Devras Sikari settled in Jammu, in the Indian-controlled and largely Hindu portion of Kashmir, and now lived largely underground, surrounded by hundreds of followers, though he was known to travel outside of the country frequently using false documents, diplomatic papers and disguises.

He’d spent the past several years orchestrating the slaughter, kidnapping and torture of Muslims, Pakistanis, Buddhists and Christians in Kashmir—anyone who wasn’t Indian or Hindu and anyone he felt had no right to be in the region of his birth or a threat to Kashmir independence. He was suspected of massacres of entire refugee camps and villages, and he even made incursions into the Pakistani-controlled portion of Kashmir.

Prosecutors at the International Criminal Court had wanted to bring him to justice for some time but were stymied because India isn’t a member of the Court, so Sikari’s crimes, though horrific, couldn’t be prosecuted at the ICC. But Middleton managed to find a loophole: The Volunteers discovered that Sikari had been responsible for committing murders in nations that were signatories, which made him subject to ICC jurisdiction.

The only problem was finding the elusive man. But finally they turned up a lead: a source at Interpol reported that Sikari was spotted in Paris making inquiries about buying sophisticated hardware and software used to find sources for underground water. This was odd, though. Kashmir was one of the few places in the world where water was plentiful. The name of the state, in fact, comes from the words ka shimir, meaning the act of “drying up water,” referring to the draining of a primordial lake that covered much of the land. Many major rivers in India and Pakistan originated in Kashmir and other parts of the region—like perpetually drought-plagued China—and nursed whatever water they could from tributaries that sprung from there.

Middleton seized this chance—as he joked to the other Volunteers—“to flush” Sikari. He’d flown to Paris posing as an American geologist and tried to arrange a meeting with Sikari or his representatives.

But no one took the bait. So Middleton left a clear trail to the south of France, pretending to be vacationing with his wife and friends, in hopes that Sikari or an associate would try to find them. They’d been here only one day when NATO and French army surveillance units reported that they were being followed—by a dark-complexioned man who might be Indian.

Perfect, Middleton had thought. And he and Leonora Tesla set up the sting.

Now, the former colonel walked to Balan and crouched down. He said, “Water? Food?” Middleton believed in respectful, measured interrogation.

There was no point in psychologically—let alone physically—abusing prisoners. That was, he’d learned, counterproductive.

“I want nothing from you people.” He gave a faint sneer.