Page 10 of Silent Target

The young man who left it running outside the convenience store will report it stolen as soon as he notices it’s gone.

I’m hoping Graves notices first.

The garage smells like oil, damp concrete, and rainwater. Overhead lights flicker, leaving deep pools of shadow between the parked vehicles.

I park near the back wall and kill the engine.

For several seconds, I don’t move.

My hand rests on the pistol beneath my coat.

I was trained for fieldwork before I became an analyst.

I know how to shoot.

How to detect surveillance.

How to hurt someone badly enough to escape.

But I’m not Shadow Division.

If Graves’s people find me, they won’t drag me back to Langley for questioning. They’ll put a bullet in my skull and leave evidence proving I was a foreign asset.

By morning, every person who ever knew me will believe I betrayed my country.

My fingers tighten around the pistol.

I open the car door.

The soft sound echoes through the garage.

Rainwater drips from my coat as I step out and sling my bag over my shoulder.

The copy of the recording is still inside it.

The original card is sewn into the lining of my coat.

Two chances.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

A shadow moves near the far stairwell.

I draw my pistol.

A man steps from behind a concrete pillar.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark jacket.

His hands are empty, but that doesn’t mean he’s unarmed.

He moves with a stillness that immediately identifies him as dangerous. Not restless. Not aggressive.

Patient.