For The Thrill of it. A Michael Stone adventure.

Previously

…Michael held the Makarov against his thigh. Four rounds. One road. The son's phone call was already out there, spreading through Loc's network like a current through still water. The road forked. Rita slowed. "Left goes inland," Michael said. "Right stays on the river." "Inland. You said his reach is weaker there." "Left." She took the left fork. The motorbike climbed a shallow rise, and the river disappeared behind them. The trees closed in. The temperature dropped three degrees under the canopy. Michael looked back once. The road behind them was empty. It wouldn't stay that way.