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  The clouds over Los Angeles hung low in the morning, trapping the air and the exhaust of four million morning commuters. Street-level Hollywood was smogging up a couple hours after dawn, but high in the Hollywood Hills, the air was somewhat cleaner and markedly cooler.

  Ken Cage wore a Harvard sweatshirt and an LA Kings ball cap to ward off the slight chill, and he sat at a canopied glass table near the deep end of his infinity pool, sipping coffee with his sandaled feet up on the table. Before him his landscaped and manicured two acres cascaded down a steep slope. Beyond that, Hollywood was splayed out flat and wide, and in the distance the skyline of downtown LA seemed to lord over the entire scene.

  While he sipped coffee and gazed out at the view, all three of Cage’s kids lounged around the pool, having just finished breakfast. This was family time, before Dad started his workday, but all of Cage’s kids stared into screens held in their hands.

  His wife, Heather, sat next to him, and she also held a tablet computer in her lap. She read aloud an article about a museum exhibit one of her friends had recently curated, but Ken Cage barely heard her.

  As he gazed out at the view, his mind wasn’t focused on his family, on his property, or on his work; it was focused on the next shipment of girls to Rancho Esmerelda. Two would be arriving from Asia in less than a week. Two more he’d see in Venice on his upcoming trip there, and then they would be flown back to America with Jaco in a jet owned by one of the Consortium’s shells.

  There would be other new girls coming, but these four he’d chosen by hand, and he was looking forward to enjoying them all.

  His most anticipated, without question, was the snotty Romanian bitch who’d spurned his advances but drunk his champagne, had come to his hotel suite but refused to sleep with him, had slapped him hard across the face when he tried to overpower her, like he’d done so many times before with so many of his conquests.

  The night he’d met the drop-dead-gorgeous brunette, she’d been all too ready to talk to him and to drink his booze, but she’d also seemed a little standoffish and dismissive. And when, on the third night in a row they’d seen each other, she told him he was too old for her, he’d leaned over to Jaco and demanded she be delivered on a platter to him in the USA, no matter the cost. Jaco had protested; he claimed to sense a rebelliousness in her that would be more trouble than she’d be worth, but Cage liked this trait. In fact, her defiance ranked just below her beauty in reasons why the American ordered the young woman be rolled up and placed in the pipeline for delivery.

  He wasn’t worried about rebelliousness, about defiance. At the moment, Cage knew, the girl sat aboard Kostas Kostopoulos’s yacht, getting mind-fucked by Dr. Claudia Riesling. He knew Riesling would rid her of part of her rebelliousness, and he’d rid her of the balance of it himself when she got here.

  So now the girl was on her way. He didn’t remember what she told him her name was—there were so many women he met on his recruiting trips, after all—but he’d been told Riesling was calling her Maja. She, the Thai, the Indonesian, and the Hungarian would be the newest members of Rancho Esmerelda, just seventy minutes north of the Hollywood Hills, and he and his protection detail would make the drive up there whenever he could get away from his duties at home and at work.

  His thoughts returned to his present surroundings, but only until he saw his personal protection agent, Sean Hall, step out of the two-thousand-square-foot pool house tucked deep into lush landscaping on the other side of the patio. The wiry and tan blond made his way purposefully along a small fieldstone footpath, past a pair of koi ponds, and towards the family he protected. He had iPhone EarPods in his ears, and his gesticulations as he walked suggested to Cage that the ex–Navy SEAL was fully engaged in conversation.

  Ken looked down at his watch and saw it was not yet eight. Hall didn’t normally report in till nine thirty.

  The two men made eye contact and Hall ended his call, pulled out the EarPods, and stepped onto the patio.

  Charlotte, Ken’s sixteen-year-old daughter, sat on a lounge chair by the pool away from her parents. “Hey, Sean. You been surfing?”

  He kept walking, but smiled as he replied. “As much as I can. You’ve been practicing on your board?”

  “A little bit,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Waves have been up at Zuma Beach. We’re still going next Wednesday morning, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m down,” she replied, and then Charlotte returned her attention to her phone.

  Sean passed and high-fived twelve-year-old Juliet, also on her phone on a lounge chair, and waved across the pool to seven-year-old Justin, who sat watching a YouTube video on his iPad.

  Ken Cage’s head of security stepped up to his table, and Heather finally took her eyes off her tablet. “You’re early. Want me to get Isabella to bring you out some coffee so you can join us?”

  The forty-year-old shook his head. “I’m good, but thanks. I just need to talk to the boss here a second.”

  “Then you both are starting work early this morning, I guess.” She said it with an admonishing tone, but it was clearly focused on Ken and not Sean.

  Cage saw a serious look on his bodyguard’s face, so when Heather’s eyes drifted back down to her device, Ken jerked his head towards the house. Hall nodded, indicating that whatever he had to say did, in fact, need to be said in private.

  Cage finished the last of his coffee in a swig as he stood. “Just give me a couple minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  His wife replied, “Ask Isabella if she can bring me a refill.”

  “Will do, honey.”

  The fifty-four-year-old entered his home office a minute later, followed by his security chief. As soon as he made it to his desk, Cage glanced down at his computer screens, getting his first look of the day at the international markets. While taking in the data, he said, “Heather kicks me in the nuts when I work before nine, Sean. Make it quick.”

  Hall shut the door to the office. “Can we get the white noise?”

  Without looking, Cage reached for the remote next to him and tapped a button, and the ambient noise on the high-end entertainment system came on. Still looking over the markets, he said, “What’s got you so fired up this morning?”

  Hall said, “I spoke with Verdoorn a few minutes ago.”

  “That’ll do it.”

  “He’s . . . he’s concerned about this clown who has been attacking points along the pipeline.”

  Distractedly, Cage said, “Believe me. I’ve been made aware.”

  “Right. Sir, in light of all the information he’s provided me . . . I’m going to go ahead and suggest we cancel your trip to Italy tonight.”

  Cage swiveled his gaze away from his monitors quickly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Jaco has filled me in on some of this threat’s career exploits. He’s the real deal. The Albanians didn’t stop him in Croatia, the danger to the pipeline seems to be ongoing, and until White Lion puts a lid on it, I feel like it’s in our best interests to curb your travel into that theater of operations.”

  Cage rolled his eyes. “Theater of operations? It’s a fucking tourist trap where we’re going.”

  “For tourists, it is. But for you, sir, it’s an unnecessary security risk.”

  Cage sighed like a child, then sat down at his massive desk and swiveled his chair so he could face his phone. “We’re calling Jaco right now.” He punched numbers, then waited. He neither knew nor cared what time it was over in wherever the hell Jaco was.

  He put the call on speaker and the two men listened to it ring in silence.

  After a click and a pause, they heard, “Verdoorn.”

  “Encrypted,” Cage said, and Verdoorn replied.

  “Confirming encrypted. Hello, sir.”

  “You’ve got Sean here saying he wants me to cancel my trip.”

  The So
uth African had clearly been expecting the call. He replied, “I think that would be best.”

  Cage sighed again, louder, slower, and more dramatically this time. “So some asshole running around in Croatia has control over my itinerary now? Telling me where I can and cannot go? Is that it?”

  Verdoorn replied patiently. “He’s not just some asshole, sir. He—”

  “Are you telling me you don’t have this situation under control?”

  “Yes, sir. I am telling you that, exactly. And until we do, I need you to stay away from this area. If it were anyone else, he’d already be dead and in the dirt. But he’s the Gray Man.”

  Now Cage shouted with rage. “I don’t give a shit what color that motherfucker is! No one is going to get in the way of my business interests. I run this show! I do!”

  It was silent for several seconds, and then Verdoorn’s disembodied voice resumed. “Hall? I believe this is where you chime in.”

  Sean Hall was clearly more intimidated by his boss than Verdoorn was. He nodded to the phone, then looked to Cage. “Sir, sorry for pointing this out. But the fact is, your business doesn’t have anything to do with why you want to go to Venice. The market would continue with or without you. I understand you want to meet with some of the players, but at the end of the day this is a personal vacation, and I don’t see why we should risk—”

  Cage interrupted. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing from you two chickenshits.”

  Hall said, “Sir . . . it’s not fear, it’s risk management. We take threats seriously. I understand you want to retain free movement, despite the—”

  Cage waved his hand in the air wildly. “I’m going to Italy. This asshole doesn’t know who I am, or that I even exist. Verdoorn, you and your shit-hot South African badasses will take care of the Gray Man, and Hall, you and your shit-hot American badasses will protect me while I’m there if Verdoorn doesn’t do his job. Am I understood by you both?”

  Hall made no reply, but Verdoorn had some fight left in him on the matter. “The merchandise going to market in Venice. You’ve examined the best of the lot. We can have it over to you in just a couple of days. Stay home this time, boss.”

  The short bald man launched to his feet now. “Jesus Christ, I’m surrounded by pussies!” Though he was four full inches shorter than Hall, he jabbed a finger in the man’s muscular chest as he spoke, his words meant for both the man in front of him and the man on the phone. “You two need to grow some fucking balls and do your jobs!”

  Verdoorn remained eerily calm. “We are doing our jobs. It’s our job to give you our fair assessment. I am in charge of overseas operations, and Mr. Hall is in charge of your personal security.”

  Cage shouted at the speakerphone. “Who’s in charge of signing your fucking checks?”

  The door to the office opened, and Cage and Hall spun towards the movement. Heather Cage leaned in with a worried look. “Everything all right, hon?”

  Verdoorn began to speak, but Cage muted the phone. “Sure, babe. Just work.”

  She looked back and forth between the two men. “Sean, you look like you just ate a rotten peach.”

  Hall put on a quick smile. “Ha. No, ma’am. We’re just working out details of the trip to Switzerland. Your husband wants to run around faster than we can keep up, but we’ll take good care of him.”

  She gave a pout, then eyed her husband. “Sean knows what’s best, Ken.”

  “Of course he does,” he replied, and she left the room.

  The conversation between the three of them continued for a minute more, but Cage managed to keep his voice down. Neither the South African former soldier and intelligence officer nor the American former Naval Special Warfare chief petty officer pushed back again on their boss’s impending travel plans.

  Together Hall and Verdoorn spit out a reluctant “Yes, sir,” and the matter was resolved.

  After Cage took a few calming breaths, he sat back down at his desk. In a softer tone, he said, “All right. Jaco . . . what do you need?”

  “You have declined my one request, so I will proceed as follows: My men are already in Venice, where they are performing an advance reconnaissance of the market. I am on board the vessel with the shipment from Dubrovnik. We will moor off Croatia tonight to accept delivery of items traveling the northern route, and then head to Italy tomorrow morning. My men and I will provide an outer cordon for the market’s security, and if the Gray Man should arrive, we will deal with him.”

  “There’s nothing else you need?”

  “I have all the resources I require at this time,” Verdoorn said in a clipped tone.

  Cage turned his attention to his bodyguard. “Sean . . . anything I can do for you short of locking myself in my office and hiding under my desk?”

  “No, sir.” He looked utterly defeated, and Cage liked this look on the normally easygoing and self-assured man.

  “You gonna keep me safe?”

  “Of course, sir,” he said with a nod. And then, “Absolutely. I’ll coordinate with Jaco offline and we’ll take care of things.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Fifteen minutes later Hall was back in his pool house apartment, an icy 1.5-liter bottle of Grey Goose from the freezer in his hand and his EarPods in his ears. He was on another encrypted call, for the third time today, with Jaco Verdoorn, while he drank his fourth shot of vodka of the day.

  Hall said, “Cage is a prick. But he fuckin’ pays like no one else.”

  Verdoorn said, “We’ll earn our money on this one. We have to plan on the Gray Man being there, in Venice.”

  “How can he possibly know—”

  “He seems to be getting his intel on the fly. He learned something at the Mostar way station that led him to Vukovic. He learned something from Vukovic that led him to Dubrovnik. I think it’s possible that he learned something in Dubrovnik that will lead him to Venice.”

  “Aren’t you stopping to pick up more girls before Venice?”

  “Yes, but we’ve moved the location. He won’t find us there.”

  “All right,” Hall said. “I can put guns and guys on my protectee, but I can’t go out there and whack your assassin for you.”

  Verdoorn replied, “I suggest you bring Cage into Venice normally, the way you always do. Assuming we don’t get Gentry before tomorrow night, we will attempt to acquire our target as he closes on his target.”

  Hall stared at his phone, then swigged more icy vodka straight from the bottle. “So you are saying my principal will be in the center of a manhunt. Like . . . like bait.”

  “It’s a big world, mate. We can only find Gentry if we draw him to us. I have no bloody clue if the Gray Man knows about Cage, or the market, or even if he knows about Italy. I just know it’s better to respect your enemy’s capabilities. Something I learned along the way, and something they didn’t teach our employer in business school, apparently.”

  “Christ, Jaco. That’s a hell of a risk for the Director.”

  “That’s right, it is. But I told Cage to stay home. He refused, so I’m gonna make the best of it and use him to bag my prey. And that means you and your men better be on bloody point, because this bastard’s got the skill to take out your principal if you let your guard down for an instant.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Hall said.

  Verdoorn hesitated a moment, then said, “I can hear it in your voice. You’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Hall swigged another sip. “But I’m drinking. The boss is covered, why not?”

  The South African snapped back, “Keep your fuckin’ head, Hall! I see any evidence you aren’t one hundred percent in Italy, and I’ll tell the Director about your little problem with the bottle.”

  If Verdoorn expected Hall to melt in fear of this threat, Hall surprised him by saying, “I can hear it in your voice, Jaco.”<
br />
  “Hear what?”

  “I can tell that you are excited by the prospect of going after this Gentry. Just make sure you don’t put my principal in unnecessary danger to draw him out.”

  “Your principal, my employer, put himself in unnecessary danger. You and I will untangle him from it. It’s what we do as professionals, Hall. You’re the shield, I’m the sword. We’ll both do our jobs.”

  “Yeah, right,” replied the American. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Roxana slept fitfully for a few hours, but after waking and eating the best meal she’d had in years, she was told she needed to dress for a meeting with Dr. Claudia.

  She didn’t have a clock, but through the portal she could see that the sun was high in the sky, so she assumed it was early afternoon when the American entered, the woman’s light but not altogether trustworthy smile on full display.

  For an hour Claudia asked questions of the young Romanian woman, about her life, her education, her hopes, and her dreams. Roxana kept her answers short, clipped, and often noncommittal; sometimes she outright lied. In between, she asked questions of her own about the pipeline, none of which were answered by the psychologist.

  Then the older woman began talking about money and glamour, told her how excited she was that Roxana—she called her Maja, of course—would soon be taken in by a powerful and successful man who would shower her with attention and adoration.

  Roxana just stared back at her. “Are you trying to brainwash me?”

  Claudia’s smile faded a little. “I don’t look at it like that. I’m here to appeal to you, to get you to understand how lucky you are.”

  “I am being forced into sexual bondage. The other women on board are going to be sold into sexual bondage. You understand that, right?”

  With a frustrated sigh, the American responded with, “You need to see this as your liberation.”

  “My liberation?”

  “Of course. You will come to America, live like a princess, and experience things you never would have had the chance to experience without this opportunity.”