29. Predator and Prey

The station reminded Sydney of one that she'd once broken into on the border of the Czech Republic—a simple affair, two stories of gray concrete inside a courtyard walled with stone and barbed wire.

They abandoned the motorcycle half a mile from the station and made their way toward the building until they finally stopped beside a trio of trees situated a hundred yards from the wall. One glance at the wall told Sydney that there were infrared cameras installed at each of the corners, the distinctive shape of their structure giving them away.

"What is it?" Winter whispered beside her.

She nodded subtly at the wall. "Infrared cameras. If we get any closer, they'll pick us up."

Winter reached for something in his pocket. Sydney looked over to see him produce the pen flare from his pocket that Niall had given him at Panacea's headquarters.

"How bright a distraction do we need to throw those cameras off, then?" he said.

Sydney smiled. "You still have that?"

"Saved it for an emergency," he replied with a sidelong wink.

Sydney took the flare from him. It would do. When it went off, it'd be bright enough to white out the footage from the cameras for several seconds—enough time for them to get close to the edge of the wall and make their way around to the back.

"What happens once we get in, though?" he whispered.

"When I get in," Sydney clarified. "You stay out here, make sure you're watching for trouble. We need our escape route to be foolproof." She cast him a skeptical glance. "You know how to ride the motorcycle?"

He shrugged. "I used one once for a stunt."

Sydney winced. "Good enough."

Up on the wall, she saw a faint, moving glow. A single guard was walking around inside the premises with a flashlight. She waited until the light had turned to the back of the building.

She and Winter exchanged a look. Then she clicked the pen, set up the flare, and tossed it near the entrance.

The shock of the flash was so bright that, even knowing to brace themselves, Sydney still flinched, the light washing out her closed lids so that even the darkness looked bright red. Instantly, she moved in the direction of the gate, her eyes still shut.

The light was there and gone in the span of three seconds. By the time she reached out and felt the stone cold and hard against her fingertips, the night had gone dark again.

Sydney opened her eyes. The flare had temporarily thrown off her night vision, leaving spots of color dotting her sight, and she fumbled against the wall for a second before feeling the edge of the gate. Her fingers found the lock. She pulled the pin from her hair, then went to work on it.

Inside the building, she heard a faint mutter of voices. English, although she couldn't make out what they were saying.

The lock finally made a satisfying click. Sydney shoved the pin back in her hair and slowly pulled the door open.

The lone guard making rounds in the complex was, as her timing had correctly estimated, still behind the building. Sydney slid inside and made her way through the shadows until she pressed herself against the building's wall. There, she paced herself, following the faint glow of the guard's flashlight until she had made her way to a window.

The light inside the window shone cold and fluorescent. Even before Sydney could edge her way to the side enough to peek in, she recognized the deep grate of Tems's voice.

"There's not enough time," he was saying.

"There's plenty," came a reply in an American accent.

She froze. Who was he talking to?

"They're going to come back, you know." That was Tems speaking again. "I'm her mission. She's not going to forfeit it, it's not in her nature."

Sydney felt her throat turn dry. She slowly edged forward just enough to catch a glimpse of the room.

It was a sparsely furnished space, just a single long table with four chairs, the fluorescent rectangle of light on the ceiling casting everything in a cold, harsh glow. Tems sat across from three others, his elbows resting on the tabletop, and together, they looked like they were deep in discussion.

Sydney stared at the scene as if it might be an illusion, racking her brain for understanding.

And right away, she recognized one of the other three officers sitting at the table. His face had been seared into her memory the moment he'd attacked her at the airport.

He was right here.It was unmistakable—the man who had lunged at her with the knife was now seated calmly across from Tems, his arms crossed.

A cold realization began seeping into Sydney's veins.

"Go back with her, then," one of the others, a woman, said.

"What about Panacea?" Tems asked. "I need to stay a little longer. There's a few loose threads."

"We'll take care of your loose threads," her attacker interrupted. "What is it, your luggage?"

Tems shook his head. He didn't look like a captive or the subject of an interrogation. There were no cuffs on his hands or feet, nothing binding him to the chair. His posture was relaxed, with no intention of bolting from the room. "My recorder in the hotel. I didn't have time to get it."

"We'll send someone."

"What are you going to tell the director?"

The man shrugged. "CIA needed some more time."

CIA.The man who had attacked her at the airport was a CIA agent. They were all agents, sent over by the government. Sydney felt her stomach twist sharply, the impossible questions bubbling up in her mind even as she answered them herself. Why was Tems sitting here, talking with them like they had all been working together? He had been unable to reach them after the assassination, had looked and sounded so frustrated. Why was he now talking about Sydney's mission as if it were an obstacle, like he had no intention of following through with their escape?

Unless he'd never intended to. Unless he had never really been here for Panacea.

His words came back to her from the night they'd talked at the hotel. When she'd asked him if she needed to contact the CIA.

No need to make contact,he'd said. I'll check that they're in place for us.

"You should have let Seah in on everything," Tems muttered now. "It would've made things less complicated for us."

"Seah couldn't know. He was a liability."

"You don't plan an assassination for six months just to risk it all on a loose asset."

"You should know. At least yours went smoothly."

Tems gave a single, cynical laugh and nodded. "At least mine did."

At least yours went smoothly.

Sydney had to lean against the wall for support. Her mind whirled, trying to make sense of what she'd just heard. It couldn't be true. But in her head, all she could see was Tems giving her a wry smile.

An agent never asks directly. They only know what makes sense.

And she knew, with a certainty that made her sick to her stomach.

Tems hadn't been here to work on his Panacea mission to stop the assassination. He had been here for an assassination. But not for Rosen. Not for Rosen. Sydney's breathing sped up until her lungs hurt.

At least yours went smoothly. At least yours went smoothly.

Tems had planned Niall's murder.