Hearing Croft's explanation, Cole's expression tightened. He couldn't tell who had pushed a contract on him through the Continental network. The likeliest suspect was Owen Davian.
But when they exfiltrated the States, Owen had already sent teams everywhere to hunt him. Would he really go through the Continental on top of that?
For now, no other hidden enemy came to mind.
As for Croft's first question, Cole let it pass. The base was his safe house; as long as it stayed dark, no one would ever find it.
"You invited me up here," Cole said. "Besides the questions, what do you actually want?"
Seeing Cole sidestep, Croft didn't press. He spoke evenly: "Do you know how many layers of management the Continental has?"
Cole shook his head.
"In every major city, there's a Continental. Even in your country,"Croft continued. "Above the hotel managers sit regional representatives. Above them, continental representatives. I'm the current representative for Africa."
Only then did the scale land. The network ran everywhere.
Cole cut to the point. "How does someone climb that ladder?"
An approving smile tugged at Croft's mouth. "Two rails: performance on contracts—and the calibre of assassins under your banner. Our internal rating tops out at S-class. One S-class can be worth dozens—hundreds—of lesser killers. Their value is… incalculable."
Cole nodded. That tracked. An S-class operator changed the math.
"How many S-class do you have right now?" he asked.
"None, "Croft said.
Cole's brow edged up. A continental rep with zero S-class?
"I had four, "Croft said. "One was killed. One defected. The other two are planning to retire. And in three months—January 1—the assessment hits."
He stopped, took a long drink.
Cole understood the subtext immediately. Rise with numbers and results, fall without them. The Continental functioned like a global enterprise—targets, revenue, performance. Representatives who delivered rose; those who didn't were demoted or removed.
By Cole's estimate, a regional rep needed at least three S-class masters in their column to be competitive. Croft had none. In three months, he'd be finished.
"You think I can fix that for you?" Cole asked.
Croft shook his head. "No. A moment ago I only thought you might—because of him."
He tipped his chin toward Simon.
Cole followed the glance and got it.
"Plenty of rivals eyeing your chair," Cole said lightly. "Let me guess: the S-class who turned on you now flies their flag."
Croft nodded once. "At our level, competition never stops." He held Cole's eyes. "Between an American continental rep and an African rep—who do you suppose carries more weight?"
"Sounds like you've been exiled," Cole said, dry.
"You're not wrong. Which is why I'm hunting a way to survive the New Year's assessment—and win it. I believe you can help."
He wasn't asking Cole to become a house killer. He wanted Cole's killers counted under his ledger—his performance, his assessment.
"What do I get?" Cole asked.
He was interested. The Continental's pull ran deep, and S-tier work meant S-tier rewards from his own system.
"KRAK!"
Gunfire cracked somewhere below, sharp and close.
Croft's face became stern. Someone had just started trouble inside a Continental under his jurisdiction. A public insult.
"Kill everyone responsible," he said coldly. "And find out who's paying them."
The heavy at his shoulder nodded and vanished.
Croft turned back, smoothing his tone. "My apologies. Odds are they're here for you."
Cole didn't disagree. Owen must have lost patience if he'd risk a move under Continental eyes.
"Let's finish the terms," Cole said. "What do you want, and what do I get?"
Croft leaned in.
"I need at least two S-class operators from your side to complete three S-level commissions within the next three months. That secures my assessment. "I believe you can deliver that."
"In return," he went on, "you get the friendship of my Continental network. You can call in three favours—and I will personally subsidize each of those three commissions with $100 million. "Finally, I'll wire $1 billion to formalize a cooperative arrangement."
It was real weight—because he had no other choice. S-class killers didn't grow on trees, and if he missed the assessment, his seat was gone. The chair brought him more than he was offering now. He wouldn't surrender it.
Cole could tell Croft had tried others and been undercut by rivals. Money made people switch sides. That Croft had invited him the moment Cole set foot in the hotel said plenty—and Simon's quiet edge had sealed it.
Cole considered the calculus. For him, the upside dwarfed the risk. Three S-level contracts in three months meant serious system pay-outs. The Continental alliance meant doors opened worldwide.
He rose.
Croft stood with him.
They shook hands—deal struck.