COLD RECKONING

The Old Town

Prague was a city of shadows and stone.

Rice stood at the window of the safehouse, watching the snow fall over the red-tiled rooftops of the Old Town. The Charles Bridge stretched across the Vltava in the distance, its ancient statues dusted with white. The city was beautiful in a cold, timeless way—a place that had survived empires, wars, and occupations. It would survive this too.

The safehouse was a small apartment above a bookshop, its windows overlooking a narrow cobblestone street. Eliana's contact had arranged it—a Czech former intelligence officer named Marek who'd been watching the townhouse for days. He was in the kitchen now, spreading maps across the table, his voice low and urgent.

"The meeting is confirmed for tomorrow night," Marek said. "At least fifteen operatives have arrived in the past forty-eight hours. They're staying in safehouses across the city, but they'll all converge on the townhouse at eight o'clock."

Rice turned from the window. "What about Voss?"

"She's been inside since Tuesday. Hasn't left once." Marek pointed to a photograph on the table—a grainy image of a woman in a dark coat, her face partially obscured by a scarf. "This was taken three days ago. She's changed her appearance, but the gait is unmistakable."

Rice studied the photograph. The woman was taller than he remembered, thinner. But the way she moved—that cold, precise stride—was exactly right.

"Security?" Eliana asked.

"Heavy. At least ten guards on rotation, plus surveillance cameras covering every approach. The townhouse is a fortress." Marek paused. "But there's a weakness. The building next door is under renovation. Empty at night. If you can get onto its roof, you can access the townhouse through a third-floor window."

"Is the window alarmed?"

"Yes. But the renovation crew left scaffolding in place. You can reach the window without touching the ground, and the alarm system is old—it can be bypassed with the right equipment."

Rice absorbed the information. "What about the interior? Do we know the layout?"

Marek produced another map—a rough floor plan of the townhouse. "Three floors. The meeting will take place on the ground floor, in the main salon. Voss has been using the second floor as her private quarters. The third floor is storage and security equipment."

"Where are the guards concentrated?"

"Ground floor, mostly. Two at the front entrance, two at the back. The rest will be inside, positioned around the salon." Marek looked up. "If you go in through the third floor, you can take out the security room first. That will blind their cameras and communications."

Rice nodded slowly. "And then?"

"Then you work your way down. Quietly. If you're lucky, you can reach Voss before the meeting starts."

"And if we're not lucky?"

Marek's expression was grim. "Then it becomes a firefight. And in a building that small, against that many men, a firefight is a death sentence."

The words hung in the air. Rice glanced at Eliana, who was studying the floor plan with intense concentration. Her jaw was set, her eyes cold. She'd come too far to back down now.

"We go in at midnight," she said. "That's when the guard rotation shifts. The new shift will still be getting into position. It's our best window."

Marek nodded. "I'll create a diversion at the front entrance. A false alarm, a disturbance—something to draw the guards' attention. That should give you time to get inside."

Rice looked at him. "Why are you helping us?"

Marek's eyes were dark, unreadable. "Because Meridian killed my brother. He was a journalist, investigating their operations in Eastern Europe. They made it look like a car accident." He paused. "I've been waiting five years for this."

Rice understood. The thirst for revenge was a language he spoke fluently.

"Tomorrow at midnight," he said. "We end this."

---

The day passed in a blur of preparation.

Rice cleaned the Glock, checked the suppressor, loaded the spare magazines. Eliana did the same with her weapons—a compact pistol and a knife she'd carried since her days in MI6. They reviewed the floor plan until they could navigate it blind, memorizing every door, every window, every potential ambush point.

At ten o'clock, they moved out.

The snow had stopped, but the streets were slick with ice. Rice and Eliana moved through the Old Town like ghosts, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the pools of light cast by the streetlamps. The city was quiet, the tourists gone, the locals huddled indoors against the cold.

The renovation building next to the townhouse was exactly as Marek had described—a crumbling structure wrapped in scaffolding, its windows dark and empty. Rice climbed first, his gloved hands finding purchase on the cold metal. Eliana followed, her movements silent and sure.

They reached the roof in under five minutes. The townhouse loomed beside them, its third-floor window only a few feet away. Rice studied the gap, measuring the distance. It was jumpable—barely.

"Ready?" he whispered.

Eliana nodded.

Rice took a breath and leaped. For a heart-stopping moment, he was suspended over the void, the cobblestones far below. Then his hands caught the windowsill, and he pulled himself up.

The window was locked, but the frame was old. Rice worked a thin blade between the panes, popping the latch. He raised the window slowly, wincing at every creak, then slipped inside.

The room was dark, filled with boxes and old furniture. Rice moved aside as Eliana climbed through behind him. She landed softly, her eyes already scanning for threats.

"The security room is at the end of the hall," she whispered. "Two guards, usually. Maybe three."

Rice nodded. He raised the Glock and moved toward the door.

The hallway was narrow and dark, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Rice moved slowly, testing each step before committing his weight. The security room door was closed, but light seeped through the gap at the bottom.

Rice counted to three, then kicked the door open.

The room was small, crowded with monitors and communications equipment. Two guards sat at a desk, their backs to the door. They turned as Rice entered, their hands reaching for their weapons.

Too slow.

Rice fired twice. Both guards crumpled, their bodies sliding to the floor. Eliana moved past him, her knife out, checking the corners of the room.

"Clear," she said.

Rice moved to the monitors, scanning the feeds. The townhouse was visible from a dozen angles—the salon, the stairwells, the entrances. He could see guards moving on the ground floor, preparing for the meeting. He could see the second floor, where Voss's private quarters were located.

"There," Eliana said, pointing to a monitor. "Second floor, third door on the left. That's where she's sleeping."

Rice studied the image. The door was closed, but he could see a faint light beneath it. Someone was inside.

"Let's go," he said.

They moved through the townhouse like shadows, descending the stairs with silent steps. The guards on the ground floor were focused on the entrances, unaware of the intruders moving above them. Rice and Eliana reached the second floor without incident.

The door to Voss's quarters was locked. Rice pressed his ear to the wood, listening. Silence. He raised the Glock and fired at the lock, the suppressor muffling the sound. The door swung open.

The room was empty.

Rice stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the space. The bed was made, the curtains drawn. A laptop sat on a desk, its screen glowing. But Voss was gone.

"She knew," Eliana whispered. "She knew we were coming."

The door slammed shut behind them.

Rice spun, the Glock raised. Through the door, he heard movement—footsteps, whispered commands, the click of weapons being readied. The trap had been sprung.

"Rice," Eliana said, her voice tight. "The window."

Rice turned. The window overlooked the street below, three stories down. It was a long fall—too long to survive.

But it was the only way out.

"Go," he said.

Eliana grabbed the desk chair and hurled it through the window. Glass shattered, letting in the cold night air. She climbed onto the sill, her eyes meeting Rice's.

"Follow me," she said.

Then she jumped.

Rice ran to the window just as the door burst open behind him. Gunfire erupted, bullets tearing through the air. Rice dove through the window, plunging into the darkness below.

---

The trap was sprung, and the enemy was closing in. With no way back and a three-story drop ahead, could Rice and Eliana survive the fall—and what waited for them on the ground?