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Branko said, “I don’t have a phone.”

Nikita gave him his and said, “Don’t tell them we’re with you. Just tell them you’re going to spend the night.”

Branko did as he asked, with Bogdan answering the phone, confusing him. He’d called Pushka’s coder, not Bogdan. Then Bogdan told him to wait a minute, that someone was at the door, and Branko knew something was wrong. He thought about asking pertinent questions but had no way of knowing if Nikita or the driver spoke Serbian. He didn’t want to give Nikita any reason to think he was trying to do something against the wishes of Andrei. He let it go.

Nikita said, “So, are we set?”

“Yes. They have room.” He made no mention of the strangeness of the call.

“Okay. We spend one night there, and then you can take me to the treasure.”

An hour later they were winding through the narrow roads on the ridgeline above Lapad Beach. Branko directed them to a parking area overlooking the ocean, but still on the top of the ridge, and Nikita said, “What’s this? Where’s the safehouse?”

“It’s down the hill. The house doesn’t have parking. I never pick a safehouse that has access to cars. It keeps me from being arrested.”

Nikita looked at him with a small bit of respect and said, “Okay. Let’s go. You lead.”

The four of them walked down the narrow concrete staircase, threading by another house, and reached the one that Bogdan had rented. Branko said, “They’ve seen us on the cameras. Let me knock on the door.”

Nikita said, “That’s fine. Just get us inside.”

Branko went to the door and rang the bell. Bogdan opened it and said, “We have the beds ready. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

He was sweating profusely, his eyes wide open and darting around.

Branko hesitated, then Nikita pushed him past the entrance. Branko pointed behind him, saying, “They’re with Andrei. We’re only staying the night.”

Nikita followed behind him with the two other men and said, “Don’t ask any questions. Just show us the beds.”

He took one more step and a bullet hit him in the head, splitting it open. He collapsed like the bones in his body had turned to rubber, hitting the floor with his eyes wide open, staring out at nothing, a gaping hole in his forehead. The two men with him dove behind cover, and a gunfight began, the bullets splitting the air.

Branko saw Drago running from the kitchen, then heard Bogdan scream and they both dove to the ground, scrambling to get out of the fire on their hands and knees. Drago ran to the stairwell in the back of the living room and was hit twice in the chest, hisbody toppling like a felled tree. One minute he was running, the next he fell forward like he’d been put asleep midstride. He collapsed at the front of the stairwell. Branko saw the blood flow, and knew who was here. It was the Afghans.

If he didn’t get out, he was dead.

Branko leapt up and ran forward through the fire, hands over his head, dodging the bullets like a man trying to avoid the raindrops in a storm. He reached the stairwell leading to the lower floor, leapt over Drago, and raced down it, hearing the fire going on above him. Halfway to the bottom, he lost his balance, and went the rest of the way rolling down head over heels. He hit the landing on top of a body. He recognized the coder, saw the pool of blood around him, and crawled across his form in a panic, reaching another stairwell.

He stood up and took them two at a time, then ran down a hallway that led to the exit for the coastal walking path.

He sprinted through the garden spilling out below the house, trying to reach the walking path that snaked along the coast. He came to a gate, but had no key to open it. He saw the walking path beyond and vaulted over the gate with sheer adrenaline. He hit the path and rolled on the ground. He saw a couple of tourists staring at him and took off running, getting away from the death above him.

He jogged for about a hundred meters, and as had happened in Zagreb, his body began to fail him, his lungs screaming for air. He stopped, hands on his knees, and looked around him. Nobody from the house was following, but plenty of people were looking.

He stood up and began walking as if nothing had happened. He reached a hotel called More and glanced behind him. Still, nobody behind him. The hotel split the walking path, with the roomsabove him and a deck built on the coast below. He knew that deck led to a unique bar—one the people hunting him wouldn’t know.

He jogged down the concrete stairs to the deck, ignoring the chairs, umbrellas, and tourists lounging next to the ocean, instead circling around them to an entrance of a rough-hewn natural tunnel that went straight into the rock wall of the cliff.

It was a bar built inside a limestone cave, and he’d been there many times when he’d stayed at the Dubrovnik safehouse. He went down the tunnel, the air turning musty from the moisture seeping out of the rock. He reached the main chamber and saw there were no seats. The lower level of the cave wasn’t that large, and there weren’t many tables, each one situated on any available rock outcropping, with all already taken by hotel patrons and other tourists. There was a smaller tunnel leading to a space with a glass floor where one could see the water sluicing below, but that wasn’t any help.

He glanced around, seeing a stairwell that led up to tables on another level. Built long after anyone had discovered the cave, the stairs were incongruously modern, with planks of polished wood and a railing made of stainless steel. He took them and found a small table empty, barely larger than the trunk of a tree, crammed into a corner off the stairwell. He saw it had a view of the tunnel entrance and sat down, his mouth open and panting like a puppy hearing fireworks for the first time.

A waitress came over and he ordered a beer, saying he was waiting on his wife. She looked at him with a little bit of curiosity, clearly wondering about his disheveled appearance, but took the order. He wondered if she would call the police, but then realized that would never happen.

The Cave Bar was a tourist attraction for anyone coming toLapad Beach. His dress and agitation wouldn’t trigger an alarm. She wanted a tip, and she would get it, if only to keep her from remembering he’d been there.

She brought his drink and he paid handsomely, saying he didn’t know where his wife was, but she’d be there soon. The waitress nodded, now relaxed, and he knew he was good.

He glanced back to the stairs he’d come up and saw an elevator leading to the hotel above. He’d never used it before, but he might now.