Then move on to the conference room, and complete her final transaction with David Murphy.
Ania opened the fire tower door quickly, scanned both sides of the hallway. Clear. She propped the door open with her foot and dragged out Ethan’s corpse.
She was too weak to heave him over her shoulders again. Her trapezius muscles had been worked beyond failure; even Paul’s kinky demands had not been enough to keep her body in the shape she desired. Another reason to leave America, and its slothful lifestyle, as quickly as possible.
Just a little longer now, she told herself. Down the hall, through the door, a quick left—and if all was clear—three doors down to Amy’s office. Then no more carrying bodies. No more physical exertion, beyond strapping the escape gear to her body.
And plucking David Murphy’s eyes from his face.
Crushing his skull.
Running her fingers through his brains.
Hearing the sound of the boom, hot and furious, below them all.
Keene was on his second glass of orange juice when his source called back.
“Working on a Saturday, are you?” said a male voice with a Geordie accent.
“Oh, is it Saturday?”
“Funny. I have what you need.”
They were speaking through a VoIP connection, scrambled and rescrambled a half dozen times between their two locations.
Ordinarily, VoIP was about as a secure as a college sophomore with two roofies at the bottom of her pint glass. Unless, that is, you had encryption and cryptographic software not available to the general public. Which could make VoIP remarkably secure, especially when considering that most intelligence agencies would no sooner tap a VoIP connection than tap a set of two soup cans and string.
Keene was a bit of a VoIP fanatic. It was his favorite way to communicate, short of encrypted e-mails. He hated cell phones.
“Shall I send you a research packet?” his source asked.
“Yes. But how about some highlights.”
“Now?”
“I’m insanely curious.”
“Fine. Your boyfriend there …”
Keene chuckled.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just your choice of words. I’ll tell you later.”
“You say that as if we’ll ever be in the same room again.”
“So bitter. Please continue.”
“Your man? He’s not telling you everything about Philadelphia.”
“Really.”
“If someone gave the order to dismantle that company, it didn’t come from us.”
“The orders mentioned a bit more than dismantle.”
“I know.”
“Who could authorize something like that?”
“Who couldn’t?”
Just as Keene had suspected. You try keeping a chain of command together in an organization that didn’t exist.
“What else can you tell me?”
“This will all be in the research packet, but it appears that our company in Philadelphia flew a bit too close to the sun.”
“How so?”
“Financing something they really shouldn’t have. A kind of weapon and tracking device rolled into one.”
“Which we didn’t authorize.”
“It didn’t come from us.”
Damn it.
“Look,” his source said, “if you’re planning on going to Philadelphia, don’t. There are already alarm bells going off. If I were you, I’d stay by the sea.”
Keene thanked his source, made vague plans about meeting up for a drink in Ibiza one of these years. “Sure, Will, I’ll be here holding my breath while booking the plane ticket online,” his source replied. Keene pressed the cold glass of orange juice to the side of his face. He felt feverish.
Ania dropped Ethan in front of Amy’s door. Inside her bracelet was a master key for every office on the floor. She’d made it her first day of work. Turned out to be relatively useless. For an intelligence organization, people here had a funny way about not locking their doors. Too many of them were probably raised in the American Midwest.
Mainline Protestants. Way too trusting.
Once inside, she dragged Ethan’s body into the office, closed the door behind her. Locked it, just in case, even though there was nobody left on the floor to check on her. Unless Jamie had regained consciousness.
Even if he had, that would be fine. This could be part of his education.
Ania walked over to the window. No point in arranging Ethan’s body if Amy had already died of fright. She gripped the leather belt. It lifted far too easily.
Ania peered over the edge of the window.
Amy was gone.
The conference room door slammed open. Amy Felton staggered inside and dropped to her knees.
“Where is she?”
“Amy?” Nichole said, lowering her pistol. “Where were you?”
Jamie was just as surprised. For a moment, he forgot about his throbbing hand and considered this new development. Good God—Amy was still alive. Had anyone else made it, too? Like Ethan?
“Where is she?” Amy repeated, and this time it was a bit of a shriek.
“Who?”
“That bitch.”
“She got to you, too, huh?”
“We need to kill her. Now.”
Amy was pale and trembling, but also looking like she could tear a person in half—the long way. She leaned against the conference room wall and allowed herself to ease down it, gently touching down and placing her palms against the floor. Her fingers clutched at the carpet.
Nichole left David and, pistol still in hand, approached Amy.
“We need to show our cards,” Nichole said. “We all know what this place is, but I’m not sure whose side we’re playing on.”
“You know who we work for,” Amy said.
“No,” Nichole said, then swallowed. “I’m CIA.”
If Nichole was expecting a look of surprise, she didn’t get it.
“Well,” Amy said, “I’m not.”
“I know. You’re CI-6.”
“There is no CI-6.”
“You’re right,” Nichole said. “After today.”
“Look, forget this for now. What we have is a homicidal she-bitch out there, trying to kill us all.”
“One of yours, no doubt,” Nichole said.
“There are only two sides here. Hers and ours. Help me take care of her, we’ll sort this out later.”
“Either you’re against the terrorist, or you’re with her.”
“That’s funny.”
Nichole thought it over. “What do you have in mind?”
“There are at least two guns in here, right?”
“Three. David’s, Molly’s, and my own.”
“Ammo?”
“Mine’s almost spent. I used two bullets on David’s hand. But Molly only used one, as far as I can tell.”
“Then we go out there, flank her, then kill her. Jamie here can guard David.”
Jamie, who had been listening to this exchange and trying to exact a single shred of sense from it, cleared his throat. “You know, um, this Jamie guy? He’s still in the room.”
Nichole ignored him, and asked Amy, “Is he one of yours, too?”
“What do you mean?”
“He claims to be a civilian. Is he?”
Amy looked at Jamie. “Yes. As far as I know.”
“Wonderful.”
On the floor, David started to place another food order. Burger King this time. Two Whoppers, extra onions, plenty of pickles, along with fries. He started murmuring about Burger King allegedly cooking the best-tasting fries of all the fast food chains, but that was bull, because none could hold a salt shaker to McDonald’s.
“What’s wrong with him?” Amy asked.
“You were there when he was shot in the head, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t know that made you hungry.”