“Make a sound and I’ll kill you,” I said in Croatian. Not one of my best languages, but I’d brushed up during mission prep.

His eyes popped open, and every muscle in his body went rigid. I clicked my tongue, and Ghost jumped up onto the bed and bared his teeth. Six of them are made of titanium—souvenirs from having lost the original teeth in combat. Ghost loves showing those fangs. He straddled Mitrović’s thighs and lowered his head so those teeth were inches from a quickly shriveling penis.

Not surprisingly, Mitrović did not make a sound.

“I’m going to remove my hand,” I said and then switched to English because I knew he was a polyglot. I spoke clearly and slowly, watching his eyes to make sure he understood. There was no confusion, only fear. “If you yell or call for help, my dog is going to bite your dick off. Blink once if you believe me. Good. Now blink once if you promise not to do something very, very stupid. Okay, good. Now we’re communicating.”

I took my hand away but left the knife in place.

“Tell me what you’re doing downstairs,” I said. “Lie to me and chomp-chomp.”

He stared at me in horror. Up close, his face looked different from that of his pictures. His eyes were slightly out of alignment, one tilted and more deeply set than the other. There were some old acne scars, and the caps on his front teeth did not precisely match the adjoining natural ones. Those details made him look more human and more vulnerable. However, it didn’t stir any sympathy from me.

Mitrović stared at me, and I could see, even beneath the terror, a calculator brain assessing the situation, reviewing the odds, and evaluating his options. I was not wearing the uniform of any government military or law enforcement agency. I wore no insignias or patches of any kind. My gear was high end, but of a kind he would not have seen before. Church doesn’t buy off the rack. The Scout glasses were also unknown to him. I wondered if he was mentally labeling me as a PMC—private military contractor—and wondering what it would cost to buy the pink slip on my soul.

“Don’t make me ask again,” I said.

“They’ll kill me,” he said.

“So will I, and I’m right here.”

“So are they,” he said.

It was a jolt and made me want to turn and look over my shoulder. But if there had been someone hiding in a secret compartment in the wall, Ghost would have sniffed it and given me a signal.

“Is the room bugged?” I asked.

“I … don’t know,” said Mitrović. “They always seem to know.”

I used my free hand to tap into the team channel. “Outlaw to Pappy, report.”