A scared young woman who simultaneously wants to pay penance for what she’s done. And I see her for what she is now.

Dangerous.

* * *

• • •

Minutes later, I sense fresh trouble. Movement in the dark, down a long passage that runs up from the center of the Old Town, hundreds of ancient stone steps, past dozens and dozens of doorways leading to private residences, raised porches lined with potted plants.

At first I can only tell I’m observing a group of individuals, but as they pass into one of the too-sparsely-placed streetlights, the orange glow reveals a half dozen men, dressed differently than the ones I saw earlier. Whereas the other men looked more tactical in nature, this group looks like a tiny gang of soccer hooligans.

I see dark clothing, facial hair on some, longer hair on others.

Again I use the app on my phone to check the cameras I’ve hidden in stairwells and passages I can’t see from here. Everything seems quiet other than the men moving straight up the middle.

But even though I don’t see others on my cams, I wonder if there are more around.

The men close on my position with confidence, climbing stairs through the night as one. They are cohesive, an organized unit, each man comfortable that the other has his back.

The men’s hands are empty, but that means nothing. They’ll have weapons.

I work with just a few operating principles, but one of them is ironclad: every motherfucker I come in contact with has a weapon.

I speak softly, careful to not show any anxiety now, though I’m feeling a ton of it. “Talyssa?”

I guess I failed, because her own voice changes suddenly; apparently, she can sense the change of gravity in mine. “Yes. Yes, I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“It’s showtime. I’ve got men approaching, and they fit the mold. They’re about two minutes from us at their current pace.”

“Oh my God . . . what do I do?” Her voice cracks as she speaks.

“First, stay calm. I’ve got everything under control.” This is a lie; I’d only really have control of this situation if I were up here on the roof in a sand-bagged position with an M60 belt-fed machine gun. But I tell myself that showing confidence I don’t have is for her own good. Quickly I move in a low crouch along the angled tile roof to the west side of the building, out of the view of the men approaching from the north. While doing so I say, “I need you to go to your window and open it.”

I grab the rope and step up on the ledge. Rappelling down quickly, I arrive at her window in just seconds. She is just now opening it, her purse and a backpack over her shoulder.

Our comms channel is still open, but we are five feet away so she can hear me through her earpiece and in person. “Come to me. Grab me around the neck.”

She moves closer, but she looks down and then backs up a little. It’s only about thirty feet to the cobblestones, which isn’t that far, but it’s plenty far enough to kill her if she fell.

I urge her on. “You’re fine. Come on.”

She comes closer again, but she doesn’t put her foot up on the windowsill, and it’s going to be impossible for me to haul her out while holding the rope.

“Work with me, Talyssa.”

“I . . . I can’t. I’m—”

“Really bad dudes will be coming through that door behind you in one minute. You want to take your chances with me, or with them?”

She looks back to the door, makes no move towards me, and she’s just out of reach. I’m straining on the rope as it is.

I try a joke. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

But she looks at me, then back at the door. She has a fear of heights, which is not unreasonable, but I also sense that she has a fear of me.

I get that, too, I guess.

She’s nearly panic-stricken now. “I . . . I can’t do this. I’ll meet you downstairs. I’ll find a back way out. I’ll hurry.”

“There’s no time for that. Trust me. Just step up and—”

But she’s already turning away and rushing to the door of her room.

Son of a bitch.

I quickly rappel down towards the passageway on the west side of her building, and while doing so I try to come up with a new plan. I’ve got to work with the situation before me, because my original scheme is up in smoke. Fortunately, I have a rich history of shit going wrong for me to fall back on.

I speak softly for the mic in the earpiece, not wanting my words to carry in the narrow passage. “Run down the stairs to the ground floor and find a window, as far away from the main entrance as possible. Do not go out into the courtyard because you’ll walk right into them if you do.” I don’t know for sure that they won’t send men around the back or sides of the building. I would. But I do know for sure they’ll send men straight up the middle, because I saw them advancing up the stairs without any defensive tactical posture.

I could see it in their walk, in the way they moved—these guys aren’t worried about shit.

“Okay,” she says.

“I’ll come around back to meet you.”

“Yes,” she says again, and I hear nothing but stress in her voice.

Once on the ground I release the line, pull off my gloves, and jam them in my pack. I start moving towards the rear of the building, and I keep trying to calm her.

“You’re fine, just get out of there.”

“I’m in the kitchen. The window opens. I’m climbing out now.”

“Okay, keep quiet.”

I near the building’s edge at a silent run, my hand brushing the stone of the wall as I slow to look around. I haven’t drawn my weapon and hope I don’t have to; a single gunshot in these narrow stone corridors would bring every bad guy down on me in seconds. And even though I have a silencer in my pack, the report of suppressed Glock 19 fire is still louder than a snare drum at a heavy metal concert.

I want to maintain stealth, but how the next few minutes go down is not up to me. Instead it’s up to the Romanian woman I’ve tied myself to in this op, and the assholes coming to get her.

Just before I peer around the corner, I hear noise in the back passageway. The scuffle of footsteps on stone. I whisper, “Move quietly. I can hear you running from here.”

But Talyssa’s reply in my ear causes me to stop in my tracks. “Just climbing out the window now.”

And this is bad news, because it tells me there is someone else running behind the building.

“Wait,” I say, but I can hear the sounds of her climbing out the window, both over my earpiece and through the echoing of her movements along the passages.