“Fail, Hoffmann—and you’ll be alone by tonight. Carry out the mission, and we’ll talk again, while your children and your beautiful wife will have at least a little longer—we are far from done with each other.”

Then the moment was over.

The monotonous, distanced, genderless voice was back.

“Oh and by the way. Avoid alerting the police. If we see even one cop at the apartment building where your family is hiding, we’ll blow up the whole damn place, regardless of our agreement. We’re pretty good at that, as you know.”

6:29 PM

(3 hours and 33 minutes remaining)

“Can we talk?”

“Talk.”

“You were right, Grens.”

“Yes?”

“The police leak is very close to you.”

“I used to think so. Now I’ve changed my mind. No one I trust has betrayed me.”

“You saw I destroyed the phone. Broke contact. You even warned me about it. Only you and Zofia and Latifi and Andy, one of my employees, got my new number. Andy was just murdered, but would never reveal anything. Zofia is the only one I trust, and Latifi also never talks, I’ve seen that for myself. So that leaves you, Grens. And if it’s not you, I don’t think it is, it’s someone who has been close to you in the last twenty-four hours.”

“What did you say? Just murdered? What do you mean by that?”

“I feel sick about it. But I don’t have time. Not yet. I’ll send you the address when I hang up. Take care of him.”

“If you . . .”

“Grens—they murdered my employee and called my new number to tell me about it! Someone knows that I’m involved and that I’m here! How many people are aware that I’m working with you? That cop lady who met me in the kitchen, she’s one—who else? Are there more, Grens!”

“Calm down.”

“My time is running out while we . . . I can’t afford to calm down when your dirty fucking cop finds out about everything I do, or while they wait outside the house where Zofia and the kids are hiding! They even smuggled a phone and documents into Zaravic’s cell! He knows now that an infiltrator got him locked up for six years—and when you let him out tonight, Grens, he’ll know it was me.”

6:34 PM

(3 hours and 28 minutes remaining)

First, the sound of heavy steps.

Then a loud voice.

Ujë.

He didn’t know very many Albanian words, but he’d picked up that one. That’s why he’d stopped at the gas station on his way to Shkodër. Two bottles, lukewarm. And that was what he’d been buying and carrying around in a city plagued by Mediterranean heat.

Ujë. Water.

That was what someone was shouting outside the door.

He hurried to the window. The yard was deserted.

The safe door was thrown against the wall, and that sharp ringing leaked out.