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Jennifer called me direct and said, “How’s it going?”

I said, “So far, all quiet. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just trying to stay awake.”

“You want to switch out with Knuckles?”

“No. He just got here. I had some sleep when you switched out Brett.”

My earpiece was overridden with Brett saying, “Contact. Target is leaving the building. I have him.”

I told Jennifer, “Gotta go,” then switched to the team net saying, “Direction and distance?”

“Out the lobby door, headed north in the alley. Veep, Veep, can you back me up?”

“On the way.”

I stood up, laid the fishing pole where I’d found it, and said,“I’m on trailer. Give me a call if you need some help, but the minute you get him in a secure area, take his ass down.”

I jogged across the road and went up the stairs into the old town, entering the narrow stone alley next to the boutique hotel. The bad thing about the alleys here was that it was impossible to follow someone for more than a few turns until they knew you were behind them. The good thing was that we could take this guy down without anyone seeing, if we got him in the right spot. And at this time of day, everything would be the right spot. I slowed to a fast walk, not wanting to step on the surveillance effort.

“This is Blood, still on five-five. He’s entered a courtyard and there’s nobody around. He’s going to know I’m following if I continue.”

Veep said, “I circled around to the alley leading out. Hold back. He’ll walk right past me.”

I called, “Location?”

Veep said, “Next to a stairwell for something called the Marco Polo House. Stand by. I see him. He’s looking around. Appears to be hesitant.”

“From us?”

“No. We’re clean. Don’t know why.”

“Brett, can you close?”

“Yeah, I’m right outside the courtyard.”

“Are we clean?”

Veep said, “This is Veep. Nothing on my side.”

Brett came on, saying, “This is Blood. I’m clean here.”

Veep said, “He’s climbing the stairs.”

Running up the alley, I said, “Take him. Now. Get him on the ground, get a barrel in the face, and let’s exfil to the hotel.”

Brett said, “Roger that.”

The next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of a suppressed weapon. Hollywood will have you believe the weapon is almost silent, but it’s not. It’s just not as loud as a gunshot. Even with a suppressor, the report reverberated against the stone walls. I drew my Glock and began sprinting. By the time I saw the courtyard entrance, Brett and Veep were rounding the corner back into my alley, weapons drawn but unhurt.

I reached them and said, “What happened?”

Veep glanced around the corner and said, “He reached the top of the stairs and someone stuck a gun out, shooting at us.”

“Someone in that museum has a suppressed pistol?”

Brett said, “Yep. No idea who, and I don’t think Branko did, either. He was jerked off his feet and thrown inside.”