The deserted road snaked along a wooded park as he took the turn for Vouliagmeni. He came around a sharp corner and nearly slammed into a gray Volkswagen that was parked halfway across his lane. Two men stepped out. One had a shaved head and was easily two hundred fifty pounds. The other was almost as big and was wearing a leather jacket. Jake hadn’t seen them before, but he recognized the type: thick necks, barrel chests—hard men.

They motioned for Jake to keep driving, but he spotted skid marks on the pavement and pulled to the side of the road.

Caught in the glare of his headlights, nose-down in a ditch, with its hood crumpled and windshield shattered, was Athena’s car.

The men walked menacingly toward Jake as he stepped out of the car. They were thick all around—street brawlers with the scars to prove it. The one with the shaved head shouted something in Greek and motioned for Jake to drive away.

Jake took a step back.

Shaved Head walked up to him and pushed him in the shoulder.

Jake staggered backward a few steps, and Leather Jacket once again motioned for him to leave.

“That person needs help,” Jake said in English.

The two goons exchanged a look.

“You go. We help,” said Shaved Head in thickly accented English. It wasn’t a Greek accent, though, something Eastern European.

The goon reached for Jake’s arm, and he flinched and took another step back.

The man sensed weakness and came at Jake again.

But instead of retreating, Jake stepped forward and quickly closed the distance.

It was during his first field mission for the Agency that he developed the core principle that would allow him to survive in some of the most dangerous places on earth: It was better to be the aggressor, to set the circumstances of a confrontation, than be forced to react to someone else’s plan.

Shaved Head was barely an arm’s length away when Jake pushed off his back foot and attacked the other man—unexpectedly launching a palm strike that shattered his nose.

It caught both of the ruffians by surprise.

The thug staggered backward and Jake attacked again, chopping the side of the goon’s thick neck—but it had no discernible effect. The man regained his balance and came at Jake with his hands up, trying to grapple with him.

It was a situation Jake wanted no part of. The thickset man looked as if he wrestled grizzly bears for fun. If he got Jake on the ground, it would be the end—for Jake and for Athena.

Jake kept moving sideways, keeping the thugs one behind the other to prevent them from attacking him simultaneously. He kept buying time until the one in the leather jacket pivoted toward Jake with most of his weight on his right leg.

It was an opportunity Jake couldn’t pass up.