“You twisted bastard,” Janson roared, sickened and dizzy. He pressed the flat of the man’s knife against his lightly bearded cheek. The threat would not be abstract. “You part of some Da Nang revenge squad?”

“You gotta be joking.”

“Who are you working for?” Janson demanded. “Goddammit! Who are you working for!”

“Who are you working for?” the man coughed. “You don’t even know. You’ve been programmed like a goddamn laptop.”

“Time to face the music,” Janson said in a low, steely voice. “Or you won’t have a face.”

“They’ve messed with your head so bad, you don’t know which end is up, Janson. And you never will.”

“Freeze!” The abruptly shouted command came from above him; Janson looked and saw the big-bellied tavernkeeper they had spoken to earlier that day.

He was no longer wearing his white apron. And his large, reddened hands were clutching a doublebarreled shotgun.

“Isn’t that what they’re always saying on your crappy American cop shows? I told you that you were not welcome,” the beetle-browed man said. “Now I will have to show you how unwelcome you are.”

Janson heard the noise of a runner, vaulting over boulders and branches, plunging through thickets. But even from a distance, he could identify the lithe, leaping figure. Seconds later, Jessie Kincaid emerged, her sniper rifle strapped to her back.

“Drop the goddamn antique!” she shouted. She held a pistol in her hand.

The Hungarian did not even look in her direction as he carefully cocked the Second World War–era shotgun.

Jessie squeezed one well-aimed shot into his head. The big-bellied man toppled backward like a felled tree.

Now Janson grabbed the shotgun and scrambled to his feet. “I’ve run out of patience, Czerny. And you’ve run out of allies.”

“I don’t understand,” Czerny blurted.

Kincaid shook her head. “Drilled four fuckers up the hill.” She hocked on the ground near Czerny. “Your boys, right? Thought so. Didn’t like their attitude.”

Fear flashed in Czerny’s eyes.

“And get a load of that barkeep showing up. You’d have thought we stiffed him on the tab.”

“Nice shooting,” Janson said, tossing her the shotgun.

Jessie shrugged. “I never liked him.”

“Eagle Scout,” Czerny said. “Collecting your merit badges while the world burns.”

“I’ll ask you one more time: Who are you working for?” Janson demanded.

“The same person you are.”

“Don’t talk in riddles.”

“Everybody works for him now. It’s just that only some of us know it.” He laughed, a dry, unpleasant laugh. “You think you’ve got the upper hand. You don’t.”

“Try me,” Janson said. He placed his boot on Czerny’s neck, not yet applying any pressure, but making it clear that he could crush him at any moment.

“You fool! He’s got the whole U.S. government under his thumb. He’s calling the shots now! You’re just too ignorant to see it.”