idea what was going on. These weren’t Mirza’s people, no way. They were American, big and brawny; all the ones she’d seen had beards and hard faces. She wondered if they were CIA. Another possibility, she realized, was that these were the men who’d killed Drummond, and they worked for Shrike International’s mysterious client.
But, if so, what did they want with her?
And then he told her what he wanted, but it did nothing to elucidate the situation.
“Where is Gentry?”
Annika cocked her head. “Who?”
The man slapped her across the face, knocking her to the floor.
SIXTY-THREE
Zack and Court did not find a boat with a motor as Zack had hoped, but they managed to steal a small rowboat from a dock on the way to the abandoned factory, and they used it now to approach the location from the south instead of the west, where they had seen the two men heading.
Rowing out into Röblinsee, shrouding themselves in the mist as they proceeded in an arc to stay hidden, took time, but they didn’t like their chances of sneaking up on anyone in the ruins, so certain were they that the sound of their footfalls on the debris all around would carry across the empty buildings and alert anyone there to their presence.
After nearly ten minutes they brought the boat towards the shore, out of the mist, with Zack rowing and Court holding his weapon up with a left arm that tingled and a right arm with a deep slice in his biceps.
They came ashore inside the factory grounds, and both men crawled up a rocky bank and onto a parking lot full of cracked asphalt and growing vines and brush.
Zack whispered to Court. “Wish we had NODs.”
Yeah, Court had to admit it, night observation devices would be handy as hell right now.
“And body armor. Good call on keepin’ it low profile, Six. Any other bright ideas?”
“Just one. Thinking about taking your ass back to jail in Caracas.”
Zack laughed softly, but his focus was on his gunsight and what lay beyond it.
Neither man activated the flashlight on his weapon, certain that using the darkness and the vapor to approach was preferable to a light show, but this was a large space, with a six-story main building on their left and a long two-story structure on their right. Unsure where to go, Court led the way to the main building, and Zack stacked up on his right shoulder.
The two men had done this countless times together; there was no discussion, they just went to work, moving as one, splitting up the sectors of fire automatically, dependent on where they stood in the stack. Court was responsible for six o’clock to midnight, 180 degrees of scanning as he moved, and Zack was responsible for twelve to six. This was so only because they knew they had their backs to the water, and there were no threats in the water, but once they entered the structures they would have to automatically change tactics. Court would take point, scan nine to three, and Zack would pull a moving rear security, covering three to nine.
They found a metal door into the building, and considered it. Alternatively there were open windows farther down the building, where the parking lot rose on a gentle hill.
Their third option for going internal on the structure was a pair of long-shattered low windows down at the asphalt, obviously leading to a basement or a crawl space below the building. It was covered by weeds and brambles, but Court and Zack both had fit themselves through tighter spots while on the job.
Court knew to defer to Zack on most things tactical. The former SEAL Team 6 member and longtime CIA paramilitary team leader knew more about these things than most anyone on earth.
Court took a knee, keeping his rifle up and sweeping the scene in front of him. “Three ways in. A, B, or C?”
Zack also took a knee next to him, his eyes straining open to take in as much light from the scene as possible. “I wanna say D, none of the above, but I guess we’ve come all this way so—”
A woman’s scream and the shout of a man told them the building they’d been planning on entering was exactly where they needed to go. Zack didn’t hesitate. “Let’s take the basement; we give up the high ground, but it will keep us covert until we’re internal.”
“Roger that,” said Court, and he pushed through the brambles to the broken window