Chapter 71

Mitch pulled himself off the floor and coughed. Dust filled his lungs, and the underground room was pitch black. He couldn't believe that his goddaughter had dared defy him once again. Mitch fumbled in his suit jacket, searching for the Streamlight he kept on him at all times. His days running covert ops taught him to be prepared for anything.

"Spare the rod, spoil the child," he said through gritted teeth. "Sorry, Marcy, but your granddaughter broke her end of the bargain. I'm afraid she signed your death sentence." The silver Streamlight came to life, revealing an empty chair. Two pairs of metal handcuffs were arranged neatly on the table. "What the..." The beam swept the rocky room. Mitch nearly choked when he realized that the single barrel shotgun was also missing.

To avoid giving away his position, Mitch quickly extinguished the Streamlight and crept out of the room. He knew when to call it quits. Sometimes, an operation, no matter how well planned, just went bad. You had to know when to fold 'em up and move on. Besides, a good operator always had a fallback plan.

He and Max had stashed caches of gold in trustworthy banks in the Caribbean. It was time for Señor Conroe to find a nice island and retire. The board of directors could run the clinic while he was in exile. He hugged the walls, making his way by memory alone. In his pocket, he could feel the reassuring shape of the Mercedes key. Carefully, he crept toward the spot where he had parked the armored SUV the day before.