Before I can have any second thoughts about the wisdom of my actions, I’ve disabled the Westwind’s autopilot and pulled over to the curb. I open the door and get out, sliding my hand under my jacket to grip the butt of my H & K to let tech and gun handshake. Still no movement in or around the safe house. I cross the road to stand in the partial cover of a drek-kicked van that’s up on blocks. (This is Ravenna, after all ...) And I stare at the building until it feels like I’m getting segs on my eyeballs.