Page 60 of Croatia Collateral

Traffic thinned further away from Old Town, and the drivers opened their throttles.

Giva and Dax couldn’t communicate or hear what was happening without radio headsets or earbuds. They had to trust that Hank Patterson’s reinforcements were good, armed and knew where they were going.

They followed the coastal road as it climbed up a hill with sharp drop-offs and stunning views of the Adriatic Sea in the starlight.

Giva clung to her driver, praying he didn’t miss a turn and send them plummeting to their deaths off a bluff. When he leaned into a curve, Giva leaned with him, hoping they would reach their destination soon.

With Dubrovnik’s lights behind them, they drove on, passing fewer and fewer structures. The motorcycles slowed as they approached a blind curve.

The lead bike with Dax on the back slowed even more and pulled off the highway onto a winding, overgrown road leading down the side of a hill toward the sea.

Tree branches formed a canopy over the road, blocking any view of what lay ahead.

Dax’s motorcycle slowed to a stop. The driver killed the headlight and the engine.

The others followed suit one by one, and the riders hopped off.

Peter hurried over to Dax and Giva. “Do you have radios?”

Dax shook his head. “No.”

“Me either,” Giva added.

“I thought as much.” Peter dug in his pocket. “I brought extra headsets.” He handed one to Dax and the other to Giva. “Weapons?”

“No,” Dax said again.

Peter pulled his jacket off to reveal a shoulder holster with a handgun tucked inside and a submachine gun slung down the middle of his back. He unslung the submachine gun and handed it to Dax.

When Peter turned to Giva, she held up the pistol she’d taken off the Russian. “I’m good.” She settled the radio headset over her ears.

“Comm check. Who have we got here, and from what Brotherhood branch? I’m Fearghas, International,” Fearghas said into her ears.

“Giva, International,” Giva said, raising her hand.

The dark-haired man who’d been her driver lifted a hand. “Chase from Montana.”

Dax’s driver, a big guy probably six feet four or five, raised a hand. “Bubba, Yellowstone.”

Peter Atkins raised a hand. “Atkins, International.”

Another one of the new guys nodded. “Falcon, Yellowstone.”

“Gavin, Montana,” the last of the reinforcements said.

Dax stepped into the middle of the group. “Dax, International. We don’t have much time.” He briefly explained what he’d discovered about the plot to aim an EMP at Shanghai and the people behind the plan. “We have to stop them before they let loose that EMP. Not only could they destroy the lives of twenty-five million people in Shanghai, but this event could also trigger a world war.”

“Not if we can help it,” Fearghas said. “Dmytro said, this is a big place with eighteen levels and hundreds of guest rooms. It was abandoned in 1992 after it was bombed by Serbian and Montenegrin forces. A Russian billionaire purchased the property in 2014. My bet is he’s one of the oligarchs involved in this plot. Let’s divide into teams of two to cover as much ground as possible. Dax with Giva will be one. Atkins and I will be a team. Yellowstone another, and Montana will make a fourth team. If you find the location, let the others know where.”

“Does each team have a flashlight?” Atkins asked, handing his flashlight to Dax.

Fearghas, Chase and Falcon held up their flashlights.

Dax nodded. “Let’s go save the world.” He led the way, his limp less pronounced.

They followed the road as it descended the side of the steep hill. As the trees thinned, Giva saw a towering white stucco building with a terracotta tiled roof.

As they neared the first structure, Dax clicked on his flashlight and shined it across the wall.

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