He reached into the glove compartment and grabbed the 9mm Glock pistol he kept there. He pointed it at the floor and press-checked it, moving the slide forward a quarter inch to confirm that a round was in the chamber.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he said as he surveyed the street.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a white pickup truck with dented sheet metal and off-road tires appeared from a side street and skidded to a stop a hundred feet in front of them, blocking the intersection.

Pickens stopped the car.

Three men with rifles jumped down from the bed and started walking toward the Americans.

Jake checked his side mirror. A van with more gunmen had stopped behind them.

Jake glanced at his partner. The big man still had his pistol holstered.

“It’s game time, Pickens. Get that weapon out.”

“It’s just a shakedown,” Pickens said. “Let’s not do anything that’s going to get us killed.”

But Jake had been through private checkpoints before. Rarely were they inside the city limits, and they never targeted a single vehicle.

“Somebody tried to kill me in Greece and they’re trying again now.”

Pickens was frozen. The gunmen were halfway to them.

“Athena is dead,” Jake said.

Pickens was speechless.

The gunmen split up. One stayed in front and one walked to each side of the car.

Pickens looked back and forth between Jake and the approaching men.

“I’m not going to let them take me,” Jake said. “I’m going to fight this one out.”

“We’re outgunned, brother. Let’s just pay them and be gone.”

“Money isn’t going to make this problem go away. We’re going to have to resolve this.”

Jake checked his mirror again.

“On three,” he said. “One, two, three!”

Jake raised the Glock and fired three times, dropping the gunman on his side of the car, but Pickens was still frozen with his hands on the wheel. His sidearm was still on his hip.

Jake swung his weapon to the left and fired three more rounds just a few inches from Pickens’s face, shattering the driver’s-side window and striking the gunman in the gut. The man dropped his rifle and slid down the side of the car, his face pressed against the bloody glass.

“John! Engage!” Jake yelled, but Pickens was sitting motionless behind the wheel, his foot still on the brake.

Jake jumped out and ran between two buildings as the gunmen sprayed the car with automatic weapons. He caught a glimpse of the group’s leader, standing behind one of the vehicles and screaming at his men.

It was Nacay.

Jake braced himself against the house on his right and raised his weapon. Rounds snapped past his head and ricocheted off the nearby buildings as half a dozen men fired at him, but Jake lined up his sights and pulled the trigger.