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Marco rode in the front passenger seat of the lead SUV. The driver was one of four other men—the organisation's best. Specialists trained in the art of wet work.
"Kill the lights," Marco said.
The driver did as instructed. Marco checked in the passenger wing mirror and saw the second Tahoe do the same. They rolled slow into town, rain beating down, wipers batting fast over the windscreen. Marco saw a jagged lightning strike connect with the peak of a distant mountain. It lit up the town. Al's bar to the right. The motel coming up on the left, the manager's office locked up for the night.
"Stop here," Marco said into a microphone wire plugged into his right ear.
Both SUVs came to a rest a short walk back from the motel, parked tight to the kerb. They sat in silence a moment, bathed
