Hayward tiptoed from Giuseppe Turcoe’s basement to the cellar door of the manor next door. He found the latch, lodged the crowbar beneath the cross member, slowly added pressure. The rotting wood splintered and cracked. The screws groaned and backed out a little.
Noise was a problem. Hayward went more slowly. It was quieter, but there was another risk. Someone might happen by and spot him breaking into the house, or one of the Agency animals inside might make a routine sweep of the perimeter and spot him.
Sweat beaded on his brow, more from nerves than exertion. There were a thousand ways for the situation to spin out of control and only a few ways for it to go right. He might not get another chance to find Katrin and her father.
He applied a little more pressure to the latch, wiggling the crowbar from side to side. He winced as the screws groaned again. Just a little more.
The latch fell to the gravel with a tang.
Slowly, carefully, Hayward opened the storm door and pulled his gun from his coat pocket. He descended the steps into the darkness below.
“Stop right there,” he heard.
His eyes snapped to the assault rifle aimed at his chest. It was gripped by a pair of strong hands. Behind them, wearing a smug smile, was a square-jawed goon Hayward didn’t recognize. American, ex-military, hired muscle. The man wore a black Kevlar ballistic vest over a khaki shirt and cargo pants.
“We figured it was only a matter of time,” the man said.
“Where is she?” Hayward’s voice was loud and anxious.
The man laughed. “You’re joking, right? I mean, all this time and training, and you’re really still that naïve?”
Hayward exhaled. He felt extreme tiredness. It was suddenly difficult to stand. He tried to focus on the problem standing in front of him, but his mind was stuck. Katrin isn’t here. It landed like lead in his stomach.
The smile disappeared from the gunman’s face. “Hand over that fucking data, creampuff.”
Hayward shook his head. “You don’t think, after all of this time and training, that I would be naïve enough to bring it with me, do you?”
This earned a harsh, barking laugh from the man with the assault rifle. “Doesn’t matter. It’s at your hotel, or in some safety deposit box at the post office, or in a locker at the train station. We’ll pull out a couple of fingernails, you’ll tell us where it is, and we’ll go bribe whoever needs bribing. Game over. You lost, big guy.”
Hayward shook his head. He tightened his grip on the pistol in his hand. His palm was a little sweaty and his body tingled with nerves but he steeled himself, steadied his voice. “Maybe it goes down the other way. Maybe I pull out your fingernails and you cry like a bitch. Then you tell me what the hell you’ve done with Katrin and Joao.”
Another laugh. The man adjusted his ballistic vest and re-gripped the assault rifle in his hands. “Shaking in my boots here, tough guy. But I work for a different department.” The man shook his head. “Dumbass.”
Hayward locked eyes with the man. “You spend a little time at a safe house, you learn a thing or two. I’m willing to take my chances that you know more than you’re pretending.”
The man in tactical gear motioned with his rifle. “Enough bullshit. You know the drill. Bend over slowly and set the gun down. Then stand up and raise your hands like you’re surrendering. Because it’s over, and you’re done.”
Hayward didn’t have to think through his options. He’d already been through the scenarios a dozen times. He knew what the odds were. He knew he was outnumbered and outgunned. He knew Katrin was on borrowed time and he’d be no good to her dead or captured. He couldn’t afford a mistake, couldn’t risk a rash decision, couldn’t let anger and fear and hatred and love and guilt and hope cloud his judgment.
He pulled the trigger.
The explosion was loud and angry in the confined space. He’d have sworn he blew out an eardrum. He watched the man fall to the floor with a slug through the abdomen, a good two inches below his protective vest. Extremely painful and probably lethal without the proper medical attention. Hayward wanted to draw things out, to lean on the smug knee-capper for information about Katrin and Joao, but he couldn’t take the risk. He had no idea how many goons were upstairs. Hayward pounced on the man in a flash. He hoisted the cast on his arm high in the air and brought it down onto the bridge of the man’s nose with malice aforethought.
Game over. One fewer asshole in the world.
Hayward listened intently for any additional motion upstairs. He heard nothing.
He took the dead man’s rifle and started his search of the house.