Morning. Ten o'clock.
Alex Cross came downstairs to the hotel as agreed the day before. He met Lena, Daniel Pine, and the three other Hallstatt killers who had accompanied them.
Nothing about them had changed much—especially the three town operatives, who were still gushing beside Lena. "Man, the Lighthouse beds are so comfy—one touch and I'm out cold…"
Lena only half-listened, her gaze fixed on Alex as he descended. Though she still hadn't learned the exact fate of her sister, the deal Alex had made with her stood: if he returned alive from Prague, she would be reunited with her sibling. That promise had been enough.
Daniel cast Alex a quick, casual glance and then resumed chatting with the others as if nothing had happened—no sign betrayed that he had already betrayed Hallstatt and cut a deal with Alex to become his inside man for the Prague operation.
"Mr. Cross…" Lena kept her emotions tightly reined. As he approached she wore a faint, composed smile.
"One day's passed. Have you reached your final decision?" she asked.
"Sorry, Miss Lena. I'm not going to trade with you," Alex answered coolly—precisely the outcome both sides had long suspected.
Lena gave a curt, polite farewell and, together with Daniel and the other three killers, left the hotel. Once outside and inside the car, she dialed the tribe elder. The old voice came over the line: "He refused?"
"Yes." Lena replied.
"Return home. I'll handle what comes next."
The car headed for the airport.
Inside the hotel, Alex's phone buzzed. Unknown number. He smirked, tapped to answer, and heard the elder's dark, reedy voice from Prague: "Mr. Cross, you made the wrong decision. I believe you will soon regret refusing me…"
"Are you threatening me?" Alex asked, smiling but with a tightening in his tone.
The old man's voice hardened. "Boy, do you think I'm joking?"
"Isn't that obvious?" Alex shot back, goading him on to feel for the elder's nerve. It worked—the elder's temper flared.
"You sent women to Berlin—if anything happens to them, you'll pay dearly." the old man snarled.
Alex feigned anger and replied in kind, matching the performance: "Old man, congratulations—you've succeeded in angering me. If you insist on dying, I'll go to Prague and bury you myself. Hope you enjoy your last moments."
He hung up without letting the elder answer.
That afternoon in the underground training base, after wrapping up New York business, Alex threw himself into the final phase of his preparation. From close-quarters grappling to long-range marksmanship, he drilled relentlessly. Even though his physique already pushed the human limit, and his close combat and firearms mastery had reached LV5, he still gave himself two and a half days to harden and synchronize every newly acquired skill.
Time raced.
On the training field Alex finished with a throw that flattened the last of thirty blue-grade recruits. He rose, surveyed the thirty-plus bodies lying on the ground, took the towel Anna offered, wiped the sweat from his face, and walked off the mat. Susie followed, reporting the latest developments over the past forty-eight hours.
"Mr. Manfredi dismantled the Night Demon Organization's last pockets of resistance last night. The Lighthouse now controls most of New York's gang network." Susie reported. "Alanna has arrived in Austria and checked into the Continental. The Hallstatt tried twice to strike her, but our covert operatives neutralized both attacks."
Alex listened as he paused at the shooting range. He loaded another magazine, took aim, and fired. Between magazines he spoke calmly: "Arrange a private jet for me. Depart nine tomorrow morning to Prague. Don't hide the itinerary—I want to see how many people try to stop me."
He chambered another round and resumed firing—headshots, chest shots—running through clip after clip as he practiced the Mozambique-style patterns he'd learned from John Wick. When he finally stopped and reloaded, he set about two last tasks.
"Contact John Wick—tell him to be at the airport terminal two hours before departure," Alex ordered. "And while I'm gone, you, Manfredi, and Duggan will run the hotel, the club, and the assassin contract operations."
Susie nodded and took down the orders. The clock was ticking; Prague awaited.
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If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash