The man got out of his car and strode directly toward them. He was holding his right arm by his side. In his hand was a gun with a noise suppressor screwed to the muzzle. She could make out his features—regular, craggy, like an ex-wrestler or an ex-Marine.

He was more than halfway to where she and Lindstrom sat when, as if from out of nowhere, a gray Range Rover crept up behind him. Two of Preach’s men got silently out and approached him. He must have sensed them at the last moment, but it was already too late. The man on his left slammed something hard just above his left ear, the other man caught him as he slumped over. The first man bent, scooped up the silenced gun, and together they hustled him into the back of the Range Rover, which now disgorged a third man, who got behind the wheel of the gunman’s car and, following the Range Rover, drove off. None of the men looked at Valerie as their vehicles passed hers.

Lindstrom’s eyes opened. Valerie sat very still in her seat.

“What was that?” Lindstrom asked.

“Just a passing car.”

“And the danger?”

“Also passed.”

Her mobile buzzed, and she looked down. The open line had been disconnected. In its place was a text from Preach: GET GONE. KEEP L W/U. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.

She fired the ignition and did what she was told, thinking, Now it’s outright war, plain and simple.

Chapter 18

18

“Fuck-damn!” Flix exclaimed as they came up to where he crouched at the crest of the hill. “Looka there, compadre. It sure feels good to be back.”

Charlie shot Whitman a look he couldn’t—or, more likely, didn’t want to—decipher.

The familiar crescent glow rising up from the far side of the hilltop floodlit the villa in orange light. So far, Flix told them, he had found no other communication than the normal chatter between guards posted at intervals inside the perimeter of the villa. As they closed in on their target, Whitman discovered why there were no longer patrols outside the walls: repairs had been made to the crumbling sections. The wall was now thicker and seemed reinforced. Of course, they hadn’t had the benefit of drone overflight photos to let them know in advance of these enhancements. Never mind, Whitman told himself. The trade-off of total secrecy was more than an equal trade-off. Besides, he didn’t view the new features as anything more than a slight inconvenience. In fact, having all the guards inside the villa was a distinct benefit. They would not get ambushed again on their way to the extraction point, where the jet was waiting, refueled from reserve tanks onboard.