The safehouse in Berlin was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Knox sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a cold cup of coffee, his eyes fixed on the encrypted laptop. The screen displayed a map of Europe, dotted with red markers indicating the locations of Marcus Webb's remaining assets.
Two safehouses. One financier. One corrupt intelligence asset.
He studied the map, memorizing the coordinates, committing each location to memory. The hunt wasn't over. Marcus might be dead, but his network was still intact, still operating, still funneling money and weapons to the enemies of the state.
I need to finish this. I need to take down every last one of them.
He reached for his phone and dialed a number he'd memorized.
Three rings. Then:
"Mercer."
"It's me. I need
