That was the truth of it all, the realization that had painted him into a corner inside his own mind until he had no choice but to fight or flee—men of power only cared about retaining that power at all costs. And those costs usually came with repercussions that lingered like lost dreams and hopes, things that reared their ugly heads years later, as they’d done tonight.

“Zack, it’s been”—Belyakov cocked his head, searching for the right word—“an honor. I am forever in your debt, even if you don’t want it.” He stuck out his hand toward Zack, suspended in midair, waiting for acknowledgment.

This is what it comes down to. A handshake between adversaries. You may hate him for what he’s done, but in his own mind, he’s a man of honor, and like it or not, he’s not completely wrong. Zack shook his hand firmly, and Belyakov nodded approvingly.

“You better get your men out of here before law enforcement arrives. That Huey isn’t exactly inconspicuous. I’d say there’s no way you can escape, especially if they call a chopper or try to get you on radar, but then again, I’m sure you have a plan,” Zack said as the two men walked back to Belyakov’s protection detail.

Zack stopped a few feet from Griffin. Griffin still stood on his own two feet like a battered boxer, blood dripping down his right arm where he’d been shot. Something had been unloosed inside his mind, and he no longer pretended to contain his emotions. Seething hatred for Zack poured forth from his countenance like a physical manifestation. There was a part of Zack that would be relieved when the psychopath before him was out of his sight, and even more relieved when Griffin no longer walked the earth, which he figured would be soon.

Zack returned the hateful gaze and finally broke the silence. “You’re a psychopath, and you’re about to reap the reward for all of the pain you’ve caused throughout your life. Part of me wishes I could deliver justice, but after what you tried to do in Malta, I’m pretty sure Belyakov won’t be denied.”

The four armed gunmen stood still, Belyakov in the middle, where he’d first appeared, waiting for the exchange to end.

“God, I really wish I had killed you years ago, you sanctimonious sonofabitch,” Griffin spat at him.

“Well, you seem to have made a habit of making really bad decisions. So I’m not surprised. But you can submit your complaints to them.” Zack said, turned his head, and nodded at Belyakov’s detail. “They seem receptive to that kind of thing.”