He stopped five feet from Adrian and stood with his hands resting on his tactical belt.

“The contract is null,” the leader said.

Adrian nodded once, his face carved of granite.

“He is all yours,” Adrian said.

The leader turned his eyes to Caleb.

Caleb took a step backward, his boots slipping on the wet stones.

“I have the offshore keys,” Caleb stammered, holding his hands up.

“There is fifty million in Grand Cayman that they don’t know about.”

The leader of the cleanup crew did not answer.

He raised a single finger and gestured to his men.

Two of the tactical guards grabbed Caleb by his elbows.

Caleb kicked out, his left boot catching one of the guards in the shin.

The other guard struck Caleb in the stomach with the butt of his rifle.

Caleb doubled over, coughing violently, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

They dragged him backward toward the rear of the second SUV.

His leather boots left two long, dark grooves in the gray mud.

“Adrian!” Caleb screamed.

His voice cracked under the cold wind.