Rogue Commander. Leo J. Maloney

got company.”

      “Where?” Bishop asked.

      “Tall, bearded guy by the church. Short and stocky next to the tour group on the north side. Red hair by the lamppost, near the southwest corner. And another likely suspect sitting on the far side of the statue.”

      “The bastard brought a security detail.”

      “Bishop. Conley.” It was Bloch. “Scan the windows for snipers. If he brought this much backup, it’s doubtful he’ll be stopping there.”

      Morgan joined the scan, looking at the rows of windows that surrounded the plaza. Two churches, two hotels, a museum, and a government building. All old and elegant.

      “Got one,” Bishop said. “White building, north side, fourth floor. Third window from the left.”

      “That’s bad news,” Lily said.

      Morgan shifted his gaze to the band as they launched into a rollicking rendition of “Mack the Knife.” “The sniper’s in a hotel,” he said and called on one of Zeta Division’s resident computer geniuses. “Shepard, can you get me room access?”

      “Already working on it,” came the man’s clipped, assured, even cocky, voice.

      “Cougar—”

      “On my way.” Peter Conley moved toward the hotel entrance. One good thing about working together so many years was that they had a connection that seemed, at times, nearly psychic.

      “I don’t like this.” It was Bishop. “This is getting hairier by the second. I suggest a reassess.”

      “You’re running point on this, Morgan,” Bloch snapped. “Your call.”

      Morgan squinted into the cloudless blue sky. Then he looked at Lukacs, who was talking closely with Pulnik.

      “Stay in position,” Morgan ordered. “Move in as soon as Lukacs breaks away from Pulnik.”

      “And Lukacs’s people?” Bishop demanded.

      “Fan out with the team. I want one of us on every guard. Cuff and drop them. Lily, you go ahead with the diversion on my mark. We’re going to need perfect timing on this.”

      “And Lukacs?” Bishop asked.

      “I’ll take care of Lukacs,” Morgan said. “Extraction van ready?”

      “I’ll move out on your mark,” Diesel answered. “Pick you up on the southeast corner.”

      Morgan watched as the team moved through the crowd as naturally as any tourist, betraying no sign of their purpose.

      “I’m in position at the sniper’s door,” Conley said. “Shepard, how close are you to getting access?”

      Shepard scoffed. “I’m in, big guy.”

      “Morgan, awaiting your signal,” Bloch said.

      “Hold. Not yet.” Morgan kept his eyes on Lukacs and Pulnik, who were still having their conversation. But then Lukacs pulled him close. Morgan watched, silently swearing, as Pulnik’s mouth popped open, his eyes widened, and he grabbed at his own belly.

      Morgan couldn’t see the stabbing clearly, but he did see blood as Pulnik bent double. Lukacs casually eased him down to sit against the low ledge around the statue.

      “Damn,” Bishop seethed. “Morgan, call it off.”

      “The mission doesn’t change.” Morgan was not going to let Lukacs get away. “Target’s moving out. Lily, that’s your cue.”

      On the far side of the plaza, Lily pulled a megaphone from her pack and turned it on with an earsplitting whine.

      “Wake up, sheeple!” she screeched, her voice amplified and flattened by the megaphone. “The Illuminati run your lives!” Lily was really selling the insanity, and people took notice. “The reptilians have invaded the highest level of government!” Tourists moved toward her or rubbernecked to get a look at the crazy girl. “They want us for our blood!”

      That was the Zeta team’s cue. They moved in on Lukacs’s security. Lukacs had left Pulnik on the ground and was moving back from the direction he had come from. As he turned, Lukacs’ eyes met Morgan’s, and they held his stare long enough for the message to come across as clear as a New York glass of water.

      “Goddamn it!” Bishop exploded. “I told you this was a bad idea. Didn’t I goddamn tell you?”

      “Too late now,” Morgan snapped. “Move!”

      They had lost the element of surprise, but Pulnik was losing his life. Morgan heard the sound of Conley kicking the sniper’s hotel door in as Lukacs’s security drew their guns. Morgan couldn’t spare the attention to see what was going on. He heard gunfire, then screaming, as he ran straight for Lukacs.

      There was just one problem. Two guards were converging on him, fast, from the left and right. Morgan turned his run evasive, reaching for his Walther.

      Lily, having cast off her megaphone, came dashing from the left and tripped one of the men, sending him reeling to the ground. This gave Morgan the opening he needed to fire at the other guard. Three bullets perfectly placed in the man’s chest, and he was down. Although there was the risk of him having a bulletproof vest, Morgan couldn’t chance a head shot causing collateral damage on any innocent bystander.

      He took the man’s gun and tossed it to Lily, who had come weaponless.

      “I owe you!” she said and ran off to help out Spartan, who was struggling to fight off two of Lukacs’s security guards. Then Morgan took off running again toward Lukacs, who was by now at the edge of the square.

      Morgan charged as hard and fast as he could. Someone crashed into him, sending his Walther flying. Morgan rolled to his feet to face his new attacker. It was the young man in the red coat. But instead of flashing an annoying smile, he was pointing a Beretta M9 directly between Morgan’s eyes.

      “I always give my enemy a moment to think,” he said, “of their last words.”

      Morgan darted his gaze all around the smugly grinning killer. His team was scattered. None of them could help. The man was too close for him to run, but too far for him to attack and survive.

      “Think of any?” the man in the red coat sneered.

      Morgan turned his hand and raised his middle finger.

      “Eloquent,” the man chuckled and shrugged, tightening his finger on the Beretta’s trigger.

      Then the sound of a gunshot filled Morgan’s ears.

      Chapter Two

      Dan Morgan knew he wasn’t dead. The dead never hear the sound of the gun that shoots them.

      His daughter, Alexandria “Alex” Morgan, however, grimaced at the sharp smell of gunpowder. Body still humming from the Heckler and Koch MSG90 sniper rifle recoil, she watched through the scope as the man in the red coat fell to the ground. The blood from his chest wound mingled with the color of his outerwear and started spreading onto the cobblestones.

      “Hell of a shot, Alex,” she heard her father saying in her ear.

      “Compliments later, Dad,” she murmured. “We got to spot Lukacs.”

      As people drained from the square, Alex scanned the space, looking for their target or his other men, but the survivors had disappeared from sight. She’d taken out two others before nailing Red-Coat, as Morgan and his team were discovering.

      Morgan sniffed in appreciation of his daughter’s burgeoning skill and his superior’s previous doubts. Bloch had been concerned about putting Alexon on this mission. She had hedged her bets by ordering Alex to nest in the hotel room overlooking the square, where Bloch did not expect the younger, female Morgan to see any action.

      Both