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“Look,” Andre said.
Stansfield followed the boy’s pointing finger and swore.
A single head bobbed in the water. Then the man began to stroke toward shore. The survivor was too far away for Stansfield to determine whether he was a soldier or scientist, but the distinction didn’t matter. Snatching the German Karabiner 98k sniper rifle from where it was lying beside him, Stansfield sighted on the swimmer and pulled the trigger.
The shot missed, raising a geyser of water to the swimmer’s right.
Taking a steadying breath, Stansfield adjusted his aimpoint left, exhaled, and fired again. The swimmer jerked and then sank beneath the surface. Stansfield swept the river with his rifle’s ZF-41 optic, checking the turbulent water for additional survivors.
There were none.
After waiting another minute, Stansfield slowly lowered the rifle. “Let’s go.”
The boy nodded. “Do you think we just prevented war or fired the first shots in a new one?”
“Prevented one,” Stansfield said before tousling Andre’s hair. “Most certainly.”
His battle-weary heart hoped that was true.
His cynical intellect feared otherwise.
CHAPTER 1
PRESENTDAY
BARCELONA, SPAIN
MITCHRapp could feel the surveillance team.
Like an itch that he couldn’t quite reach or the buzzing of an unseen mosquito, he could sense their presence. If asked, he could point toward their watching eyes in the same manner in which a compass needle unerringly swung toward magnetic north. For most people, the notion that a person could intuitively detect an unseen observer was ridiculous.
He was not most people.
Over the course of the last hour, the team had grown bolder. As Rapp had followed his companion’s lead through the winding warren of Barcelona’s streets, the sensation had progressed from a buzzing at the edge of his consciousness to shapeless forms just outside his field of view. More than once he’d felt the compulsion to quickly turn his head in an effort to catch a glimpse of the unseen watchers.
Rapp had ignored that urge.
If the surveillance team realized that they’d been made, the members would have to make a decision—withdraw or escalate. Rapp knew the team represented a tactical problem that he would have to solve, buthe intended to do so on his terms, not theirs. In addition to the standard mental checklist he addressed before choosing a time and place for possible kinetic action, this afternoon he had another factor to consider.
The blonde seated across the table from him.
“Something the matter, darling?”
Though she knew English, the woman asked the question in French in keeping with their agreement. Rapp spoke the language like a native, and the passport resting in his back pocket proclaimed him a resident ofla République française.
This was a lie.
One of many.
“Everything’s fine,” Rapp said, studying his girlfriend.
Greta Ohlmeyer possessed the sort of magnetism that caused would-be suitors to make fools of themselves. The Nordic beauty was a statuesque five feet eight with bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw that tapered to a little apple chin. The Swiss woman’s hair was almost always pulled back into a high ponytail, and though they’d been dating for a little over a year, Mitch was often at a loss for words in her presence. He’d lost count of the number of suitors who had gone to ridiculous lengths in the hopes of garnering a smile from her. Collisions between members of the male species and inanimate objects were almost a daily occurrence around Greta.
“You’re not behaving as if everything’s fine.”
“I need to useles toilettes,” Rapp said. “Could you please order me another glass of sangria?”
“Of course.”
