Page 42 of Belgian Betrayal

“You better have it,” the man said. “If you don’t hand over the disk, we’ll shoot your daughter.”

“Hurt my daughter, and you won’t get the disk. Now quit fucking around. Bring out my daughter, or I’m out of here, and I’ll send that disk to the British Prime Minister.”

“If you don’t hand over the disk, you won’t leave this square alive,” the man said.

“That’s my cue,” Catya murmured into her mic and then stepped out of the shadows and into the open market square.

“Bring out the girl,” she called out as she strode forward. “We’ll give you the disk, but the girl must go free first.”

Fearghas’s fists clenched, and his muscles bunched, ready to spring into action.

Catya had described what these people had done to her parents. They were bloodless cowards who would kill anyone who stood in the way of what they wanted.

Catya had just stepped into their way.

The shit was about to get real.

Chapter 11

Catya was an assassin, not a negotiator. She hoped like hell she could learn fast. She had hoped Madison’s captors would have brought her out with them.

Now she and Atkins were out in the open, potential targets for a sniper who could be perched on one of the surrounding buildings with a rifle, waiting for his cue to shoot them.

Yeah, she was an assassin, not a negotiator, and these people were pissing her off.

“Who has the disk?” the man in the middle asked.

“Could be me,” Catya said.

Atkins lifted his chin. “Or me.”

“Or it could be on its way to the British Prime Minister.” Catya planted her fists on her hips. “You won’t know until you release the girl.”

The man doing all the talking so far snapped his fingers.

Two more men came out of an alley, with a smaller person between them. The person wore jeans and a Trinity sweatshirt. She had a cloth bag over her head, and her hands were tied behind her back.

Each man held one of her arms, alternating between dragging and half-lifting her off the ground as she kicked and twisted in an attempt to free herself.

The men stopped when they were abreast of the three men there to trade for the disk.

“Show them,” the one in the middle ordered.

One of the men holding onto the young woman whipped the bag off her head.

A young woman with dark blond hair blinked at the people gathered around in the market square. She had duct tape across her mouth.

When she spotted Atkins, her eyes widened, and she tried again to break free of the grips on her arms, all the while making noises behind the tape over her mouth.

When she realized the men holding her wouldn’t release her, tears streamed down her face.

Atkins stepped forward.

The two guys flanking the one brought their guns out into the open.

Atkins froze. “Let my daughter go.”

“Give us the disk,” Middleman said.

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