Fran nodded sagely. “I see.”
She was enjoying the hell out of this. Well, Jack didn’t have time to amuse her, nor did he give one shit if she derived pleasure from his squirming. “Look,” he pressed. “We have to move now. Are you in or out?”
She propped her elbow on her arm and tapped her cheek. “What’s it worth to you, Jack? I can always use a field supervisor in my pocket.”
“Now, Fran. I need a decision now,” he growled.
She grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She angled her head toward her antiquated Audi. “Let’s get going before the concept becomes moot.”
As usual Fran could always be counted on for a quick analysis of the situation.
They had to get to Ami now…before it was too late.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MICHAL PAUSEDbefore climbing into the Jeep. He stared back at the villa some twenty or so yards away. Even the air around it seemed to still. He surveyed the hillside to which they would retreat, and then the grounds surrounding the villa once more.
“Something is wrong,” he said, his tone matching the somber mood that had abruptly settled over him. More wrong than his men could possibly guess.
This was the defining moment.
“What is wrong?” the Spaniard demanded. “Thebastardois dead and the electronic transfer is complete. We have confirmation. Nothing is wrong,” he insisted, clearly ready to leave the scene of their most recent kills.
Michal shook his head. “We can’t take that risk.”
“What risk?” Kolin prodded.
He wanted to get the hell out of here, as well, Michal would wager, but his years of experience over the other man’s would not allow him to so easily dismiss the possibility Michal had suggested.
“I have to go back in.” Michal did an about-face and started toward the villa.
“What the hell are you doing?” The Spaniard moved in front of him, blocking his path. He glanced up the hill, scanning cautiously. “We must get out of here. You know that, Michal. Going back inside is not necessary.”
“Mother of God,” Kolin swore between clenched teeth, his gaze fixed on the second story of the grand villa. “Someone’s in there.” He pointed to one window in particular. “I saw him in the window.”
The Spaniard threw his hands up. “We have accomplished our mission. It is time to go. Whoever else is in there is none of our concern,” he persisted.
“Go,” Michal said to them, his full attention locking onto the second story. “I will tie up this loose end and meet you in Marseilles.”
“How—”
Michal cut off whatever else Kolin intended with a look. “Gonow.Wait for me in Marseilles.”
“This isloco!” the Spaniard snarled before double timing it toward the Jeep. He didn’t like what Michal was about to do, but he liked the idea of hanging around to watch even less.
Kolin reluctantly followed.
Michal didn’t look back. Not once. He strode quickly to the villa and disappeared inside.
Looking back would not have fit the character of the ruthless Executioner.
Michal Arad never looked back, he moved forward constantly. Always accomplishing his goal.
He had never failed.
Not once.
Fifteen seconds after he passed through the arched portal that separated the courtyard from the shadowy interior of the villa an explosion shook the very foundation of the massive structure. Glass and bits and pieces of decor burst from the windows…the doors, spraying down a lethal rain of razor-sharp edges and spearlike material. After a moment’s groan, the walls fell inward, burying all that was inside.
