Retro’s arms went back at two, going forward at one. He split the doorjamb at the first e of execute, shattering the lock and flinging the door forward. Time slowed, like a Matrix movie, my brain cataloging every movement in hyperdetail. The door flying inward, the pieces of metal from the lock exploding all over like Christmas tinsel, Retro dropping the sledge, slamming backward into the wall, and raising his weapon, clearing the breach for the team.

I ran forward, seeing Brett rotating around, swinging his barrel up. I entered the doorway, weapon raised and ready, seeing nothing. The room empty.

I swung left, painting the sector with my rifle, but it was clear. I felt the rush of Brett closing right, locking down that section. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned, seeing Rashid exit the bathroom, a toilet satchel in his hands. He threw it at Brett’s head and dove to a table on the right, screaming. He closed his hands on the butt of a pistol, and Brett fired, the sound a muted spit.

Rashid hammered into the wall and wailed, grabbing his buttock. Brett took two steps and buttstroked him in the temple, knocking him out.

I cleared the rest of the small area, finding nothing in the bathroom. I came back out, seeing Knuckles in the doorway, weapon at the ready, and Retro searching the room. Brett was bandaging up our target. I walked over to him and said, “Ass shot? Really? Tell me that was intentional.”

He looked up at me and said, “I want Shoshana back. It took all I had not to raise my sights.”

I smiled. “I can’t say I’d have had the same control, but Aaron will appreciate it. Same as me.”

I turned into the room and said, “Retro, status?”

“Got a computer and phone. Some tickets and other shit. I say we’re done.”

I looked back at Brett. “He stable?” A nod. “Hit him with the dope and let’s get the fuck out of here.” I keyed my earpiece. “Koko, Koko, Jackpot. We’re exfilling now.”

We’d been inside the room a total of three minutes. We bundled Rashid up and Retro looked out the door like we were on a panty raid in college. He called all clear. We carried him down the stairs, reaching the front door. It was Aaron’s turn to make the call, with us kneeling inside until a group of drunks passed by. We hustled to the van like a group of Goodfellas in Brooklyn with a body in a carpet, which, I suppose, we were. We dumped Rashid in the back and I said, “Everyone starburst. Aaron, Knuckles, head back into the park. See if you can get a thread on Shoshana. Retro, get on the computer and check hospitals and police stations for an unknown. I’ll get the interrogation going on Rashid. Meet back at the Sheraton in an hour and we’ll assess where we are.”

They nodded, and I jumped into the mom van, Jennifer hitting the gas. We drove for about fifteen minutes, headed toward the airport and the warehouse the Taskforce had rented. I made sure Rashid wasn’t on the verge of cardiac arrest while Jennifer called Showboat.

We entered farmland, sporadic petrol stations and random blockhouses the only things around. Jennifer turned back to me and said, “Showboat’s ready to receive. He said he’s got some news.”

I looked up from the finger blood-pressure monitor I’d placed on Rashid and said, “News about what?”

“He didn’t say, but he didn’t sound happy.”

Two miles out from the airport, on a lonely stretch of asphalt, Jennifer turned right, pulling into a warehouse facility illuminated by vapor lights. She paused at the gate, flashed her headlights, and they opened, sliding left and right on metal rails.

We went forward, seeing a roll-up door slipping into the ceiling of the warehouse. It was going back down before we even shut the engine off. I saw Blaine coming down a set of metal stairs, a hard look on his face, and it made me sick to my stomach. I’d seen the same thing years ago. When he’d told me my family had been murdered.

I exited hesitantly, saying, “Good to go. There’s going to be a police response, but they’ll get nothing. Rashid’s true name is nowhere in the database. They’ll be searching for ghosts. We got out clean.”

He nodded, and I said, “What’s going on?”

He looked at Jennifer and said, “Her detective work paid off. The three boys from the school are real. They flew out from Miami to Istanbul four months ago. They disappeared—until a few days ago. They reappeared in Istanbul and flew to Venice, Italy. All three. Consensus is they’re working on an attack.”

Jennifer stepped down, her mouth open. She said, “Seriously?”

He said, “Yeah. Well, all except that consensus part. I think you’re on to something, but the Council is split. They think they’re bad, but aren’t sure they’re still working for the Islamic State. With the rash of guys fleeing the fighting and trying to get back home, some wonder if they’re just juvenile delinquents. Nobody thinks they’re saints helping with food relief, but not all are convinced it’s our business. Either way, we have the order to explore. Kurt wants you to head to Venice and scope them out. Their check-in involved running their passports into a database. We have their hotel. You guys get over there and see if there’s any smoke to the fire.”

I said, “Okay . . . I’m game, but I’ve got a little cleanup here first.” I jerked my finger to Rashid, his body being placed on a stretcher. “And it involves that asshole.”

Blaine was watching the support crew take Rashid out, checking vitals and making sure he wasn’t having a stroke. He wasn’t listening to me.

I pushed a little bit, saying, “Sir, I’m missing one of the team. I didn’t have time to tell you, but Shoshana never showed after the park. I’m not leaving until I find her. It may be nothing, but I’m staying until I prove it one way or the other. Get someone else into Venice.”

I glanced at Jennifer, and she nodded. I went back to him. He said, “Pike, you’ve got orders to get to Venice. Don’t push this.”

I couldn’t believe how nonchalantly he was taking what I’d just said. In fact, I didn’t believe it. He’d known what I was going to say. The same dread I’d felt when I’d first seen him on the stairs dripped through my body, like a clammy fog. I said, “Sir, look at me.”

He did.

“What’s going on?”

“Pike, I’ve got orders. I’ve got to get you moving. You and the team. Aaron is no longer relevant. He stays here.”

I saw Jennifer’s eyes slit, her arms across her chest. I said, “Sir, did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes. It’s an Israeli problem. Not ours. We have our mission.”

I slowly shook my head. “No, sir. It’s a team problem. And she’s on my team. What the fuck is going on?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. He looked at me, and I could see the pull between orders he was given and loyalty to the team. He said, “Okay, okay.”

Nothing else.

I said, “Talk to me.”

He turned a small circle, debating with himself. He hit the wall with his fist and said, “I’ll tell you, but you’re getting on that plane, right?”

I said, “Maybe.”

He shook his head and cursed. He said, “I’ve been ordered to keep this classified. To keep it from you. You, specifically. The Council wants the Lost Boys under surveillance. Right now.”

I leaned back against the van, feeling sick. I asked, “What is it?”

“Intel spiked on a jihadist website. We have a YouTube video. It’s not pretty.”

65

Jacob sat within seventy meters of the spot in the alley where he’d met the chaperone. While Chris had had the courage to walk to his death, boarding the boat of his own volition, Jacob had no illusions that his big-titted mistress would do the same. He’d decided to meet her in the wine bar up Assassini lane.