Voland turned to the American. “You’d kill me if you were paid to do so?”

“If you hadn’t gotten the kid and Yasmin out of Syria, I would have killed you for free. But you came through, and you linked Drexler to the bank, and found him and Shakira here. You served your purpose.” Court drew his pistol from the small of his back, and Voland turned to look at it. “Just like I’ve served mine.”

Court tossed the weapon into a backpack in the back of the BMW, then pulled a small Smith and Wesson revolver in a holster from the bag and strapped it to his ankle.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Court climbed out of the BMW at the station, gave Voland a half nod, and began walking inside.

As he entered, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. He made it all the way to the train timetable in the main hall before the call was answered.

“Suzanne Brewer.”

Court paused a moment. He knew once he spoke, he was committed.

“Brewer?” There was obvious annoyance in her voice.

Court waited another second as he fantasized about hanging up, but then he spoke. “It’s Violator. I’m reporting in. You need me?”

The woman at CIA did not hesitate. “I’m afraid we do.”