“Fifty percent,” Marco muttered.

“If we leave now, Marcus keeps his money and we die anyway,” I said, staring the guard down.

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting between me and the hallway.

From downstairs, the sound of shouting rose above the gunfire.

I recognized Marcus’s voice.

He was screaming my name.

“Arya!”

The sound of his voice made my throat go dry.

He sounded wild, stripped of his usual political polish.

“He’s in the house,” I said.

“Sixty percent,” Marco said.

“We’re going to lose the connection if the main server downstairs is damaged,” Marco added.

“Can you mirror it to a drive?” I asked.

“I’m trying,” Marco said, plugging a small silver flash drive into the side of the laptop.

The screen flashed a warning red.

“Transfer interrupted,” the screen read.

“No,” I said.

“They cut the main line downstairs,” Marco said, his voice cracking.

“Did the four million go through?” I asked.

“The Belgrade payment is frozen,” Marco said. “But the Cayman account didn’t clear.”

The guard grabbed my upper arm.

“We are leaving. Now,” he said.