Albania's winter was cold and wet, with rain pouring endlessly. He had been hiding in this rundown house for three days, waiting for Hendrick's next instructions.
The phone rang.
It was Hendrick.
"The boss says you should go to Costa Rica."
"Scorpion" paused.
"Costa Rica? Isn't it—"
"There's trouble over there. Mexicans have gone in and killed seventeen of our people. The boss needs someone to check out the situation."
"Scorpion" remained silent for a few seconds.
"How do I get there?"
"The boat is ready. Tonight at ten, outside Durres Port, that fast boat. Someone will pick you up when you arrive."
The call ended.
"Scorpion" looked out at the rain.
Costa Rica.
A place he'd never been to.
Athens, outskirts.
When Maria woke up, she found herself lying in a small room.
The room was dark, with only one lamp casting the silhouette of a man.
The man sat opposite her, in his forties, wearing a black jacket, holding a cigarette.
