Hallstatt Clan — the elder's room.
Lena, Daniel, and several other killers gathered around the hearth. Lena had just hung up the phone and reported, flatly: "Mr. Cross's killers are strong. In just a few minutes, thirty men we sent lost four dead and six wounded."
The elder didn't reply at once. He tended the fire for a long moment before finally speaking. "Post a public bounty."
"How much?" someone asked.
"Three million to start. This is Prague, not New York — that sum will drive those High Table bounty hunters crazy."
Lena didn't press further. She stepped aside and dialed again. While she did, the elder rose, walked to Daniel's side, and patted his shoulder. "You take a team and guard the Continental. If Alex reaches the hotel, notify Lena at once."
"Understood," Daniel said, glancing at Lena before leaving the room.
The elder turned to a broad-shouldered man. "Dex — how many of our men have returned?"
"One hundred twenty-seven," Dex replied.
"Good. With the townfolk, that brings us close to five hundred. Over the next two days you'll handle arms distribution and keep everyone ready for combat."
"Understood, Elder." Dex straightened, pride showing in his stance.
Outside, gunfire split the air along the road. Hallstatt's killers pressed in on Alex's caravan. As Alex glanced right, the same premonition flashed through his mind again — two SUVs cutting across lanes, aiming to smash into his car, their impact folding the vehicle's left side inward, pinning Anna's leg under the jammed door, blood running freely; gun muzzles protruding from windows.
The vision snapped off. The system's five-second out-of-combat danger warning had not triggered — but Alex didn't wait. He barked to the driver, "Brake!"
Tires screamed. The convoy came to an emergency stop, and the opposing SUVs slammed into the roadside barrier. John Wick sprang from the car and closed in on the wrecks. Bullets rattled between the two disabled SUVs as John moved—ducking, rising, every shot precise. Within a minute the firefight ended. John walked back, fired one final round into a gunman flipping out of a passenger window, then returned without looking back and got into the car.
"You really should bring more men," John said, easing back into his seat.
At that instant, Alex's phone beeped: a text from the open-order system. New assassination contract! Please accept. The tone was familiar and ironic — a reminder of how far John had come since their first meeting, when John had walked away with two million for doing nothing. Now John worked for Alex; he did the grimiest jobs for no pay—yet always kept watch over his safety. It irked him.
Alex glanced at the message. The contract read:
Type: Open Order
Target: Alex Cross
Bounty: $3,000,000
Deadline: 24 hours
Location: Vltava River westbound expressway (real-time updates)
"Only three million," Alex muttered, unimpressed. He pocketed the phone. The Continental was only seven or eight minutes away — enough time for a dozen bounty hunters at most. They posed no real threat.
Still, when the convoy merged back into traffic and the three columns rejoined, Alex had Becky broadcast the intel to the killers in the following vehicles: be ready for sudden attacks.
Above Prague, a flight from Austria began its descent. In first class, Fox and Nikita leafed through magazines beside the White Widow. The White Widow chatted with a woman of similar age — smiling, poised.
"Katia," the White Widow told her companion, "Alex Cross has arrived in Prague. Once we land you'll meet him. A man who can make a beauty like Alanna follow him so loyally—he must have a unique charm."
If Alex had seen Katia, he would have recognized her: she was the only daughter of Pyotr, the Russian Mob boss who ranked among the High Table's twelve seats. By Pyotr's instruction, Katia accompanied the White Widow to Prague to negotiate arms deals with Alex.
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