He knew he couldn’t fight him. He was defenseless, still reeling from the blows. Any resistance would only earn him a blast from his own gun.
Thibault forced him farther over the edge. “Who sent you, Mr. Investigator? Who else knows I’m here?”
“No one,” Hauck said, the spray from the rushing water splashing onto his face.
“Don’t lie. I smell lies, the way I smelled you. Are you ready to take a swim? You may make it through the current, but I wouldn’t recommend it with a bullet to the back of the head.”
A winch of fear began to tighten in Hauck’s gut. He knew he had only seconds, and whatever he said, it better be the right thing. It better buy him some time.
“Franko Kostavic,” Hauck yelled, shutting his eyes as he waited for the hammer of darkness to bludgeon his brain.
It never came.
A few seconds passed. Thibault jerked him back up. He turned him around, pressing the gun sharply into Hauck’s ribs. His eyes smoldered with determination and anger. “How do you know that name?”
“I traced it. I took your DNA. I followed you in New York. To a restaurant. Alto.” Hauck thought, What does it matter now if it buys me a few seconds? “That’s where you saw me before.”
As it sank in, Thibault smiled. His face had a certain submission and resignation in it. He dug the gun in deeper into Hauck’s gut. “Then you know this is like a walk in the park for me; isn’t that what you Americans say? A slam dunk. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what it is that has brought you all the way to Serbia. What it is you are about to die for.”
A final fear rose up in Hauck. But not for him. For Naomi-whom he had left helpless. He prayed he hadn’t put her in danger. Two other faces came into his mind. It was strange, he thought, who came to mind.
Jessie. A feeling of such terrible sadness. Would she even ever know?
And April. The glint on her proud face. See, I was there for you, he thought.
I kept my promise.
“I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done,” Hauck said, looking back at him. Over Thibault’s shoulder, he saw two people come into the alley. He looked in his assailant’s eyes and smiled.
“In another life, perhaps,” the Serb said, raising the gun. “But in this one, your job’s done.”
“Not just yet,” Hauck said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The two men approaching from down the alley stepped closer. Unsteady, bantering loudly in Serbian, they were probably drunk. Maybe they had come down there to take a piss. Or puke into the river.
Hauck didn’t care. They were the cavalry to him.
Thibault glanced around when it was clear there would be witnesses to what he was about to do. Annoyance crossed his face. They came to a stop about ten feet away when they came across Thibault, who looked to them like he was roughing up a drunken customer.
One of them was short and squat, barrel-chested. In an open striped shirt and a black leather jacket. The other was taller, in a kind of soccer sweatshirt. A shaved head and long sideburns and a rough, Slavic face.
“Hey, what are you doing?” the shorter one muttered in Serbian, gesturing at Thibault in an animated way.
Thibault shouted something back, which Hauck took to be the equivalent of “Get the fuck away,” flashing the gun in his face.
The two men’s eyes widened. Hauck harnessed his strength. Maybe as they went away he could spin Thibault around.
But instead of fleeing, the two men simply raised their hands in a defensive manner, their drunkenness making them seem more annoyed than afraid, still not leaving.
Thibault pressed the gun sharply into Hauck’s ribs. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do it…”
At the end of the alley, another man and a woman poked their heads in to see what all the commotion was about.
Suddenly, there were witnesses. A small crowd.
The two Serbians were shouting at Thibault and waving their arms at him, cursing. Even with the gun, Thibault was no longer in control. He didn’t know what to do. If he shot Hauck, he’d have to do the same to several others. Or leave witnesses. There was no way to escape. And the last thing he needed now was to be on the run from the local police; avoiding that was even more important than killing Hauck.
Hauck realized these people were saving his life. Seizing the moment, in full sight of everyone, he pushed Thibault aside. He met the Serb’s gaze with a victorious grin.
“Go on, get out of here,” the tall one with the sideburns said. In English now. “This is not how we treat visitors in Serbia. This man is clearly drunk. We know what to do with his kind here.”
They thought they were saving some poor tourist from a mugging.
Hauck nodded at the man with gratitude, then glanced back at Thibault, who, he could see, was flashing through his options. Should he kill him? And then, how many? What he was interested in was survival. Enraged, but helpless to do anything about it, he let Hauck pull away.
Relieved, Hauck stepped down the alleyway, quickening his stride and praying Thibault wouldn’t reconsider and put a bullet in his back.
A small crowd had built up at the head of the alley, sensing the altercation. He looked back. Thibault was seething, but the two men were cursing at him brazenly. Taking it out on him like they were from the local chamber of commerce.
Whatever. Hauck let out a grateful breath. For the moment, they had saved his life.
His thoughts flashed to Naomi. She must have been going crazy, wondering where he was. He ran out of the alley, dashed down the street to where he had left the car, jumped in, and pulled out of the side street. He didn’t like leaving Thibault. The man had been behind April’s death. At least three others. Not to mention the poor guy in France whose identity he had taken.
But if Naomi had found something, they could turn him over to the Serbian police now.
He took off down the street, looking back to see Thibault coming out, still trying to get free of his tormentors, shouting after him. He had to get back first. He took his cell phone out and called Naomi.
“Where the hell are you?” she answered, obviously waiting, picking up after the first ring.
“On my way to you. Get back to where we keep the car. I’ll meet you there.”
“You wouldn’t believe what happened,” she blurted in relief. She told him about Thibault’s mother and how she had come to the house.
“Yeah, I’ve been up to my arms in a bit of a hot sink as well,” Hauck said. “With her son.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Hauck raced back through town to Thibault’s farmhouse to pick up Naomi. A flickering reel of questions bombarded him.
Who were the two men who had just intervened and saved him? Just a couple of drunken locals? One had addressed him in English. Had Hauck said something first? Whoever they were, their timing was impeccable, and they had surely saved his ass.
And what had Naomi found? Had she linked Thibault higher up the chain? Part of Hauck ached at leaving the bastard who had orchestrated the murder of four people free. Not to mention what he had done in Bosnia. Thibault might well be coming after him. He could be getting in his car right now.
Mostly, he realized just how lucky he was to simply be alive.
He made the twenty-minute trip to Sebecevo in under fifteen. He found the turnoff and drove his Ford down the bumpy, deserted road, through the wooded glade that was completely dark this time of night, past the steep incline up to Thibault’s farm. He dimmed his lights, just in case the Serb was following him. He found the thicket of trees where they had been hiding their car.
Naomi stepped out of the darkness.
He breathed in, relieved.
She opened the passenger door and hopped in. Her face was taut and nearly white with worry, but seeing Hauck, being in the car, her color began to return.
“You okay?” he asked. He reached out and squeezed her arm.