The Hunters

you’re probably quite familiar with ethnic insults. You’re Irish.’

‘That’s it! The final straw!’ Callahan took off his headset, which had been wrapped around his neck, and threw open the back door. ‘I need some fresh air.’

Koontz smiled in victory. ‘Fresh air, my ass! It won’t be too fresh with a cigarette in your mouth!’

Callahan slammed the door in frustration. He knew damn well his partner was trying to piss him off, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

If anything, it made it worse.

If Koontz needed a few minutes to himself, why didn’t he ask for it? Why did he have to resort to childish games to get what he wanted?

Irritated beyond belief, Callahan decided to take a walk.

He hoped a long stroll would calm his nerves.

Instead, it put his life in danger.

2

The intruder floated effortlessly above the buildings, indistinguishable from the nighttime sky. Tethered by a line that had been anchored more than three hundred feet away, the kite-like contraption hovered over its target. The offshore breezes kept the slack taut while the intruder completed her graceful descent to the rooftop below.

She landed without making a sound.

With the flick of her wrist, she unhooked the kite from her harness and then tossed the assembly into the air, as if she were freeing a giant bird. No longer burdened by her bodyweight, it immediately took flight. She watched as the line and the device shot out of sight. It had served its purpose well: delivering its cargo undetected.

Unfortunately, this was only her first obstacle.

There would be many more to come.

She would have preferred to land on top of Kozlov’s oceanside house, but the sharp peak of his roof had prevented it. Instead, she was forced to make do with the flat roof of a neighboring property — a three-story townhouse that served as a bunkhouse for his guards and his newest recruits. On a mission like this, the guardhouse was less than ideal, but what choice did she have? Had she approached the house on foot, she would have been spotted by Kozlov’s men and by the Feds in the surveillance van.

She couldn’t risk either.

For her to escape, she needed to avoid both.

Thanks to the crescent moon above, she was virtually invisible as she scampered across the guards’ roof. Her matte-black bodysuit absorbed light, leaving no trace of reflection. To complete her outfit, she wore black shoes, black gloves, and a blank mask. Not just black, it was actually blank. No eyes, no nose, and no mouth. Not even ears. They were all tucked behind an elastic, cutting-edge hood that allowed her to breathe, hear, and see, but prevented her features from being detected.

The effect was beyond creepy.

Slowing to a stop near the edge of the roof, she studied the structure that she intended to breach. Styled like a Colonial home, its walls were made of the highest quality bricks, which had been expertly laid in both curved and straight swaths. She noticed the limestone accents and the two-tone stucco before she rested her gaze on the rear balcony. The place was handsome, but not ostentatious. It was cleverly designed to seem commonplace, but full of elegant architectural touches for anyone in the know.

And she was definitely in the know.

Her reconnaissance had been thorough.

Before crossing the gap between the homes, she reached into her pocket and pulled out several blobs. They looked like sticky toys — the kind that kids threw at walls. They had been colored the same shade as the house’s bricks. When thrown, they stayed wherever they hit, like spitballs on a chalkboard. Inside each was a powerful transmitter that would pick up sounds, even through a brick wall.

They were the latest gizmos in her bag of tricks.

Aided by the breeze, she tossed the rubbery splotches across the narrow stretch of grass between the homes. They splatted softly against the side of Kozlov’s house. The sound of their impact was so quiet that it was drowned out by the pounding surf. Before long, the outside wall was lined with devices. They were nearly undetectable.

Within seconds, data streamed from the bugs to her earpiece. She listened to their chirps and interpreted their sounds as her eyes scanned the darkness below. She wouldn’t begin until she was sure the coast was clear. Anything less would lead to certain death, and she enjoyed life too much to risk it.

A full minute passed. Then another.

Midway through a third, she had heard enough.

It was time to commence the breach.

She reached inside her cargo pocket and pulled out a small baton. It was painted matte black. She pulled on either side of the device to extend it. It grew longer than any layman would expect. Two feet, then five, and finally ten. She repositioned her hands in the middle of the baton while swinging it in tight little circles. Telescoping sections continued to grow from both ends. It lengthened while getting impossibly thin — as well as impossibly straight — until it was twenty feet long.

It was the exact length she needed.

Wasting no time, she extended the baton between the two homes. To her, it looked like a long, black sliver of air, as if a demon had sliced open the night. Even if someone from the house had been looking, they would have been hard pressed to see it.

Next, she angled the far end of the baton toward a balcony in the rear corner of Kozlov’s house. She positioned the far tip between two banisters and made sure it wouldn’t shift. Then she laid her end of the baton on the edge of the roof and quietly tapped a long, arched nail into the wood. Once it was secure, she slid her end of the baton into the hook — just enough to hold it in place, but shallow enough that she could pull the baton free once she had reached the other side.

Kozlov’s balcony was lower than her position by about twenty degrees. That angle was nearly perfect. She took a deep breath, checked the chasm for eyewitnesses, and then climbed over the lip of the roof. Without pause, she grabbed the baton with both hands and slid across the narrow gap like water down a string.

In less than five seconds, she had glided from one house to the other like a cloud across the moon. She pulled herself over the railing and onto the scenic balcony. She stuffed the baton inside itself, then shoved the device into her pocket.

A moment later, her hands were on the curtained French doors that led to the rear of the house. Her gloved fingers moved quickly and quietly, as if assuring the door that everything would be fine. She kept at it until she heard a click.

A wide smile spread across her face.

Her blank mask revealed nothing.

With a twist of her wrist and a turn of her body, she stepped inside the most expensive and most heavily guarded house in Brooklyn.

3

She entered the house and immediately froze in place.

Her surprise had nothing to do with alarms or warnings. It had to do with the striking difference between the exterior of the house and its lavish interior. From the outside, the house appeared to be an extra-large Colonial on a nice street in Brooklyn. Inside, the place was more like the Taj Mahal, the Winter Palace, or Versailles.

It reeked of wealth and opulence.