Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.

This story is rated T. Apart from some language, there's nothing here that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch the Following, you're old enough to read this. However, it is The Following, so bad things can happen. Expect possible violence, dark themes, angst, and a certain amount of general awfulness. No serial killers, FBI agents, or small furry animals were harmed in the making of this fanfic. And don't try anything you read here at home.

Hi gang. So I'm back after a long hiatus. I'm sorry for the long time between updates, but real life kind of threw me for a loop. Some personal and work issues just kept me from writing. I've tried in the past to maintain an update a month, give or take, but it just hasn't been possible. Things are getting back to some semblance of normal, and hopefully this won't happen again. My apologies to my readers, and I hope I still have some after all of this.

Chapter 4 - Somebody Might Still Care

The morning glow revealed a ragged layer of altostratus clouds partly hiding the blue sky above, but Skopje was still cloaked in the shadow of the surrounding mountains. Mike looked over the gray Haibike Urban he had rented from Rachit, a talkative Indian man in his late twenties who apparently helped the owners of the hotel by manning the desk part time. Rachit was explaining to Erin that they only rented top of the line bikes here, and that he was going to get a Haibike for himself, but at the moment he had to make do with a Visp. He went on to explain that if they were going biking in the country, they should certainly go and see Matka Canyon. It wasn't far, and the scenery was very beautiful.

With papers signed and the deposit paid, they managed to detach themselves from Rachit, who was telling them about the Medieval monasteries he had toured in Matka canyon. They cycled a few doors down to a bistro for a quick breakfast at an outside table. The coffee was served in something that looked like a whiskey shot glass, and it came black, sweet, and very strong. Mike realized that he needed the coffee more than he needed the sausage and pastries. Between the hard mattress and unwanted three in the morning thoughts that wouldn't switch off, sleep had been brief and restless.

They'd dressed for the warm weather. Mike had put on shorts, a loose T shirt to hide his Glock, and running shoes. Erin opted once again for loose fitting cargo pants and an untucked linen shirt over a T shirt. Modest but flattering, and it gave her lots of places to hide whatever array of weapons and gadgets they'd fitted her out with.

"I checked on the way over," Erin said, "But there was no mark this morning."

"So Dusko hasn't heard anything about Marta"

"It just means he isn't trying to make contact. We'll give him some more time. Maybe he'll have something for us by the time we get back."

"How long will we be gone?" Mike asked.

"It's not far. We've got about a twelve kilometer ride. Uphill mostly. Hope you're not out of shape."

"I'm pretty sure I can keep up."

"Good. That Rachit guy is right. It is beautiful up in the hills. That canyon he talked about - I've been there on vacation. Last year. That's what gave me the idea of using the bikes. If we take a car, and we cruise slowly by this place, we're gonna stand out. But this way, we keep a low profile. We're just two tourists out seeing the sights."

"Dusko said this place was set back from the road."

"True," Erin replied. "But that's another reason for the bikes. They hide easier than a car. We can conceal them in the woods for a short time and move on foot. Get a close look at whatever there is to see."

"You plan ahead."

"Thanks. I've been doing this for a while."

"You must have been awfully young, then, when you joined the Army."

"I was," she said. I deployed the first time to Afghanistan when I was nineteen. Two tours. The Company after that. Except for my training when I joined the Company, I've hardly lived in the States since I enlisted."

"I called someone," Mike said.

"Oh?"

"I called Ryan. I asked him to try to trace that bank account."

"That phone of yours encrypted?"

Mike paused for a moment without answering.

"I didn't think so," Erin said. "Well, let's hope no one was listening."

"Who would be listening?"

"I used to work with a guy who was fond of using the phone when he was on the job. He used to communicate with other agents that way instead of going to the trouble of a face to face meet. He also called his wife a lot. That was what got him. Someone traced one of those calls home."

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"He got a one way ticket home. Desk job after that. But the agent he was supposed to be meeting was hanged."

She sipped the last of her coffee. "It'll probably be OK," she said. "But that's how it always is. It's OK until it isn't." She glanced at the check, put a few brightly colored bills down on the table, and put her glass on top of them to weight them down. "My treat. Let's get this show on the road."

II

The morning Lufthansa flight into Skopje was a half hour late. Eliza passed the time waiting by alternately browsing news sites on her phone and thinking of all the ways what she was planning could go wrong. There was still time to bail. But she wanted that decryption key. And there was one more thing.

Damned if she'd admit to Strauss or anyone else that she'd failed.

A female voice on the PA system announced that Lufthansa flight 6444 was arriving. She turned off the screen on her phone, slipped it into the pocket of her suit jacket, stood, and waited for her people to appear.

They arrived looking like three up and coming young executives on a business trip. Juliana had chosen a dark suit with a skirt. She was carrying a briefcase that Kaminsky would have stuffed with important looking papers. Stinnes and Kaminsky might both have military backgrounds, but they cleaned up good, and in expensive business suits, walking behind Juliana, they could have passed for investment bankers. One of the advantages of working for Eliza was a generous clothing allowance. How her people looked reflected on her, and her bodyguards dressed to impress.

"How was your flight?" she asked Juliana.

"It was good."

"OK, I've got the three of you booked into the Milvany downtown. Juliana, you'll have your own room, but don't go wandering around unaccompanied. We'll get you booked in, and then you can all freshen up. I've got a car waiting. The three of you ride together. I'll meet you over there, and then we can go over a few things."

"Is anything wrong?" Juliana asked.

"No, but we need to go over some details. Collect our equipment."

"I have to be back in a couple of days," Juliana said.

"And I was hoping we'd be able to take in Euro Disney World," Eliza replied. "Let's go, then. I wouldn't want to waste your valuable time."

III

"That's a minaret."

"Yeah," Erin said. They're all over Skopje. All over this part of Europe for that matter. Didn't you read up on this place?"

"Yeah," Mike said, "but I just never saw one before."

The mosque they were passing was two story, stone, and not much larger than many of the surrounding houses and buildings. Like most of the buildings in town, it sported a peaked, red tile roof. What set it apart was the single minaret attached to one corner, looking like a medieval attempt at rocketry ready to take flight. They were on a secondary road through Saraj, a rural township on the western edge of Skopje. Ahead they could see a truss bridge over the Treska river to their left.

"Most of the people in this country are Orthodox Christian," Erin explained. "But it's about one third Muslim."

"Do they get along?" Mike asked.

" Mostly. But this country has been on the brink of civil war a few times. It's the Balkans. There's a lot of blood feuds here, and some of them go back centuries. Some of them are religious, some ethnic, and there's outsiders who come and fish in troubled waters. To a lot of people, this part of the world is a chessboard, and they come here to play. They play for high stakes, and sometimes they play rough.."

"Like who, for example?"

"Us. The Russians. NATO. Turkey. Iran. The Saudis. A bunch of terrorist groups and militias that most people never hear about. Half the time you don't know who's doing what to whom or why."* She stopped pedaling for a moment, and took a swig from the water bottle in the holder attached to her bike. She looked around at the peaceful countryside. They had emerged from the town and were surrounded by well manicured open fields. Ahead the Treska River was concealed behind a curtain of trees, the bridge an opening through which they could see the fields beyond. "It's a beautiful country, and the people are mostly just like people anywhere. A religion is what you make of it. No more and no less. It's not what's written down in a book. It's what in your heart.." She put the water bottle back in its holder. "Guess that makes me an optimist."

"Nothing wrong with that," he said, smiling. "It can't be easy for someone who's seen what you have."

"You've seen some pretty bad stuff yourself. You lost your father. How's your optimism holding up?"

He thought for a moment. "Maybe not as good as yours."

"We might be close to getting your guy. Then you can go home."

"Yeah. But to what?"

"You said there was someone."

"Was," he replied. "Past tense."

"You sure?" she asked. "Because you don't sound like it."

He didn't answer, opting for a drink from his own water bottle. "I left her," he said, as he put the bottle away.

"I don't know if she'll forgive you," Erin replied. "But I'm pretty sure you'll have to forgive yourself first. That can be the hardest thing." She began pedaling in the direction of the bridge, and Mike followed.

IV

"Where is my car?" Marta demanded.

The thug she was speaking to was a short, broad fireplug of a man with a crooked, flattened nose that might have been broken more than once. But something about him told Marta that the other guy had probably gotten off a lot worse.

"We picked it up last night and brought it here," he explained. He seemed far more interested in the mug of tea he had just poured from the French press sitting on the kitchen counter than in the fate of Marta's car.

"I need it. I have to go out."

"No you don't."

"I haven't a change of clothes. I need things from my flat."

"You need Zamir's permission to go out."

"Well call him."

The man reluctantly set his tea down and fished his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans.

"Zamir? It's Mirko. She wants to go get some things from her flat."

"Let me talk to him," she insisted.

"And she wants to talk to you." A moment passed while Zamir said something, then Mirko handed her the phone and returned to his tea.

"I haven't anything clean to wear," Marta complained. "And Dusko had said something about setting up a meeting with Mike Weston."

"How's your boyfriend this morning?"

"He's fine, no thanks to you."

"Will he remain calm in your absence? Because you aren't going together."

"He'll be fine."

"I hope so, because I will hold you responsible if he makes trouble. What did you learn about the woman you picked up last night?"

"Nothing, really."

"Did she have a name?" Zamir asked.

"She said her name was Eliza."

"No last name then? Did she say where she was from?"

"She was American."

"And you picked her up in the club?"

"Yes. What is all of this about?"

"The men I sent to take care of her are dead."

"You should hire better men."

"Go get your things," Zamir said. "Meet Dusko if you must. And return. Please don't make me look for you."

"I promise to be on my best behavior," she said acidly.

"All right then. Give the phone back to Mirko."

She handed Mirko back his phone, and after a brief exchange with Zamir, he handed over her key ring.

V

This was a morning meeting, and whatever favors the garage owner owed didn't extend to closing up his business during regular hours. The meeting this time would take place on the site of a large industrial facility that covered about three acres and had many buildings and multiple gates. Eliza had been directed to the main office and told to ask for Mr Angelov about buying some brass valves.

The young woman on the front desk told her that Mr Angelov was expecting her, and she was directed to a cinder block building with truck loading docks on the facing side. All five of the rollup doors were closed. On the end was an open rollup door with two forklifts parked next to it. She drove to it and parked her Audi next to the open bay. She got out, carrying a briefcase containing the cash to pay for today's purchases.

Inside were large rolls of copper tubing stacked along one wall, and stacks of cardboard boxes on pallets along the opposite wall. One of the hoods she'd seen with Stan was standing by a stack of pallets, wearing a hard hat, and pretending interest ina clipboard he was holding. Seeing her, he removed a walkie talkie from his belt and said something into it in Macedonian. He pointed to a door at the back of the bay. "In there," he said, in English.

The room beyond was a windowless office with filing cabinets, cheap desks with computers, and even cheaper office furniture. Boxes sat on the desks with two of Stan's hoods keeping watch. One of the desks had no boxes, but had a styrofoam cup of what smelled like tea with a plastic lid on it. Dragon sat behind that desk, this time wearing a Navy Montedoro suit jacket, a white dress shirt with a blue birdseye pattern and no tie, and white slacks. It was a far cry from the coveralls he'd worn at the garage.

Dragon, she realized, cleaned up pretty good.

Dragon rose when she entered. "Good to see you again," he said. "My Father is traveling on business. He told me to take good care of you."

"So the owner of this place owes you a favor too?" Eliza asked.

"I am the owner," Dragon replied with smile. "Well, part owner anyway."

"I had no idea," Eliza said admiringly.

"This was my idea, not my father's. I told him that it would be useful to have an explanation for where we got all the money he was making. And since I majored in business, it gives me a chance to put my degree to use."

"Where did you study?", she asked.

"The Frankfurt School Of Finance And Management."

"I never knew anything about Stan's family. So you're following in his footsteps?"

"He's talking about retiring, but I can't see him sitting idle. He'll still be involved. In the meantime, I have what you requested. Some of it was hard to get on short notice. You increased your order at the last minute."

"Yes, well...I underestimated what we'd need."

"I find that hard to believe, but as you wish. Would you like to examine your merchandise?"

"Yes, please."

Dragon nodded at one of the hoods, who began opening cases. Inside two of the cases, Eliza found handguns for herself and her bodyguards, along with ammunition, holsters, and spare magazines. There were two more cases, one of them about the size of a carry case for a laptop, the other long and thin, maybe sized for a golf club or a fishing rod. She examined the contents of these cases carefully.

"I was surprised," Dragon said, "when you requested these."

She handed him the briefcase full of cash. "I didn't expect to need them."

"I hesitated before filling the order. My father says you are a most valued customer, and that you can be trusted, but I hope you aren't planning anything that will bring down too much heat."

She smiled. Sweetly, she hoped. "I'm the soul of discretion."

He placed the briefcase on the desk he had been sitting behind, opened it, and examined the money. He selected a wad of bills from the bottom and riffed through it. He replaced the stack of bills and closed the briefcase up.

"I believe you," he said.

"If you don't mind my asking...why this? I mean, with a degree from Frankfurt you could work anywhere."

"I could ask the same of you," he said. "Partly out of loyalty. My father paid for my schooling. But also, I was hoping at one time to work in the financial field. London, maybe. And I read an article in Forbes about the giants of the American tech industry. Gates, Jobs, Zuckerberg. And these people were called innovative, and daring, and disruptive. They were said to be on the cutting edge of business, because they had figured out new ways to sell people's personal data, send them targeted advertising, and make it possible for them to post their selfies online. And I thought no. Because we're really the ones on the cutting edge of capitalism, aren't we? We're the ones who shake up the existing order. I wanted something different. We won't ever be profiled in Forbes. But we'll make our mark. Change the world, maybe."

"So are you a visionary, or are you in it for the thrill?"

Dragon smiled a predatory smile. He might have been sizing her up as a business partner or a bed partner. "Can't I be both?" he asked.

"I think I'd be disappointed if you weren't. Well, I have to be getting back. My guys need this stuff."

Dragon gestured at the cases, and said something to one of the hoods. They began picking up the cases. "They'll load your merchandise," he said. "How long are you in town?"

She hesitated before replying. "A couple of days."

"Good. There will be time for us to get together. After you conclude your business." He paused for a moment. "I'll be here for a few more days before I leave. So after you're done..."

And if I'm still alive. No, be optimistic. Because if you say yes, it's like promising yourself that you'll still be around. "Yes," she said. "After I'm done."

She was, she reflected, breaking one of her own rules. But maybe the ones on the cutting edge get to make up the rules as they go along.

VI

As Erin had promised, it was all uphill. They paused at a narrow road that led off the main highway to the right. Mike looked back at the fields they had passed through that were now below them. "This road to the right," Erin said, "takes us past the house."

"Nice view from up here," Mike commented. "I can see what you and Rachit were talking about. "Are those all greenhouses?"

"Yeah. Acres and acres of them. The countryside south of Skopje is full of them. They do a lot of farming in those things."

"Why?"

"Beats me. Something to do with the climate, maybe. I read something about this area being hit by droughts due to climate change." She grinned, and took off her shades for a moment. As she did so, he noticed that she had blue eyes. Like Max. He hadn't noticed her eyes before. "I'm a spook," she said, "not a farmer."

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her T shirt. The day was getting warm. "The place will be on the right. We'll pause in front of it, but only for a moment. We don't want to draw attention."

"That won't give us much chance to observe," he said.

"We'll have plenty of time to observe. See, there's a side road that loops around. We cycle past, we move along, and then we go up that side road. We get behind the house, and if we're lucky, we can find a place in the woods to stash the bikes. Then we hike a short distance, and come up behind the house. We can get close."

"I'm starting to be really glad you're on our side," Mike said. "I'll race you to the top."

'Loser buys the beers when we get back."

"You're on." He began pedaling with a will.

VII

Max awakened with a start. Something seemed wrong. She'd been dreaming. Normally she didn't remember her dreams, but this time she did.

She'd been with Mike. It was in the hospital. She'd been sitting by his bed, and she'd been afraid. She must have been, because she was terrified now. Nightmares. Hell. Just what I need right now.

She suddenly sat bolt upright. She reached for her phone on the night stand beside her and looked at the time. Jesus, why hadn't the alarm gone off? Had she set it. She checked, and yes, she had. What had happened? Was it the lack of sleep? The vodka? She hadn't drunk that much. She shot out of bed and practically dove for the bathroom. No time to shower. No time for breakfast. She'd have to settle for running a brush through her hair, which felt like a rat's nest. My first day. And it's off to a great start.

VIIII

The house was, as Dusko had told them, set back from the road. It was white, with a red tile roof. It was three stories, but fairly compact. The second floor was actually a bit wider than the ground floor, and a staircase led up to a terrace on the second floor. Lots of windows, including bay windows on the front. Trees partly obscured the view from the road. An outbuilding next to the house looked like a garage.

This guy is living awfully well for a fugitive," Erin said.

"The Gray family had serious money."

"Yeah, but this? I mean, if I was on the run, I'd stretch my money. Make it last, especially if someone was trying to run me out of it. This is like a vacation villa. Either he's richer than even you thought, or he's totally irresponsible, or he's got a sizable income."

"We're talking about the world's richest serial killers."

"You have some really interesting friends. I'd like to meet this guy."

"No you don't. The only way I want to see Mark is over open sights."

She looked at him sharply. "You don't want to see him in prison?"

"Yeah, I do."

"That side road is just up ahead. It's a little ways downhill. We can go down that, come back uphill, and maybe get in behind this place."

"So it's uphill both ways," Mike said. "Well that figures. But on the bright side...you're buying."

IX

It was, indeed, uphill both ways. As the road curved and started to turn downhill, they came to a narrow road on the right that led into some woods headed towards the crest of the ridge they were on. The view was gone, hidden by trees on all sides. "Where does this go?" Mike asked.

"No place, really. It loops back to the road we came up from Skopje. In fact, we'll use this to get back, so that we don't have to pass the front o that house twice. I think this might have been built for a developer. We should be able to see the back of the house up ahead. Then we can find a place to ditch the bikes in the woods."

About ten minutes later, they caught a glimpse of the red tile roof of the house through the trees. "OK," Erin said, "let's start looking for a place to hide the bikes."

A short distance from the house they found a spot with tall weeds growing on the shoulder of the road. Erin turned off the road, dismounted, and began pushing her bike into the woods. "This looks good," she said. This spot gets a little more sun because it's just downslope, so it gets more undergrowth. We'll leave them on the other side of this thicket and walk."

They walked towards the house, moving slowly and quietly. Ahead, Mike could see the beginnings of a downwards slope, and he could barely make out the house beyond it. He held up his hand, stopped, and pointed ahead. Erin nodded and pointed at the ground, mothing the word "down". Mike nodded his assent, sank to his knees, and began slowly and carefully low crawling forwards.

Some undergrowth offered them cover about sixty yards from the house. The view from here was partly obstructed by trees, which would make it hard to spot them, but also limited their view. Still, Mike thought, it was a start. They could observe for a while, and then see just how close they could work in.

"Two outbuildings," he whispered. "The one to the left of the driveway looks like a garage."

"Yeah," Erin replied. A two car garage at that."

"Is that a storage building behind the house?" Mike asked.

Erin reached into her fanny pack and produced a small set of field glasses. "You know, I actually think it might be a sauna. Dude lives good."

"Nothing but the best for Lily's kids. Can I look?"

She handed him the glasses. "Only for a minute. If he spots a reflection off those lenses, we might be in some trouble."

"He's not gonna see us. He's having a nice relaxing steam. I bet he's got a Jacuzzi too."

Mike peered through the glasses. "I don't see anyone moving around in there. Let's get closer."

"Not so fast. We can wait here for a while. It's still early. We might even be able to hang out until after dark. We don't want to be moving around if he decides on a day at the spa."

She waited while Mike peered at the house. "Mike? Can I have my glasses back.?"

"In a minute."

"Bloody hell."

"Why didn't you bring an extra pair?"

"To keep you from looking through them all the time until he spotted the reflection."

"He's not gonna see me. I'll give them back in a minute."

"God, you're annoying. And pig headed."

X

Max clipped her newly minted plastic ID badge to the front pocket of the Navy slacks she wore and walked briskly to the Command Center, where she'd been told she'd likely find Gina. She hoped she didn't look too much like someone who'd managed to oversleep on her first day. Gina was there, watching some surveillance footage from a stakeout that had apparently been shot in low light. Sitting in front of her at the monitor was a man with sandy brown hair graying at the temples, and standing next to her was a brunette with an olive complexion. "That looks sort of like him," the brunette was saying, "but the lighting isn't very good. We need to enhance that image."

"Well see what you can do with it," Gina replied. "Next time I'll ask them if they'd like to pose for..." Her thought trailed off as she noticed Max. "Sloane," she said to the brunette. "This is Max Hardy. She'll be working with you. Show her where everything is. Max, I'd like you to meet Erin Sloane."

Sloane extended her hand "It's good to meet you," she said. "I've heard so much about you."

"Yeah," Max replied. That's the problem with being famous. Has anyone seen Ryan?"

"No," Gina said, "but if you see him wandering around tell him I need to see a contact report on that CI he met, and this month would be nice. Excuse me." She picked up a folder from the desk in front of her and walked off in the direction of her office.

"Let's get you settled in," Erin said, "Your desk is over here. They gave you a locker?"

"Yeah."

"I was just looking at some footage of some hacker guy who we think was involved in skimming a few hundred million from the LMS Commercial bank. They managed to transfer it to an account in the Caymans. We ran it down, and they'll recover the money, or at least most of it, but we need to find out if these guys had inside help. I think they might have."

They came to a room with four desks and terminals. "That's yours," Sloane said, indicating an empty desk. "I'll call IS and get them to set you up with a login password."

"Good morning," said a familiar voice behind them. Max turned to find Ryan standing in the door. He had a sheet of paper in his hand. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I'm kind of behind on my paperwork, and I need to run a trace on a couple of bank accounts..."

"It begins," Max interrupted. She turned to Sloane. "I had asked for LA. But Ryan said I should come here because family, and togetherness, and he needed someone to do his scut work."

"It'll give me a break," Sloane said.

Max held out her hand for the paper. "I wondered who was taking care of it in my absence."

Ryan handed the paper to Max. "You two are brutal. You should make a great team."

"Speaking of paperwork," Max said, "Gina is waiting for a contact report. Impatiently."

"Tell her it's coming."

"You tell her," Max replied as Ryan beat a hasty retreat.

XI

"He's coming out," Mike said.

"Let me see. Mike? Glasses. Now."

"And he's not alone."

"Mike, they're my glasses."

Mike peered through Erin's field glasses at the three men coming out of the house. The one in the middle was Mark Gray. The sight of the man who had murdered his father was throwing Mike's adrenal glands into overdrive. He wished he had a rifle with a scope. No. Scratch that. He wanted this to be up close and personal. And in the end, he told himself, it would be.

He'd be close enough to touch the bastard.

They walked to one of the outbuildings, and one of the men produced something small from his pocket. A rollup door began to open. Inside was a blue SUV, a VW of some description.

"Who are those guys?" he asked. "Anyone you recognize?" he handed her the glasses.

"About time," she growled. "You are NOT getting these back."

"Anyone you recognize?" he asked again.

She studied the men. "No."

They got in the SUV, one of the men getting into the driver's seat, while Mark got in back with the second man.

"Who the hell are those guys?" Mike asked. "Followers?"

"They could almost be bodyguards," she replied. "He's got money to burn. Maybe he hired security."

The car pulled out of the building and drove off, turning onto the road. The rollup door closed as it moved away.

"Well, we know he's here," she said. "We can alert the team and...Mike? What do you think you're doing?"

Mike stood up, but kept himself in a low crouch and began moving towards the house, trying to take advantage of whatever cover the ground afforded. He looked at back at Erin. Her face was a mixture of shock, horror, and rage. Bastard she mouthed, and began to follow.

He approached the back of the house cautiously. He passed the sauna and slipped quietly up to the right hand corner of the house, looking anxiously p at the windows. The upstairs windows were covered with curtains. There were no doors at ground level. Access was gained by climbing a flight of stairs to the back door. He walked slowly, in case the stairs, which were made of wood and stained dark brown, should squeak. He reached the back door, and peered in through the small windows on either side. Nothing moved inside.

Mike reached into his pocket and produced his burglary tools. If there was something fancy on this door like a digital lock, he was out of luck. No, it looked like a good old five pin tumbler lock - the most common type on the planet, and the easiest to pick. His tools were rudimentary, metal from a can bent to make a hook pick and a tension wrench. He inserted the hook pick and began to cautiously feel for the pins in the lock. Erin had drawn a Glock pistol, carried inside the waistband of her shorts and concealed under a loose, dark blue T shirt. From the look on her face, he wasn't sure if she was covering him, or about to murder him on the spot.

"Where the hell did you get those?" she whispered.

"Made 'em myself," he replied. "Ryan taught me."

XII

He thought back to before he'd departed for Europe. He and Ryan had been in a bar. Ryan had been drinking a ginger ale. Mike had lost count of exactly how many shots of Jack he'd drunk, but he knew it was a lot. More than ususal for him. He'd left Max in tears. If Ryan hadn't been there, he might have cried himself.

"Are you sure about this?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. I'm sure. Don't try to talk me out of it."

"OK, I won't. But let me ask you something. If your father were here now, would he want you to do this?"

Mike didn't answer. Instead he downed another shot and motioned to the waitress.

"Because," Ryan continued, "I think he'd want you to be happy."

"And you think I'll be happier with Max?"

"Well, you didn't exactly look unhappy with her."

"So you want me to stay here?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Ryan said. "And no."

"Another shot," Mike said to the waitress.

"What I want," Ryan said, "is for you and Max both to be happy. If you stay, you'll brood about this and let it eat at you. You'll make yourself miserable. Her too, probably. If you go, you'll make her miserable. Yourself too, probably."

"Well I either stay or go," Mike said acidly. "So if we're miserable either way, then I might as well go, because that way I can at least get Mark."

"Or you could reconsider your priorities," Ryan replied. "Because I think this is a mistake."

"Because it's not like you just had to get Joe or anything."

"Well you're not going to learn from my mistakes, so at least let's make sure your own mistakes don't get you killed. Because I want you to come back safe. And Max will want that too. So if you're going to do this, then maybe there's some things I can teach you. Things that aren't in the book."

"Like?"

"I'm talking about the Dark Side," Ryan said. "I'm pretty sure you're not going to do this by the book. So there's a few things I can show you."

The waitress placed a shot of Jack in front of Mike. "Thanks," he said. His speech was slightly slurred. "So your idea," he said to Ryan as the waitress retreated," is to show me how to do the wrong thing in the right way."

"Right."

Mike downed his shot in one gulp. " You know, that actually makes sense."

"That's because you're drunk," Ryan replied.

XIII

He felt the first pin lift and inserted the tension wrench into the lock. A long nerve racking minute passed as he carefully lifted each of the other four pins, and the lock turned. Mike opened the door cautiously, and stepped inside.

The living room was open and airy, with a massive L shaped couch facing a coffee table set with large candles with no candle holders. A stack of DVDs sat next to the candles. None of the covers were printed in English.

"You learn that trick in the Bureau?" Erin asked.

"From Ryan."

"They should have sent your pal Ryan over here with you. They could have assigned me to something safe. Disarming bombs, maybe. This is insane."

"Let's have a look around," Mike said.

There were snack trays and empty bags of some kind of snacks in front of the TV. There were empty beer bottles as well. The kitchen was spotless. They never found the Jacuzzi Mike had expected, but the master bath was still pretty impressive. A raised tub with track lighting overhead. The bedrooms upstairs were small. One held a double bed. It was Mark's. There were pictures of Lily and Luke on the night stand. Another bedroom held twin beds. These unmade. In the third room upstairs, presumably another bedroom, they found the cameras.

One wall was draped in black sheets. A heavy wooden chair sat in front of it. A video camera was set up on a stand across the room, pointing at the chair. A table in the corner held zip ties meant for human restraint, a black hood, and what looked like a medical bag. Mike cautiously looked inside. He could see syringes, vials of drugs with the labels printed in Cyrillic script, a blood pressure cuff, and a stethoscope. Next to it was a hinged wooden box held shut by a padlock. Mike reached into his pocket and produced the small leather wallet that held his lockpicks.

"Mike, no."

He ignored her, and pulled out a couple of shims, which he inserted into the shackes of the padlock. He turned the shims, releasing the shackles and opening the lock.

Inside was some kind of electrical device, with a couple of meters, switches and knobs. Electrical cord was wrapped up and tied in a bundle."

"What's that?" Mike asked.

"There's different names for it. Sometimes it's called a picana. It's used for electric shock torture. We need to leave."

"I guess he's got his own internet show. America's Next Top Serial Killer"

"When we catch him we can ask him for a link to his back episodes."

"Why not stay here and wait for them?" Mike asked. "We could just grab him."

"And get him out how?" She stared at Mike for a moment, as if expecting an answer, and then comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh Christ, you aren't planning to take him alive, and you never were."

"You can't call for a chopper?"

"Not by daylight and you know it. Mike, last warning. I'm not the people you're used to dealing with at the FBI. Lock that thing up. We're leaving or you're staying. And you won't be giving them my name."

He looked at her, remembering the time Max had drawn a pistol on him when he had been savagely beating Luke Gray. Max had been furious, and at the same time fearful for him if he didn't get a grip. But he didn't think she would ever have killed him. Erin, he realized, wasn't Max.

"Ok," he said, closing up the shock box. "We'll ask him about this when we have him in custody."

"We will. I hope you can do as good a job picking that lock on the door closed as you did getting it open."

"I learned from an expert."

"You know, I'm starting to understand why they let you go overseas," she said as they started for the door. "Having you and Ryan together must have been like nitro and glycerine."

XIV

The Milvany wasn't as opulent as the hotel Eliza had booked for herself, but it was still s solid four stars. She'd booked connecting rooms for Juliana and her two bodyguards. She'd returned to find Stinnes and Kaminsky finishing up a meal from room service and Juliana asleep.

"Stinnes," she said, "go wake up Sleeping Beauty. We'll need her soon enough."

Stinnes went through the connecting door to Juliana's room while Eliza surveyed her purchases from Dragon. She'd brought back new Walther P99c pistols for all of them along with shoulder holsters, magazines, and ammo. There were also a couple of flash bang grenades. The long case held a Dragunov SVD rifle with a scope. ** It was quite a little arsenal, and it had caused Dragon to wonder just how much hell she was planning to raise.

In fact, Eliza realized, she was starting to wonder about that herself.

An open laptop sat on one of the beds. It was connected by a cable to a GPS unit the size of a smartphone. The screen showed a map of Skopje and the surrounding area. A red target hack showed the location of Marta Pandev's focus. It was, for the moment, sitting in a wooded area southeast of Skopje. Eliza suspected that the house revealed by aerial photos was where Zamir was keeping Marta and Mark Gray. She could afford to wait a while to see if the car was moved, but if it stayed where it was it would complicate her plans, since they had to have Juliana back in the States and might not be able to wait their quarry out.

Stinnes returned a moment later with a sleepy looking Juliana in tow. "Wakey," Eliza said. "It's almost showtime. We'll get you some coffee. Trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah. Every time I'd lay down I kept having nightmares about some psycho bitch who liked to torture and dissect people."

"There's a song by Warren Zevon called I'll Sleep When I'm Dead," Eliza said. "Ever listen to it?"

Juliana glanced around at Stinnes and Kaminsky, and then at the floor.

"This is what we brought you here for," Eliza said. "I've located Mark Gray, and we're going to bring him back. But there's a few complications. Some people are guarding him. Very unpleasant people. So this is turning into something of a rescue."

"How many people are we talking about?" Kaminsky asked.

"I'm not sure, but however many there are, there's two less this morning because I killed two of them last night."

"Who are they?" Juliana asked.

"Well one of them is named Zamir Tolka."

"The terrorist?" Juliana asked. "Are you serious?"

"So you read the news," Eliza said.

"Yes I read the news. We have to go home."

"Not until we have Mark."

"Are you out of your mind? That guy is a stone killer."

"So am I," Eliza said. "I can handle Tolka."

"The Navy SEALS can handle Tolka."

"There's a girl,' Eliza replied. "Her name is Marta Pandev. I met her last night. She's close to Mark, and I think she'll help us. We have to wait for a chance to make contact. I've got a tracker on her car, so we can follow that. We can find out from her how many of them there are, and what they're doing with Gray. If I can get some information, I can improvise a rescue. Stinnes, if you would please, take Juliana to her room and keep an eye on her."

Stinnes wordlessly motioned towards the connecting door, and Juliana followed him out of the room.

"Ma'am," Kaminsky said, after Juliana had gone, "With all due respect, are you sure about this?"

"No. Which is why I'm going in after Gray myself. The two of you will handle support and mind Juliana."

"Ma'am, I worked for your father. I think he'd want me to do more than just handle support. And are you sure this is worth it?"

"This is about more than just getting that decryption key. We need to get Doctor Strauss out of prison so that I can kill him."

"Kill him? You mean..."

"Yes. If he escapes they'll be after him. I told Mr Arkane ***that I was concerned about what Mark Gray might know about us. What Joe Carroll might have known, or revealed. That I was worried about Ryan getting involved. That wasn't quite true. He probably didn't believe it anyway. I'm worried about Ryan Hardy, but I'm really worried about is what happens after Dr Strauss escapes, and Ryan goes into hunt mode. If Ryan catches up with Strauss, he'll make the man talk. Don't get me wrong. I want that list. But I can only use it if we can keep our existence hidden. And the list also provides a cover story if I need one. If the Committee finds out what we're doing here, I can tell them I wanted that list, and conceal the truth. That I know that Strauss has to die. The Chairman can't see it. He's blinded by sentiment. He loved Strauss. So did I, really, but that doesn't keep me from seeing the truth. He's become a liability. A threat to everything we've built. And I'll do whatever it takes."

Kaminsky nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought about it. You're right, of course. I'm sorry I questioned you."

"It's OK," she said, smiling. "You graduated top of your class in sniper school, as I recall."

"I did." he looked at the SVD. "I used that type a lot when I was in Spetznaz." ****

"Well, you can take use it this time, if we need it. And it's OK to ask questions in private."

"Thank you," Kaminsky replied. "You know you can count on the two of us for anything."

"And I'll have to. When we do kill Strauss ... and Juliana, because we'll have to do her too...I will need help."

The open laptop emitted a beep. Eliza glanced at the screen. "She's on the move," she said. "Or at least her car is. Get Stinnes. We're rolling."

XV

Max hung up the phone and sat staring at her computer screen. A half eaten energy bar sat by the computer, along with a cup containing the remains of her coffee, now long cold. "I'm sorry about this," she said.

"It's OK," Sloane replied, without looking up from her desk. "So how's it going there with Ryan's homework?"

"Well, I got what he wanted."

"What did he want?"

"Not what he said he wanted."

Sloane looked up this time. "Say what?"

"In a minute." She picked the phone back up and dialed Ryan.

"Hey," Ryan said. "So how's the first day going?"

"I'm finding my way around. I finished that trace. I'm sending the results to your inbox. What was all of this about anyway?"

"It's mob money. From that stock scam I was telling you about. The one where those two analysts were killed."

"Uh huh. Some of it ended up in Switzerland. And Macedonia."

"Crime has gone global."

"And apparently so have we."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Did you catch up with Gina?"

"She caught up with me," Ryan said.

"And chewed your ass out."

"How did you guess?"

"Listen, I need to be working on a case of my own. Sloane is up to her eyeballs here and I need to help her out."

"OK. Thanks a lot for this.'

"No problem," Max said. "And good luck with that criminal in Macedonia."

Ryan paused a moment before answering. "Yeah," he said at last. " Uh...I gotta go." He disconnected, and Max put down her phone.

"Macedonia?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, there's a guy running around in Macedonia, and he's definitely up to no good."

XVI

Mike fumbled with his homemade lockpicks, trying to get the door to the safe house closed so that no one would know they had been there.

"Any time, now," Erin said.

"I'm almost there."

"You said that five minutes ago. You want me to take a shot at it?"

"I've got it."

"I've done a little breaking and entering myself, you know."

"I've got it."

"I've had the locks and picks course at The Farm. I've broken into high security..."

"I've got it."

"Shit."

"No, I mean I've got it. Let's go."

They retrieved their bikes and started back towards Skopje.

"So what did we learn?" Mike asked.

"I don't know what we learned about them, but I definitely learned something about you."

"You wanted to know if Mark was there, well now we know he's there. And those guys weren't Followers. He's working with someone, and we needed to know that too."

"I also needed to know that you're here to kill him. And that you don't care if you die in the process."

"He killed my father."

Erin stopped pedaling, and Mike stopped beside her. "You've got me mixed up with someone who gives a shit. You said there was a woman. You left her. You're not sure if there's anything to go home to, and you've stopped caring if you go home. Frankly, I don't care either. It's your life. Throw it away if you want to. But you do not take me with you, or any member of my team. As far as I'm concerned they can open whole a new circle of hell where you and Gray can gnaw on each other for eternity. But you're putting other people at risk, and you're hurting other people. Maybe you don't care about yourself. But somebody might still care. If you manage to stay alive long enough maybe you'll find that out."

Mike felt his phone vibrating against his belt. He reached for it, and looked at the screen. Ryan.

"Just a second," he said to Erin.

"Hey Ryan," he said. "Good to hear from you."

Erin shook her head in disgust and reached for her water bottle.

"How's sunny Macedonia?"

"We've actually got some storm clouds here right now," Mike said, glancing at Erin. "What have you got?"

"OK, what I found out is that Mark transferred thirty thou out of that Swiss account a few weeks ago, and put it in that Macedonian bank you gave me, with the unpronounceable name. But here's the thing. He's got another source of funding. A big one. We're watching that account now, and last week, he deposited a hundred thousand. No idea where it came from. It was cash. A series of cash deposits, actually. Different currencies, mostly dollars but some euros. Even some Sterling. He's hooked up with big money. I have no idea where it's coming from."

"OK thanks. We need to get that account frozen."

"We're working on it, but keep in mind it's a nonextradition country. Stuff takes time, and the locals might not cooperate. They're going to ask a lot of questions, and they'll demand proof that this really is Mark Gray's money. I called an old friend of mine in Washington. Dan Shelby. He's working on it."

"Well stay on it. We need to get that money frozen before he withdraws it and moves it somewhere else."

"Listen, I uh...I was up to my ass in this murder case, and I gave the job to Max. I slipped it in with some transfers for some Mob money on the case I'm working, but I'm pretty she guessed what was up. You know how she is. I should have done it myself instead of trying to put one over on her. She hasn't said anything."

"Understood. Thank you. I really appreciate this. I'm sorry about Max. I'll explain everything to her later. If we ever have a later."

"Well maybe later comes real soon. Here's hoping. You take care of yourself, OK? Watch your back."

"I will. Tell Max..." He broke off in midsentence. Tell her what? That I love her and I'm sorry I hurt her? That I'm coming home soon maybe?

"Tell her what?" Ryan asked.

"Never mind," Mike said. "I'll tell her the next time I see her. Take care. Hope to see you soon."

He disconnected, and stood there, aware of Erin's eyes boring into him like ice blue lasers. "OK," she said. "If we're done violating good contact procedures, orders, and basic common sense for today, I'd like to get a shower and some food." She began pedaling in the direction of Skopje.

XVII

Marta went through her flat quickly, packing a single bag with extra clothes and toiletries. She'd learned, working for Dusko how to pack fast and travel light, because sometimes you had to leave in a hurry. At the moment, she was trying to get back to the safe house as quickly as she could. She was afraid that Mark might get into some sort of trouble with another one of Zamir's men, and she was afraid of what Zamir would do if thought she was making a run for it.

She had just finished tossing her Kindle into the bag and was getting clean socks from a drawer when there was a knock at the door. She wasn't expecting anyone. Dusko would have called first. She wasn't expecting any deliveries. Her landlord? She'd complained about the dripping faucet in the bathroom. Maybe he'd sent a plumber. The knock sounded again. "Who's there?" she asked. Again, no answer. She waited a moment, and then looked out the peephole. No one. She went back, threw a few socks in the bag, and closed it up. Time to go. She went tot he door, and opened it. As she did, the door open violently inwards, and she was shoved back. She found herself facing a woman wearing a houndstooth suit jacket over a short burgundy dress. The woman was holding a boxy semiauto with a silencer screwed onto the end.

"Remember me?" the woman asked.

Marta remembered. It was the woman from the club. Eliza.

Musical Interlude - I Should Have Killed You By Deadbolt

====================Chapter Notes ========================

* Balkan history and politics are complex. Erin's statement is accurate, but a detailed explanation would be longer than this fic, and it isn't necessary. Islam has been present in the Balkans for centuries, along with Christianity. The two don't always coexist peacefully. Search engine or history books if you care.

** A sniper rifle used by the Russian army, and exported all over the world. Pictures can be seen online. It's a venomous looking weapon. It takes a ten round detachable box magazine and has an effective range of 800 meters.

*** Pronounced ahr-KAH-nuh, which is the German pronunciation of the word.

**** Russian army special forces. The name, in Russian, is short for Special Tasks.

Notes:

The shackles of a padlock are the ends of the U shaped metal rod. A shim is a small thin strip of metal with a tab. Bent into a U shape, it that can be used to open the shackles of most padlocks, although not the better ones.

Yes, you can conceal a Glock or other handgun while wearing a T shirt and shorts. I've done it lots of times. And a spare mag or two. With cargo shorts I can also find room for a flashlight, a knife, a multitool, a note pad, a ballpoint, and my phone and wallet, but that's neither here nor there. If you know what you're doing, none of this will never be noticed short of a pat down or a metal detector.

Yes, you can make your own lockpicks like Mike, using a can, a paperclip, or whatever bendable metal happens to be handy. But this is a fic, not a how to course on burglary.

And yes, if you pick a lock open and you don't want anyone to know you've been there, you have to pick it closed when you leave, something that Hollywood tends to ignore.

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