At least in the Army you had the weight of the government behind you. Here, with Dragovic, the government was against you. But either way, you spent a lot of time waiting. Like now.

“Do you think the man from the beach was in that truck yesterday?” Vuk said, nodding toward the town house.

Ivo glanced at him. Why was he always paired with Vuk? He liked nothing about him. Too rash, always looking for trouble. Why look for trouble when it had so many ways of finding you.

“I suspect it, but I couldn’t prove it.”

Neither had mentioned their suspicions about the truck to Dragovic or anyone else last night. They’d have looked like fools for allowing themselves to be suckered, and they knew how the boss dealt with fools.

“One thing I do know,” Ivo said, “is that after it happened, whoever lives there was able to come and go as free as they pleased. And that makes me—”

The car jolted and rocked as something slammed into the left front fender, knocking Ivo against Vuk.

“Sranje!” Vuk shouted as he was thrown against the passenger door.

Ivo straightened in his seat and looked around. His first thought: Not that truck again!

But instead of a truck he saw an old rusted-out Ford with its right front bumper buried in the Lincoln’s fender. But no bearded man behind the wheel. This time it was a short, muscular Hispanic.

“Hey, sorry, meng,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “This old thing don’t steer too good.”

“Govno!” Ivo yelled as he tried to push his door open, but the Ford was too close.

Vuk was already opening the passenger door, but by the time he’d reached the sidewalk, the Ford was screeching away, leaving them coughing in the thick white smoke from its exhaust.

“Get him!” Vuk shouted.

Ivo was already turning the key. As he threw the Lincoln into gear and hit the gas, it lurched forward a foot or so before swerving toward the curb. Ivo cursed and yanked on the steering wheel but it wouldn’t budge.

“What’s wrong?” Vuk said.

“Jammed!”

Vuk jumped out and ran around to the front of a car where he froze. Then his face contorted as he began swearing and kicking at the front tire.

Ivo got out to see what he was doing.

“Look!” Vuk shouted. “Look!”

In an instant he understood: the Ford had scored a direct hit on the wheel, leaving it cocked on its axle.

Ivo turned and watched the battered old car dwindling in the distance on Sutton Place. Then he swung around and glared at the town house.

Vuk followed his gaze. “You don’t think…”

“The man who hit us just now was not the man from the beach,” Ivo said. “But still…”

Vuk turned back to the car. “Never mind him. What are we going to do about this?”

Ivo’s anger faded to fear as he realized they were going to have to report another disabled car to Dragovic.