“One down,” G said in her ear as she slid down the rope and her soft boots hit pavement.
“Hey, you started without me. No fair,” she growled.
“I need a head start with you, slick. You’ll kill them all and I’ll have no fun.”
“Too true. You’re forgiven. Just leave Savic for me.”
“Of course.”
She padded to the warehouse door. G had already unlocked it, so it was a matter of slipping inside and hunting. “Two,” she whispered as the man slipped to the floor, blood pooling around his throat.
“Three.” G’s voice was subdued. “Last two for you. I’ll get the word out we have him.”
“You’re cocky,”
“You have no idea, honey.”
She chuckled. “Keep it in your pants.”
“I’ll try.”
She wiped her blade on his last bodyguard and stepped into the open. Savic was halfway into the white fridge that was humming in the corner of the lush loft he’d built for himself on the pain and terror of his victims.
“Savic.”
He stiffened and rose, his gaze going to the Uzi that was sitting on the counter. She laughed softly. “I so wish you would try.” Without waiting, she moved. Of course, Savic was armed. He pulled out a handgun and she whirled, flipped, and went into a full slide on the polished floor.
She hit his legs and the back of his head connected with the fridge. He tumbled to the floor and lay still. She pulled out a knife and straddled his back, pulling up his head by a hank of hair.
“Don’t do it,” G said. “You’re free now, Karasu.”
She dropped his face and his head bounced off the floor. He was right. She was finally free. Now they had the laptop, and hopefully a lead to NSH’s money man, Novak Jovanovic.
But she didn’t feel done yet, taking her a day to pinpoint what was bothering her. Preacher and his unresolved conflict with his former leader. She cared deeply about Preacher’s happiness and if she could help in any way to track down his former leader, she would consider it a gift. Although, she didn’t know Striker, something about his circumstances struck her hard in the heart.
Gonchaya was still with her. “So, G. I’m looking for someone who’s kind of gone off the rails. He’s a former SEAL. You got any contacts that might be useful?”
“Where was this guy the last time you saw him?”
“I didn’t actually see him, but he was in Banja Luka, Bosnia. It’s the place where he lost his trident.”
“In my experience, people go back to the places that have meaning for them, both good and bad. It’s how I often hunt down the people we’re looking for. People are ruled by emotion and familiarity, belonging. It’s why Savic came back to the Philippines. It’s a good hunting ground with minimal risk. He felt safe here.” His words hit a little too close to home, making her squirm inside. She had repeatedly gone back to that small house on the outskirts of Tokyo. Sounded like solid advice. “That’s the first place I’d look if I was you.”
* * *
Mrs. Kovic’s Boarding House,Banja Luka, Bosnia/Herzegovina
Karasu found out that one of the people who had helped Neo “2-Stroke” Teller and her fellow CIA operative Chrysanthe Steele when they’d been on the run here was Marta Primorac. She knew where Striker was holed up. He was actually involved with the Agency to ferret out the vestiges of Vak’s network of weapons smuggling. From what Marta had said, Striker had been invaluable in bringing the whole thing down and the US recovering some military-grade firepower.
Former SEAL her ass. Once a warrior, always a warrior.
She came up the walk of the boarding house and the old woman who was outside beating rugs gave her a hard glare.
“What can I do for you?” Mrs. Kovic said the whole boarding house was protective of him. He had done a lot for them while he’d been embedded there.
“I’m looking for Dean Teller. We work at the same agency.” The woman took her time looking Karasu over, and apparently saw something in her that nailed her as an operative, then inclined her head.
“Third floor, room four,” she said.