairs to the center of the back door and started to apply pressure to the two-stage trigger. When the door opened less than a second later, he eased the trigger the rest of the way, sending an Mk 262, match-grade bullet toward the empty space. A body rushed into the void and collided with the bullet, instantly toppling to the deck under a fine red mist.

“Oscar Two has one tango down southeast corner, ground level, and one tango down at the back door.”

“Oscar One has one tango down far southwest window, second level. Confirming three total,” reported Melendez. “Continuing over watch.”

“Oscar Two continuing over watch.”

“Alpha team breaching,” said Munoz.

Now for the hard part — waiting for the rest of the team to do their job. A sharp crack sounded from the vicinity of the barn, followed a few seconds later by a long burst of gunfire erupting inside the barn. Three rapid, back-to-back gunshots answered the burst, and things got quiet. Their job had just gotten infinitely more complicated.

Chapter 36

Munoz simultaneously detonated the three charges spaced evenly against the barn’s locked side door, knocking it off its hinges. He pushed the door out of the way and burst into the sunlit space, panning rapidly from left to right with his M4 carbine while hugging the wall to the left of the door. An extended burst of gunfire exploded from the depths of the barn in his peripheral vision. He centered his EOTech sight center mass on a man partially visible on the opposite side of the barn and fired twice. A third bullet fired from one of Munoz’s teammates struck the gunman’s head, snapping it backward. The body dropped below the floor, indicating the possibility of a staircase.

A quick glance to his right revealed a pair of motionless, contorted legs protruding into the barn from the outside. Daly covered the staircase while Munoz backtracked a few steps and peeked through the door. Foley’s head was canted sideways, her eyes staring vacantly at nothing — a red dot visible just below her right eye. A ballistic helmet wouldn’t have made a difference.

“One tango down. Hostage is located below ground level. Alpha Three is down,” said Munoz.

He moved forward, searching the barn for a second shooter while Daly focused on what appeared to be a rectangular staircase-sized opening flanked by open trapdoors. Munoz signaled for Daly to stop. Any closer and someone in the basement could take a shallow-angled shot at them. He had a few other concerns too, having to do with the floor beneath them. It was solid earth, but he suspected that would transition to wood planks at some point closer to the suspected stairwell. If the planks weren’t tightly laid, it might be possible for the two remaining hostiles to track their approach using the natural sunlight entering through the windows.

Munoz took a moment to analyze the situation. The opening was about fifteen feet away from the front of the barn, leaving him with the impression that it was the farm’s original root cellar. The subterranean space probably started at the hole and extended to the front of the barn. It gave him a slightly clearer concept of his engagement zone.

A few more hand signals revealed his updated plan. Munoz lowered to the floor and slithered to the left of the opening, making sure he stayed below any possible sightlines into the cellar. He stayed on hard ground the entire time, confirming his suspicion about the room below. When he descended the stairs, the threat axis would be limited to a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc. Not exactly a narrow field, but it could be worse. He also had to worry about someone hiding under the stairs.

A double nod set everything in motion. Daly lobbed a flash-bang grenade into the cellar while Munoz scrambled across the dirt floor toward the top of the stairs. When the flash-bang grenade immediately sailed back out of the wood-framed opening, headed back toward Daly, Munoz rolled off his back into a prone position at the top of the stairs and triggered his rifle-mounted flashlight.

The powerful light exposed a man with a submachine gun at the bottom of the stairs, who instinctively raised a hand to block the light. The first bullet from Munoz’s rifle passed through the man’s palm, striking him in the face. Two more bullets hit him in the neck and upper chest, knocking him backward. Munoz rolled away, narrowly missing a long fusillade of bullets splintering the wood floor where he had just lain.

“Hostile down. One hostile remaining,” said Munoz.

With one shooter left and the angle of hostile fire established, Daly edged past the inert grenade he had thrown as a decoy and tossed a live flash-bang into the darkness below. Munoz added a second. When the first grenade detonated, Munoz lifted himself into a crouch at the top of the stairs, feeling a quick tap on his shoulder that indicated Daly was in position for the assault. The second blast jarred them into action.

Munoz and Daly rushed down the stairs in staggered formation, hopping to the right when they were clear of the ceiling. They triggered their lights and sought cover behind the closest support beams, searching for the last target through the thick cloud of freshly disturbed dust. A burst of gunfire erupted, the bullets smacking into the thick support beam in front of Munoz and peppering the staircase.

A bullet grazed his left leg and tugged at the right shoulder of his ballistic vest. Daly crouched behind his beam, pressing his hand into his thigh. When the bullets stopped flying, Munoz raised his rifle and scanned in the direction of the gunfire, fully aware he might take a bullet to the face. The rifle light was a bullet magnet, but it was the only way to penetrate the darkness and dust scattered by the flash-bang grenades.

He immediately located Berg secured to a chair toward the back of the cellar. A form shifted behind the CIA officer’s naked body, the last hostile using his hostage as a shield to reload. Berg’s face was bloodied and bruised. Multiple lacerations crisscrossed his chest and thighs. Mercifully, his manhood appeared undamaged. Berg squinted, confirming that he was still alive.

“Hostile is using Berg as shield,” he said into the radio.

The former SEAL glanced in his direction, and Munoz gave him a quick hand signal. Daly nodded, then straightened up, pointing his rifle toward Berg. The CIA officer responded to the focused LED lights, turning his head.

“Withdraw your men immediately, or I’ll kill him!” yelled the man hiding behind Berg.

Munoz and Daly remained silent, focused on their rifle sights.

“Backup is a few minutes out! You don’t have time to think this over,” said the man. “I already got what I needed out of him. You withdraw now, and Mr. Berg gets dropped off at the nearest ER. You have my word.”

No response. Munoz took most of the pressure off his rifle’s two-stage trigger. He could see an inch of the guy’s head behind Berg’s, which wasn’t enough.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’re going to get yourselves and Berg killed. That’s not your mission!” the guy yelled. “If my backup gets here before you stand down, there’s no deal.”

A long pause ensued before their target raised his head a few inches above Berg’s right shoulder. Two small holes appeared in the top of his forehead and Munoz rushed forward. He passed Berg, pausing to fire two bullets into the hostile’s inert body.

“Hostile down,” he said. “Berg is alive, but needs immediate medical attention. We’ll need a vehicle on-site for extraction. Possible hostile backup en route.”

“Juliet one copies, en route for pickup,” said Jackson. “Great work, gentlemen.”

“Echo team staying put,” said Graves. “I need to divert local law enforcement responding to reports of gunfire. They don’t have an address, but they’ll be crawling all over the area shortly.”

“Oscar One, set up sniper position facing Hunter Mill Road. Oscar Two, clear the house. I don’t want any surprises.”

By the time he finished issuing the final orders, Daly had freed Berg from the chair.

“I want pictures of these guys, Scott. Grab their phones too. I’ll take care of Berg,” said Munoz. “Pass that along to Oscar Two.”

He found Berg’s clothes in a pile next to the chair, taking the time to dress him in his pants, stuffing his phone and wallet into a cargo pocket.

“We need to warn Audra Bauer,” croaked Berg.

“Who’s Audra Bauer?” said Munoz.

“CIA. She’s in danger.”

“We’ll work on that once we get out of here.”

“Call her now,” Berg insisted.

“I need to move you ASAP,” said Munoz, lifting him off the chair. “How far away is Bauer?”

“CIA. Langley.”

“She’s in the safest place she can be right now,” said Munoz. “You ready to move?”

Berg nodded, grunting in pain as Munoz and Daly helped him out of the barn. Berg started to protest when they reached the barn’s side door, Foley’s body blocking their way.

“We need to keep moving,” said Munoz.

Daly pulled her out of the way and lifted her lifeless body onto his shoulders.

“Leave her,” said Munoz. “We don’t have the time.”

“No,” growled Berg, not a hint of compromise in his voice.

Munoz relented, not sure how they were going to deal with a dead body. Berg represented enough of a challenge. Fortunately, one of their vehicles was essentially windowless.

“Echo team, we’re going to need to make a transfer in the church parking lot,” said Munoz.

“Copy that,” said Graves.

“And as soon as you get the cops off our back, I need you to find us some private lodging and a doctor willing to make a house call. Berg is in bad shape.”

“What’s Alpha Three’s status?” said Jackson.

“KIA.”

Munoz had a strong feeling she wouldn’t be the last. Something was way off with all of this.