The same instincts that had driven Rem Vlachko to park two spotters on the roof of that café on the Rue de Milan now told him to cut his losses and leave before the police caught up to them, before eyewitnesses pointed authorities in this direction. With Morotski kidnapped, all dozen-or-so CIA informants on CyberWerke’s payroll were at risk—a risk that Rem could do little to mitigate here.
He had to regroup, had to contact Berlin and discuss options. He was certain now that the rogue Americans had joined forces, and with Morotski in their possession they could learn enough of CyberWerke’s operation to potentially jeopardize his employer’s well-laid-out plans.
“Back to the cars,” he spoke into his radio while standing alone in the middle of one of many alleys in this place. “Get back to the—”
Rem felt a presence behind him.
“Hello, asshole,” said a very familiar voice.
Turning around in surprise, Rem stared at the face of Troy Savage, before everything went dark.