Oslo, Norway

Three minutes later, a loud screech of tires roared to a halt outside the shooting range. The door of the Hummer swung open as Trond Gunner stepped out, slamming the door behind him. As a lead field agent for E14, he oversaw the highly classified section within the Norwegian intelligence service and missions on their soil. His expression hardened as he walked into the shop outside the shooting range. His eyes narrowed on Holiday and Red behind the counter in the operations center. He storms behind the counter, entering the ops center.

His eyes bore into Holiday as he let out a harsh breath. Rage pulses through his veins. "Goddammit Holiday, we had Stenberg undersurvelliance ever since he left his bank. We could have gotten some insight after we interrogated him. There isn't any video feed of your man on the CCTV, but I know it was him.

"My orders to eliminate Stenberg edict Twelve: any means necessary. As for your intelligence, we have the burner and the private invite to the party in Corfu," Eric scowled.

Trond sighed as he chose his words carefully before he spoke. "I have direct orders from the US Embassy here that your so-called solo operation is done."

"No, the operation isn't over at all, Trond," Holiday snapped. Look, this is bigger than you think; we're after the organization that Stenberg was working for." He pointed over to one of the screens with the photograph and the intel on it.

Trond froze for a second. His eyes narrowed on the lady in the photograph. No, couldn't it be? He flashed onto memory: his meeting with the Norwegian outside the US Embassy; three seconds later, he was struck down by a 50-caliber round from extreme distances.

"Medusa." We had been after her for a long time but could never track her down. You're telling me that she is an assassin for this organization, Headshot?"

"Exactly. If you want to bring down Medusa, I suggest that you and Red work together," Holiday told him.

"I don't work with cowboys like him; they are loose cannons and can't be trusted."

"Listen," Eric snarled. How dare you call me a cowboy? I did what I had to do to get results quickly. You may not like how I operate, but trust me, I'm your only chance of bringing down Medusa; after all, she has tried to put me in the ground to get the briefcase."

Holiday slammed his fist down on the table. "Enough; we need to find out who is behind Headshot before they can order their next hit. So yes, you are going to work with Red on this. This is going to be a joint intelligence operation."

He'd never liked the idea of a joint intelligence operation; you were never certain what the other side was going to do. And besides, he had always operated alone all the time. It was better for him that way, but if Holiday wanted him to work with the Norwegian agent, he would do that. Every operation had a contingency plan; there was always a little detail that could go wrong when planning it.

Trond figured whoever had dispatched Medusa to eliminate the Norwegian ambassador had to be very dangerous and powerful with far-reach connections. The banker had been his only lead to getting answers to whoever was behind it. Norwegian intelligence never enjoyed getting their hands dirty. He knew that the King and Prime Minister weren't too happy with the mess that Holiday and Red made here.

Trond shook his head as he sighed."If Medusa is going to be at this party, she will know that you're not Stenberg Red. So tell me, how are you going to get in with the invite?

Eric rubbed his chin as his eyebrows rose, thinking about how they were going to get past the countersnipers that would be placed on the roof there. He remembered When he had been a sniper for Seal Team 6, he'd killed a couple of Russian Spetsnaz counter-snipers in Afghanistan. It had been his first kill. If they were going up with these kinds of snipers, he knew well that they better repair them. He studied the Norwegian agent, seeing his sidearm holstered in his holster.

"Trond, I can tell one thing for sure: these countersnipers will have the latest and best Russian sniper rifle. The ORSIS T-5000," Eric informed.

Trond shrugged. "So we have no dirt on who's behind Headshot, and now you're telling me there are Russian countersnipers. This is becoming dicey by the moment."

Holiday tilted his head while pressing his fingers into a steeple. The only thing we know is that Senator Howard was looking into an unlimited black budget; that's all. We believe it was Medusa 338 Lapua shell casing."

"Red, where is this invite to this supposedly private party?" Trond questioned.

"It's back at the hotel in my room," Eric stated, as he withdrew his Desert Eagle to clean as clean as he disassembled it.

"Maybe you missed something on the invite, Eric," Holiday inquired, pondering if there was more to this party than they knew.

After he finished cleaning and reassembling his semi-automatic pistol, he placed it back into his hip holster. "I examined the invitation thoroughly. There was nothing besides where the party was going and where that was."

Holiday's eyes glistened, and his jaw tightened. "Just go over it again in case you missed something. There has to be a reason they would have counter-snipers in place at this party."

Holiday handed the iPhone back over to Eric; he put the phone back into his pocket as they walked out of the ops center and from behind the counter. They emerged from the gun shop and strode out through the front entrance doors to where the Hummer was parked outside the shooting range. Trond grabbed the door handle to climb into the driver's side of the Hummer. Eric reached into his pocket again, pulled out his iPhone, strolled around the license plate on the Hummer, and snapped a photo.

He walked back around to the passenger side of the Hummer and grabbed the door handle as he slid inside, closed the door behind him, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. It never really occurred to him that Headshot might have an asset inside NIS; if that were the case, his best option would be to look into this Trond Gunner.

"Since when do you Norwegian agents drive Hummers? I thought it was always Porsches," Eric inquired in a skeptical and suspicious tone.

Trond lifted an eyebrow as he bit his lip."That's just the Norwegian intelligence service, but we are E14, so we need the Hummers to carry our Storm Hardigg cases and surveillance equipment."

They sped down the street into the city. Eric glanced out the window, this time trying to figure out if he could trust the Norwegian agent. His instinct and gut told him to be careful, and yet he had his suspicions. Something kept nagging at him like yarn waiting to be pulled. If Gunner was a headshot asset, why would he go Medusa then?

A few minutes later, they arrived at the Thief Eric grabbed the door handle and jumped out, closing the door behind him. He darted down the boardwalk, navigating his way through a crowd, and headed for the massive automated doors of the hotel. He headed for the elevator as the doors slid open, and he stepped in. As the doors opened on the seventh floor, Eric raced out, heading for his room.

He grabbed the door handle as he walked in and strode over to the table where he had left the invitation. Maybe he had missed something on the invitation. Picking it up, he examined it again, thus doing it thoroughly. He froze for a second, staring at a name on it. How he could miss it, he thought to himself.

Eric read the name on it as he rubbed his chin and raised his brow. Thunderstorm—what the hell was Thunderstorm? he wondered. And most importantly, what did it have to do with the party in Corfu? There had to be a connection to Headshot, but what was it?

He clicked his Bluetooth earpiece as he voiced through the Holiday earpiece. See what you find out about Thunderstorm?

"Thunderstorm?" Holiday asked in a curious tone.

"It's the name on the invite," Eric stated.

"Okay, I look into it to see what I can find about this thunderstorm," Holiday told him.

Eric ended the conversation on his earpiece as he placed the invite in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and clicked on the NCIC app. The app flashed onto the screen within seconds, and after that, he typed in the name Trond Gunner on the LCD screen. Two results popped up; he clicked on the first one. Trond Gunner is a Norwegian musician. He clicked on the second one as his pulse started up in his neck and his heartbeat quickened

There was a photograph of him in Salvard, Norway, meeting with what looked like a Russian agent. Interesting, he thought. It didn't surprise him at all, knowing the Russian intelligence activity in Norway was at a high right now. Everything else was redacted. He could only say that Gunner had been an operator for the FSK (Norwegian Special Operations Force).