CROATIA
Malone decided that the man in the car would be first, and he hoped that these two were all that he’d have to worry about on this end. The street was quiet, nearly no one around, all of the shops and stores closed. The train was due in shortly, so he needed to be in position and ready. He also wondered what was happening in DC, since everything depended on Stephanie’s show.
He assessed the situation and made a decision.
The direct approach was usually best.
He fled the shadows and headed into the street, negotiating the fifty feet of damp cobblestones between him and the car. He approached the driver’s side and banged on the rear windshield.
“Taxi. Are you for hire?” he called out.
He caught the startled reaction from the man inside.
He pounded on the rear window again. “I need to go. Are you available?”
The car door opened and the driver emerged. Another Asian, his face agitated. He wore a long overcoat and gloves. Big mistake. Not giving his adversary a moment to think Malone slammed his bare right fist square into the man’s jaw. The blow stunned the driver and he used the second of shock to grab a handful of hair and smash the man’s face into the car’s roof. He felt muscles go limp as consciousness faded. He kept a grip and stuffed the body back inside, laying him across the two front seats. He spotted a plastic grocery bag lying on the floorboard and retrieved it. A few rips and he fashioned a strip strong enough to bind the hands behind the back. For added measure, he pocketed the car keys and retrieved a pistol off the unconscious Korean. No need to leave a weapon around for someone to use.
One down.
He checked his watch.
Less than five minutes until the train arrived.
He locked and closed the car door, then headed inside.
*
Isabella sprang from her seat and found her gun, moving toward the half-glass door. She stepped aside into a row of empty seats and allowed three people from the car ahead to complete their hurried escape from the gunfire. Kim had disappeared to the right, one of the Asians toward the front.
Two more pops.
Louder this time.
She instinctively ducked, then advanced to the door. A hand grabbed her from behind.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked.
“My job.”
“I get it. How about we do this together.”
She nodded.
Luke held his gun.
Another shot from the car ahead grabbed both of their attentions.
*
Hana heard gunfire and knew that her father was killing more people. He’d left with the gun in the satchel for a reason. She’d counted six rounds and wondered how many of the four men were left. Howell also realized something was happening.
“You’re not getting off this train,” he said to her.
What did this man know that she didn’t? There was no way he was aware of the Koreans, as he’d been here, inside the compartment with her father, when all four had boarded.
The Americans.
They were here, too.
*
Kim fired a shot in the direction of the remaining problem, but the man was no longer on the floor. It took a second for him to realize that his target had sought refuge in the first row of seats. Partitions protected the rows, extending from the top of the seats to the floor, which meant he could not ascertain anything from below.
And looking up would expose him.
The exit door ahead slid open.
He risked a peek.
The man was fleeing.
He pursued.
*
Isabella felt the train slowing.
“We’re coming into Solaris,” Luke said.
“We have to get to Howell.”
She saw that he agreed. Surely by now some of the panicked passengers had alerted the crew. But the train was long with many cars, and it might take another minute or so for someone official to come investigate. Through the glass in the doors she saw Kim exit the car ahead.
Luke motioned.
They followed.
Three-quarters of the way through the next car she saw the bodies of three dead Asians.
“That makes two left, including Kim,” Luke said.
“You’re forgetting the daughter.”
He nodded at his error.
“Who probably has Howell.”
*
Hana had thought about this moment for a long time, ever since she realized that her father was evil. If her mother was right, then he was responsible for the misery she’d experienced during the first nine years of her life. No guard, no teacher, no one would have been able to hurt her if not for him sentencing her mother to exile. And though she despised her mother, for this one time she believed her. Kims created the camps and Kims kept them going. Sun Hi had been born there because of Kims. And she died there for the same reason. One afternoon a few months back her father had sat her down and told her about a book he’d read, The Patriot Threat, written by the man sitting across from her. It foretold a possible way to destroy the United States of America, and maybe even China. He’d seemed excited by the possibilities, enthused at the prospect of revenge on his half brother. He’d spent nearly every waking moment since trying to make that a reality. They’d traveled all over, him plotting and planning, she watching and waiting. He never asked and she rarely volunteered anything about herself. For men like her father—self-absorbed, egotistical, and maniacal—what others thought rarely mattered. As long as she remained willing, appeared vested, and questioned nothing he simply assumed she was his ally.
She’d learned that trick in the camp.
But unlike her father, the guards were rarely fooled. Of course, being able to beat, torture, and kill at will made their task much easier. Her father, at least, had a few rules to which he must adhere. Not many. But enough to tie his hands and cloud his judgment. True, he had taken her from the camp. She meant something to him. She was just not sure what.
And that seemed the only question left to answer.
Everything else was clear.