The team channel was not synced into the TOC, but Church was listening nonetheless. He had access to every channel and listened quietly to what had just happened. First there was the false sighting of a man in the woods; and now the pause outside the master bedroom.

Something was wrong, and Church had the feeling it was going to get worse. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but his instincts—grown sharp over many years—were telling him to pull Ledger out now.

He almost did.

Almost.

But he did not.

He wondered if he was being efficient or cruel.

Or, perhaps, both.

CHAPTER 7

TRSTENIK ISLAND

CROATIA

I turned the knob and stepped very quietly into what was clearly the master bedroom.

Mislav Mitrović, naked and hairy, lay on an acre of bed. A huge four-poster draped with expensive hand-painted silks and brocades with gold lace. A woman lay curled into a fetal position on the side of the bed, as far from him as was possible, her bent knees and elbows hanging inches over the side. There were candles guttering on a table, and the room stank of wine, roast meat, sweat, and sex. Clothing was scattered everywhere, and most of the feminine garments looked torn.

I positioned Ghost at the door as I crept over to the bed, coming up at an angle so that one of the thick, ornately carved wooden posts provided cover.

The closer I got, the more I could read the scene. The woman was not a woman. She was a girl. Young teen, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with a premature heft of breast and curves from lingering baby fat. There were bruises and suck marks on her shoulders and thighs. But the face was a child’s, though painted like a B-movie stripper. Tears had streaked the mascara, and the mouth was puffy from hard use. She was deep inside a dream that made her body tremble and twitch. It did not look like a happy dream.

I shot the young woman. No choice. If she woke up and screamed, then things would go straight into the crapper. Worst-case scenario was that we took her with us when we left. She was clearly underage and had been abused. Scott Wilson, the COO of RTI, had contacts everywhere, and he’d be able to make sure she was properly treated and cared for. Scott had a wife and three daughters, the oldest of whom was about this kid’s age.

The Sandman dart hit her on the hip, and her twitching immediately stopped as she dropped deeper into the well of dreams.

That left Mitrović. He didn’t stir when I darted the girl. Good.

I holstered the pistol and drew my Wilson Rapid Response knife, snapped the blade into place, clamped my hand over Mitrović’s mouth, and laid the edge of the blade against his throat. That woke him right up.