But Eve’s gaze was soon jerked away from the bloody drill as she saw what was playing out on a large movie screen that hung down at the back of the hut. On it, two other men were fighting, and it was no drill. One man was a total stranger and wore some kind of security company uniform that Eve was unfamiliar with. The other man was tall, very fit, lean, with blond hair and icy blue eyes. He moved with an oiled grace that was deceptive because his movements were so economical. There was nothing wasted, no obvious concession to style. He simply moved at the right time and was never there when the attacker’s blade came at him. Not that the man evaded every attack, but when he was cut, there was no flinch, no facial reaction, and no hesitation at all. He responded to each attack as a direct counterattack, often cutting the attacking arm during the attack, or shadowing it back to cut during the withdraw. The opponent was a mass of blood, and as soon as he began to tire, the big blond man moved in like a blur and in less than a second slashed his blade across his opponent’s inner thigh, the biceps, and the throat.

Eve felt herself floating, as if somehow a cloud of burning rage was lifting her off the ground. There he was. Forty feet tall, right in front of her. With at least sixty soldiers training to mimic and beat the man’s ruthlessly efficient fighting style. Eve wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted a knife so she could stab someone to death. If not him, then anyone close. She wanted to stab someone in the eyes, in the balls, in the heart.

A hand closed around her shoulder, and Eve spun, trying to slap away the grip, throwing a punch with all her speed and fury and hurt. But Rafael Santoro’s grip was iron, and with his other hand, he parried the blow.

“Calm yourself, child,” he said softly.

Kuga and HK watched with surprise and amusement.

Tears sprang into Eve’s eyes. They burned, hotter than acid.

“Ledger,” she snarled, and there was so much pure and unfiltered hatred in that one word, in that name, that several of the closest people on the bleachers turned in surprise.

“Ledger,” agreed Santoro. “And this, my daughter, is how we’ll destroy him.”

CHAPTER 14

TRSTENIK ISLAND

CROATIA

Top Sims stood on the pier and stared at the black water. The ripples were limned with faint red from a reluctant dawn.

He was alone but spoke aloud in a normal tone of voice. Normal in volume, but twisted with doubt and fear and sorrow.