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Exiting on the twenty-fifth floor, they went past the apartment printed on the visitor’s pass and entered the stairwell, walking up the two flights to the twenty-seventh floor. Stopping just outside the exit, Garrett pulled open a backpack and withdrew a ski mask, pulling it over his head. The other three Turtles did the same. When they were ready, he opened the door to the stairwell, facing the one camera near them.

They went past it at a trot, traveling to the end of the hallway, out of its view. Once there, Garrett paused outside the door, looking at his men. He saw saucers for eyes. He removed his ski mask and they did the same.

He said, “Calm down, Turtles. This is easy. Just follow the plan.”

They nodded and he knocked on the door.

He felt someone on the other side, and then it was opened by a plain-looking woman in a nondescript pantsuit. Short hair and bare minimum of makeup, just like he remembered in Syria.

Smiling, she said, “Garrett, it’s been too long.”

He said, “Hey, Gabrielle. Thanks for seeing us.”

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “How’d you get up here? I didn’t get a call?”

He sheepishly held his arms out and said, “All we did was say we were here to see you. He gave us a pass and sent us on our way.”

She swung the door wide with a scowl, saying, “I’ll have to talk to them about that. This place is supposed to be secure.”

He walked through it, saying, “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we’re terrorists or something. Not like we dealt with in Syria.”

She smiled and said, “Are you still working Syria?”

“Not after the Americans left, but my organization is still tryingto help. We wanted to talk to you about coordinating again with the United Nations. We’ve lost our contact with the UN World Food Organization here and hope you can help.”

She watched the remainder of the Turtles enter and said, “Who are your friends?”

Garrett said, “You remember Raphael, right? He was with me in Palmyra.”

“Oh yes. I remember. From Croatia, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Garrett walked into the center of the apartment and said, “These other rogues are also from Croatia. Donatello and Leonardo.”

She scrunched her eyes a little and said, “Why do they have Italian names? Is their heritage here?”

Garrett laughed and walked to the balcony, saying, “They’re just nicknames. They help with the Knights of Malta. Being Catholic only gets one so far.”

She grinned and said, “Can I get you guys something to drink? A beer maybe?”

Garrett said, “Yes, please. Can I show them the view from here? Is that okay?”

She disappeared into the kitchen, saying, “By all means.”

Garrett went outside on the balcony, seeing a field hockey arena almost thirty floors below, two teams battling it out. Just one floor above, he heard the clink of glasses and vague conversation from the rooftop garden deck. He looked at Donatello and said, “You have the door. Watch our back.”

He nodded and went back into the living room. Garrett said, “You guys ready?”

Raphael and Leonardo both nodded. He said, “Hand me the note.”

Raphael did and they waited.

Gabrielle exited onto the balcony holding three bottles of beer. She passed them out and said, “I love this view. I should live closer to the embassy, but I just like it here too much.”

Garrett said, “Now. Do it now.”

She looked at him in confusion, and a small part of her brain went into overdrive when the beer bottles shattered on her balcony from their dropped hands, the broken glass telling her to run. But it was too late. Leonardo and Raph ripped her off of her feet, one holding her arms and the other holding her legs. In shock, she tried to scream, but Garrett slapped his hand over her mouth. She began to writhe like a snake, almost getting out of their hands. Garrett hammered her in the temple and she sagged back, all fight gone.