“Reynolds’s backup?” Cooper asks, weapon still trained on Steffan.
Mason shakes his head. “Something else.”
From outside comes the staccato rattle of automatic weapons fire, different from the controlled bursts of earlier engagement. More intense. More deadly.
Steffan’s expression shifts to one of confusion, then dawning hope. “Ah,” he breathes. “Right on time.”
“Who?” I demand.
Before he can answer, Mason’s radio crackles with a new voice—one I haven’t heard before. Tightly controlled but urgent.
“Ghost, this is Charlie One. We have multiple hostile teams approaching from the north and east. Professional operators. Heavy weapons. We’re engaging but outnumbered.”
Ethan. Charlie Team. The contingency I wasn’t supposed to know about has now been activated.
Mason’s response is immediate. “Acknowledged. Secure the prisoner. Prepare for immediate extraction.”
Steffan laughs, the sound chilling in its confidence. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be your prisoner for long.”
My blood runs cold as understanding dawns. “Kostic,” I breathe. “You called Drazen Kostic.”
“Not exactly.” Steffan’s smile is triumphant. “But Drazen and I have—mutual interests. He doesn’t like loose ends.”
Mason grips my arm, eyes intense. “We need to move. Now.”
The distant gunfire intensifies. Through the window, I catch glimpses of muzzle flashes in the gathering dusk. Charlie Team is engaging the new threat.
“Cooper, secure Reynolds,” Mason orders. “Ryan, Martinez, prepare for extraction protocoltheta.”
Cooper moves to zip-tie Steffan, but the judge twists suddenly, driving his elbow into Cooper’s recent wound. Coopergrunts in pain, momentarily stunned. Steffan lunges for his discarded pistol.
Everything happens in rapid sequence. Ryan shouts a warning. Mason pushes me behind him. Steffan brings the gun up.
Before he can fire, a cold voice cuts through the tension.
“Judge Reynolds. What an unfortunate situation.”
Steffan freezes, his head snapping toward the doorway. His expression transforms instantly—rage giving way to unmistakable relief.
A tall, lean man in an immaculate suit stands in the threshold, flanked by four heavily armed men in tactical gear. His angular features could be carved from marble; his eyes, like chips of ice, survey the scene.
“Drazen,” Steffan breathes, lowering his weapon slightly. “Thank God. Perfect timing.”
The arms dealer steps into the room, his movements precise and economical. Not a wrinkle on his tailored suit despite the violence happening outside.
“It appears you’ve encountered—difficulties.” Kostic’s accent is barely perceptible, his English polished and deliberate.
Steffan laughs—a sound of genuine relief. “You could say that.” He gestures toward us with his gun. “These people have stolen my property and sensitive information. They need to be eliminated.”
Mason tenses beside me, shifting imperceptibly to better shield me. The air in the room thickens, charged with deadly potential.
Kostic steps closer, examining each of us in turn. His gaze lingers on me with unsettling intensity.
“Your wife,” he observes. “The one who escaped.”
“Yes,” Steffan’s voice hardens. “She’s taken documents that could compromise our operations.”
“I see.” Kostic circles the room slowly, like apredator assessing prey. “And the information she took—it contains details of our arrangement?”
