The holding cell was cold, the air thick with the smell of rust and fear. Stone stood on one side of the reinforced glass, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the man inside. The target—Marcus Webb, according to the files—sat on a metal chair, his hands cuffed to the table, his face pale but composed. He hadn't spoken since they'd brought him in.
Elena moved to Stone's side, her voice low. "He's not going to talk. Not easily."
Stone nodded slowly. "Then we make him talk. We find what he cares about."
Wrench appeared on his other side, his face grim. "I've been going through his files. He's got a family. A wife and daughter in a safe house in Switzerland."
Stone turned to him. "Do they know what he does?"
Wrench shook his head. "I don't think so. They're clean."
Stone was silent for a
