The floor was stone, so Rapp opted to take off his shoes before easing across it. He approached the door cautiously, holding the potentially useless weapon in both hands. All the lights were on inside the room, but the hallway was in shadow, giving him an advantage. He managed to stay invisible while putting himself in a position to see about a third of the room. Bashir Isa was in nearly full view, sitting in a chair with his ankles secured to the legs and his hands bound behind it. His expression was a mix of anger and resignation—tight jaw, nostrils slightly flared, staring straight ahead at nothing.

“There’s another password. What is it?”

The man speaking was sitting behind Isa’s desk, a position that left him mostly obscured.

Isa gave it up, his tone suggesting that he knew exactly how this was going to end and just wanted to get it over with. It was a shitty way to go out after years of loyal service, but not one that would surprise him. Betrayal was the number one killer of intelligence operatives.

“I’m in,” the man said.

“What about hard copies?”

The sound of the second man’s voice allowed Rapp to relax a bit. Both shooters were now accounted for. One partially visible behind the desk, another invisible somewhere near the northwest corner of the room.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Isa responded.

“Bashir. Please. We’ve known each other for a long time. Don’t make this harder than it has to be and don’t force me to involve your family. It would break my heart.”

Isa’s eyes shifted to the unseen man who had just spoken. Undoubtedly someone he’d once considered a friend. And, in fact, probably really was. But business was business and personal was personal.

“In the garage,” Isa said finally. “There’s a series of drawers to the left of the door. If you remove the bottom one, there’s a lockbox at the back.”

By the time he’d finished his sentence, Rapp was already on the move. He retraced his steps and turned right, slipping through a door that led to a spacious one-car garage. Navigating by the red glow of his penlight, he grabbed a screwdriver before lying down in front of Isa’s Range Rover.

The door opened and the lights came on a few seconds later. He could see the man’s black running shoes below the cuffs of dark blue slacks. Not a brand that Rapp favored, but they were light, had good traction, and were designed to hold up to fast changes in direction.