uncovered on the IBSL facility, they knew virtually nothing about Dom and his covert operators. She intended to keep it that way.
The timer ticked away. Thirty seconds to go.
She needed to make a break for it, and the front door obviously wouldn’t do. Agents would be waiting outside her windows and below her fourth-floor balcony, too. Undoubtedly spooks were positioned near her car. In her twenty years with the CIA, she’d learned the importance of a contingency plan. She cracked open the door to the utility closet and slipped inside. She removed a tile in the ceiling, threw her rucksack up into the cobweb-filled space, and hoisted herself up. After replacing the tile, she scuttled over the support beams and crawled under ductwork and water pipes away from her apartment.
A muffled explosion shook the thick dust from the woodwork. Her small bomb had detonated, destroying the computers and electronics she’d left behind.
She continued her trek until she reached another tile marked with a black X formed by electrical tape. The tile slid out of place with a gentle nudge and revealed a stairwell below. On the landing near a steel door, an agent paced with two fingers pressed to his earpiece and his back to her.
In one fell swoop, she twisted out of the opening and swung down behind the agent. Her arm whipped around his neck, and she put him in a chokehold before he could so much as yell into his throat mic. His fingers shot up and around her wrist, and he squirmed. When he slammed his heel into her foot, she winced and bit on her bottom lip. She pulled her arm tighter around his neck and crushed his windpipe until he passed out.
She gently lowered his body against the landing and felt his neck for a pulse. The agent was unconscious but alive. She quickly snatched the comm piece from his ear. Then she searched his suit jacket and felt for the cold steel of his holstered gun. A quick pat down revealed a suppressor tucked into a concealed pocket within the jacket. She screwed the suppressor onto the handgun.
Descending the stairs, she listened for radio chatter.
A voice crackled through her earpiece. “Echo One here. No sign in the apartment.” He seemed out of breath. “Just some burned-out equipment. Anyone else got eyes?”
Two other winded agents responded in turn. “Negative.”
Meredith breathed a sigh of relief. At least the man at her door hadn't reported any injuries or fatalities from her little explosion—she had no intention of killing Agency employees—and they still didn’t know where she’d gone. She dashed down the stairs toward the four-story apartment building’s south exit.
She snatched a pair of night-vision goggles from her pack and snapped them on. She nudged the stairwell exit door open and scanned the alcove beyond. There were no lurking agents in the immediate vicinity, but a hulking dumpster blocked her view of the rest of the parking lot. She tiptoed out and gently shut the door. A cool breeze tussled her hair as she crept forward. She crouched behind the dumpster. A short sprint would lead her straight into the woods, where thick underbrush and columns of sturdy trees could shield her escape north toward the Potomac River.
She surveyed the parking lot to see who might spot her if she ran straight for the trees. A couple of shapes moved beside a line of parked cars near the front of the building. If she kept low, maybe she could avoid being spotted. But the knowledge that these two agents could be avoided did not sit well with her. Trained field agents knew how to set a security perimeter. An agent or two would probably be positioned somewhere else nearby. She just hadn’t found them yet.
A quick flick of a switch on her goggles gave her a thermal view of her surroundings. Her field of vision swam in blues and blacks, interspersed with hot areas of red, yellow, and orange. The augmented view of her environment exposed two more agents, lit up as if they were on fire, hiding in the
The timer ticked away. Thirty seconds to go.
She needed to make a break for it, and the front door obviously wouldn’t do. Agents would be waiting outside her windows and below her fourth-floor balcony, too. Undoubtedly spooks were positioned near her car. In her twenty years with the CIA, she’d learned the importance of a contingency plan. She cracked open the door to the utility closet and slipped inside. She removed a tile in the ceiling, threw her rucksack up into the cobweb-filled space, and hoisted herself up. After replacing the tile, she scuttled over the support beams and crawled under ductwork and water pipes away from her apartment.
A muffled explosion shook the thick dust from the woodwork. Her small bomb had detonated, destroying the computers and electronics she’d left behind.
She continued her trek until she reached another tile marked with a black X formed by electrical tape. The tile slid out of place with a gentle nudge and revealed a stairwell below. On the landing near a steel door, an agent paced with two fingers pressed to his earpiece and his back to her.
In one fell swoop, she twisted out of the opening and swung down behind the agent. Her arm whipped around his neck, and she put him in a chokehold before he could so much as yell into his throat mic. His fingers shot up and around her wrist, and he squirmed. When he slammed his heel into her foot, she winced and bit on her bottom lip. She pulled her arm tighter around his neck and crushed his windpipe until he passed out.
She gently lowered his body against the landing and felt his neck for a pulse. The agent was unconscious but alive. She quickly snatched the comm piece from his ear. Then she searched his suit jacket and felt for the cold steel of his holstered gun. A quick pat down revealed a suppressor tucked into a concealed pocket within the jacket. She screwed the suppressor onto the handgun.
Descending the stairs, she listened for radio chatter.
A voice crackled through her earpiece. “Echo One here. No sign in the apartment.” He seemed out of breath. “Just some burned-out equipment. Anyone else got eyes?”
Two other winded agents responded in turn. “Negative.”
Meredith breathed a sigh of relief. At least the man at her door hadn't reported any injuries or fatalities from her little explosion—she had no intention of killing Agency employees—and they still didn’t know where she’d gone. She dashed down the stairs toward the four-story apartment building’s south exit.
She snatched a pair of night-vision goggles from her pack and snapped them on. She nudged the stairwell exit door open and scanned the alcove beyond. There were no lurking agents in the immediate vicinity, but a hulking dumpster blocked her view of the rest of the parking lot. She tiptoed out and gently shut the door. A cool breeze tussled her hair as she crept forward. She crouched behind the dumpster. A short sprint would lead her straight into the woods, where thick underbrush and columns of sturdy trees could shield her escape north toward the Potomac River.
She surveyed the parking lot to see who might spot her if she ran straight for the trees. A couple of shapes moved beside a line of parked cars near the front of the building. If she kept low, maybe she could avoid being spotted. But the knowledge that these two agents could be avoided did not sit well with her. Trained field agents knew how to set a security perimeter. An agent or two would probably be positioned somewhere else nearby. She just hadn’t found them yet.
A quick flick of a switch on her goggles gave her a thermal view of her surroundings. Her field of vision swam in blues and blacks, interspersed with hot areas of red, yellow, and orange. The augmented view of her environment exposed two more agents, lit up as if they were on fire, hiding in the
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