Early Sunday morning, Kristina Varjan was traveling north on County Road 610 in a black Audi Q5. She lowered the driver-side window and picked up a black Glock pistol with an after-market sound suppressor.
There was forest on both sides of the lightly traveled road. She waited until she could see a long empty stretch in the other lane before sliding the pistol out the window, resting the barrel on the side mirror, and stomping on the gas. The Audi roared and closed the gap between it and the tan van ahead of her in seconds.
Varjan knew she had one good chance of this working. If she missed the opportunity, the equation changed, tilted against her.
She drove up behind the van and weaved slightly right, toward the shoulder of the road, giving her a good look at the van’s rear tires. Varjan shot them both out with hollow-point bullets.
She slammed on her brakes. The van swerved hard into the other lane, tires smoking as they disintegrated. The van’s back end swung around almost a hundred and eighty degrees.
Varjan saw the horrified look on the driver’s face before the van careered sideways off the far shoulder. It had smashed and rolled over twice before she brought the Audi to a screeching stop. The assassin jumped from her car and sprinted across the narrow road and down the short embankment.
There was tire smoke in the air, but no smell of spilling gas, so she went straight to the van, which had landed more or less upright. The roof and side door were partially caved in. Blood dripped down the driver’s face as he lifted his head to look at her.
“Help,” he said.
She shot him between the eyes.
Varjan moved down the side of the van and around the back, seeing one door shut and the other almost torn off. Gun up, she looked inside and saw the ruins of a full ambulance setup. A woman was sprawled on the floor by an overturned gurney. She was bleeding and struggling to move. Varjan shot her through the top of her head before checking behind the closed door.
No one.
She heard a soft thump and a twig snapping. She jerked back, then took two cautious steps toward the opposite side of the van, where the sounds had come from. When she took a quick peek, she saw nothing but burned brush and the edge of the woods.
She pivoted back the other way, but it was too late.
Quiet as a leopard, Cruz had slipped up behind her, and now he stuck the muzzle of his pistol against her forehead.
“You didn’t think it was gonna be that easy, did you, Varjan?”