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“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

Crestwood Industrial Park
Crestwood, Illinois

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

Georgetown
Washington, D.C.

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?”