Whether Hadzic was assassinated by fellow detainees who were worried that he was on the verge of cutting an immunity deal or accidentally killed in a botched rescue attempt remained the only point of speculation in the investigation surrounding his death. Berg wanted to believe his own people assassinated him, the irony inescapable; however, evidence suggested otherwise.
Most investigators opined that the explosive charge detonated underneath the armored United Nations Detention Unit transport van had been too small to guarantee the immediate death of the vehicle’s occupants and had more likely been used to disable the vehicle, and a team had been assigned to break into the van and grab Hadzic. By sheer chance, the explosion simultaneously breached the van’s bottom armor and blasted the contents of the gas tank into the passenger cabin, instantly engulfing Srecko Hadzic and three United Nations security officers in superheated flames. Little remained inside the scorched and twisted van chassis beyond a few blackened skeletons held loosely upright by the metal frame of their seats.
When news of Hadzic’s death arrived, Berg had felt smugly satisfied.
Good riddance.
One of humankind’s worst had burned to death, maybe a little too quickly from what he could tell by the video streaming out of The Hague. The ghastly, smoldering skeletons looked far too at peace in the context of the inferno that had taken them. A few weeks later, after DNA extracted from the bone marrow of one of the skeletons confirmed Hadzic’s death, he raced to inform Jessica that Hadzic no longer posed a threat. He’d felt relieved for her and, interestingly enough, himself.
Verification of Hadzic’s death meant one less danger in the world for the woman he’d thrown to the wolves. When it came to Nicole Erak, aka Jessica Petrovich, Berg was ruled by guilt. Against his better judgment or, better stated, in collusion with blinding arrogance, he’d pushed an exceptionally talented CIA recruit with identified emotional baggage into a high-risk, pressure-cooker assignment. Regardless of her ultimate betrayal of the agency, he felt personally responsible for the downward mental spiral that led her there. Infiltrating Hadzic’s Panthers had shattered the young woman he’d trained, replacing her with a hardened, remorseless wretch.
He’d never forgive himself for what happened to her, which was why he struggled with the information in front of him. He really should delete the message, but the thought of unilaterally making the decision to deprive her of the last chance to see her mother didn’t sit well with him.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. “She can figure this out.”
He’d send her a text, passing along what he knew when and if she returned the call. There was no guarantee she would respond. General Sanderson seemed to think the Petroviches were on the verge of disappearing for good. Berg hoped so. As useful and effective as they had been in the past and could continue to be in the future, their luck would run out sooner than later. Thinking of Sanderson gave him an idea. If he could arrange a little insurance policy, he’d feel far better about the situation.
Chapter 8
Daniel eyed the sunset beyond the natural rock jetty that formed the western end of the long white sand strip of beach in front of their table. Jessica caught his glance and stole a quick look over her shoulder before lifting her mojito from the table for a long sip.
“Should I be worried?” she asked.
“Uh… no,” Daniel said, stalling for words and coming up with something completely unconvincing. “I just feel bad that you’re not enjoying the sunset.”
“Okay…” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s not like we don’t see the sunset every night.”
His eyes darted to the western horizon again. Where the hell was the boat? He’d drawn out the evening as long as possible, paying the wait staff for a leisurely service pace that redefined the concept of “island time.” He’d even arranged for the kitchen to inform Daniel of a faux mistake with Jessica’s order, resulting in a twenty-minute delay while both of their meals were prepared freshly, to their satisfaction. He needed every spare minute he could muster.
The crew he’d hired needed a minimum of two hours to outfit the boat and deliver it to the shallow waters in front of the restaurant. When he’d last checked with them, roughly forty minutes ago, they’d assured him that everything was still on schedule. The boat should have arrived fifteen minutes ago. Daniel considered excusing himself for another bathroom break to check in with the crew when the top of a sailboat mast appeared over the rocky outcropping.
He smiled at Jessica and turned his head toward the kitchen entrance, where a member of the wait staff stood unobtrusively to the side, pretending to busy himself at one of the server stations. Daniel nodded at the man, who moved swiftly toward the bar.
“Now you have me worried,” said Jessica, looking in the direction of the bar.
La Ombra’s bow emerged from behind the rocks, the dark blue-hulled sailboat motoring swiftly through the calm reddish-orange reflected water. Daniel stared a little too long at the boat, drawing Jessica’s attention.
“Is that our boat?” she asked, squinting at the shape moving across the setting sun.
Their waiter materialized with a stainless steel ice bucket tilted in its bamboo stand to reveal an open bottle of champagne. While the waiter arranged the bucket next to the table, another server slid two champagne flutes onto the white-linen-topped table. Jessica looked convincingly flummoxed, which convinced Daniel that his scheme had gone undetected until moments ago. She downed most of her remaining mojito and placed the sweating glass on the table away from the champagne flutes.
“What are you up to?” said Jessica, half smiling.
“I’m proposing,” he said, mouthing, “Thank you,” to the waiter, who quickly disappeared.
“We’re already married, if I remember correctly.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not doing one of those re-proposal things.”
“I’m not opposed to the concept,” said Jessica, her attention focused on the sailboat anchoring offshore.
“I’m proposing something better,” he said, sliding the chilled bottle out of the ice bucket.
After filling each glass halfway and replacing the bottle, he raised one of the champagne flutes, holding it halfway across the table. Before Jessica could grab the other glass, her smartphone buzzed on the seat next to her, the screen illuminating the chair back in the declining light. They rarely received calls, which was why he wasn’t surprised or bothered when she interrupted his ceremony to check the phone. Given their past and present line of work, both of their phones remained close at hand at all times. A call from Sanderson or one of their intelligence contacts could mean the difference between life and death if a last minute threat was detected.
Jessica looked bothered. “Berg wants me to call him immediately. Says it’s urgent.”
“As in life-threatening urgent?”
She shrugged and then read the message. “Urgent that you call me immediately.”
The message didn’t sound immediately life threatening, but its nebulous quality made Daniel nervous. Better safe than sorry.
“The champagne is chilled, the boat is anchored, and I’m not going anywhere. Let’s see what the mysterious Mr. Berg wants.”