Chapter 7

SEVEN

Leaving her team behind was best for all of them. That’s what she told herself as Dec’s yells faded away.

She raced along the ever-shrinking passageway, assuring herself that she could move more quickly and efficiently without them. Keeping them safe was her highest priority, even above getting the red bag.

Protecting them had always been a high priority, but she hadn’t realized until they were closing in on the embassy that it had become her number one goal.

This tunnel had to be centuries old, and she wondered what it had initially connected to and who had used it all those years ago. Her heart felt as stuck in a time warp as it was, slowly disintegrating under the weight of the present.

She didn’t suffer from allergies, but the heavy rot was causing her eyes to water and her nose to run. Following the winding path, she came upon another partial landslide of stones that forced her to crawl on hands and knees to squeeze past it.

She clawed at the ground with her free hand, the memory of Declan’s embrace flashing through her mind. To be held again felt foreign, and yet her body ached for another chance to sink into his solidness.

He’d forced her carefully constructed walls to crumble, and she hadn’t been able to repair them fast enough. Offering the truce had been a Hail Mary—her only way to shield herself against the flood of emotions seeing him and hearing him insist he still didn’t regret saving her over Jessie had caused.

The damp earth clung to her clothes, and she cleared the rockslide, the air so thick her lungs struggled to suck in enough oxygen. The sounds of the rioting were still muffled but growing louder.

The tunnel forked, and she stopped, pointing her light in each direction and recalling Tessa’s paper map. There hadn’t been any alternate branches, she was sure of it. Which way ?

All these damn choices with no sure outcomes. She was sick of them. Why couldn’t anything be clear-cut? Why couldn’t she find clarity?

A boom exploded off in the distance, causing her to throw up her arms as dirt and debris rained down on her. Dust filled the air, and she heard the screech of rats as they jetted by her feet. She waved away the clogged air, looking to her right. That’s where it had originated.

What the hell were they doing up there, blowing up the embassy?

Covering her mouth with the crook of her elbow, she started running again. She kept her pace steady, fearing the explosion might have caused her access point to be cut off. The moderate glow of the flashlight showed a few minor rock slides here and there as she navigated along, but nothing substantial enough to stop her.

The ground began to rise, and the tunnel widened again. Lowering her arm, she checked the air and found it more breathable.

Up ahead, she saw the end of the line, a rusted metal ladder embedded in the wall, leading up to a manhole.

That hadn’t been on Tessa’s map, either. Meg pocketed her phone and began climbing.

She stopped on each rung, testing her weight on the ladder, knowing it could pop free from the stone in a heartbeat. The last thing she needed was to end up on her ass with the heavy ladder on top of her, injured and alone.

Dec’s voice played loud in her head. This is why you always have a partner. We are a team .

The principal was one she had pounded into all of their heads on every mission. But Jessie had been her partner on the last one, and look what it had gotten her.

She took another step up, the metal groaning. Pausing, she gave the ladder a tiny jiggle. She was still close enough to the ground that if she fell, it wouldn’t be bad.

The thing held, and she went up another rung. By the time she got to the middle, she could hear pieces of the rock wall falling to the ground. She hoped she wasn’t about to join them.

Even when she neared the top, she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly and carefully, she removed her phone and shone the light on the covering over her head. More rusty metal with a handle. She was unsure if it was a true manhole that led to a street or if this was the access point to the new embassy. It was heavy, and she doubted it had been opened in the last decade, if not a century.

She tested the handle and shoved, bracing her legs on the ladder and praying it held.

The metal under her groaned; the metal above her refused to move.

Sweat trickled down her neck and under her collar. Another reason she could have used Dec’s brute strength. His weight might’ve been too much for the ladder, though.

… fighting weight …

Hmm. Was he still taking out his stress in the ring?

Putting the phone away, she took a couple of deep breaths and tightened all her muscles. Giving a grunt, she thrust all her weight at the metal cover again.

A screech, a shift.

Too bad it wasn’t enough.

Again, she hit it with all her might.

It moved two inches this time.

But the ladder shuddered under the pressure.

Panting, she wiped sweat from her brow and shook out her hands.

Dec and the others were probably digging through that first mudslide. Another few minutes and they would catch up with her. She’d never hear the end of it.

This was all Hagar’s fault. The goddamn bastard.

Focusing on the rage she carried for him, she felt a shot of adrenaline flood her system. She would not let him defeat her. Would not let him put her team in danger again.

Gathering all her strength and balance, she propelled her hands into the rusty metal, lunging at it as hard as she could.

Dim light seeped around the edges as she managed to lift the disk. The sounds of rioting hit her, along with yelling and glass breaking. The pungent odor of burning wood and melting plastic assaulted her nose.

So did the stringent scent of cleaning products.

Her legs trembled at the strain, her biceps screaming. It was now or never. She gathered herself one more time and shoved .

The metal slid across the floor.

Relieved, she sagged, but only for a few seconds.

No one peered down at her. No shouts rang out, alerting others. All she saw as she stared up was rows of cleaning products on wire shelves and a light fixture overhead.

Hauling herself up through the hole, she ran into several mop buckets. Edging them out of the way, she swung her legs around, nailing a cart filled with cleaning supplies and rubber gloves. It had wheels and rolled into a pair of overalls on a hook. Boxes of napkins, paper towels, and toilet paper were on another shelf opposite her.

The janitor’s closet.

Beyond the door, she heard a scream. Rushing footsteps.

That scream…

At her core, she wanted to help people. It was who she was. She didn’t get off on power or accomplishments. She’d joined the CIA to fight against injustice and inequality.

She saved people, not killed them.

Deep down, she wanted to help each and every one of those still stuck inside the embassy. She’d known coming in that the riot was bad, but she hadn’t considered just how bad. The explosion earlier might have allowed Hagar to breach the double layer of gates. If he and his death squad were here…

All those trapped inside would be dead soon.

Her gut cramped.

Move . She crept across the floor, inventorying the chemicals lining the shelves. One never knew when they might need to create their own bomb.

Pressing her ear against the door, she listened to the chaos on the other side. If Hagar and his men, or any of the citizens they had recruited to riot, were inside the embassy, it would make everything harder.

Be a ghost . That’s what she was good at, and that’s why she was here.

It was one thing to avoid the rioters; another to avoid the embassy’s security detail. They would already be running on pure adrenaline and would shoot first and ask questions later.

This was one of the reasons Dec had outfitted her with the laser and ultrasonic weapon—she needed to be able to disable them without causing any permanent damage.

Muffled voices came from the other side, with urgent conversations and more running footsteps. Her comm gave a burst of static, making her jump, and Del’s voice came through. “Black Swan One, this is Loch Ness. Do you read? Over.”

She had to assume that the tech guru was also picking up what Eagle Eyes showed him. Flynn would know shortly that she had ditched the rest of her team.

Didn’t matter. She was already on his shit list.

And his was his own damn fault for reactivating her.

Before she slipped out into the hallway, she stole the badge hanging on the uniform. She probably wouldn’t need it, but better safe than sorry. “Loch Ness, this is Swan One. You’re coming through loud and clear. I am inside the embassy. Over.”

In the corridor, the air was thick with the stench of sweat and fear, and mingled with the acrid bite of smoke. Flickering emergency lights cast shadows along the carpeted floors and walls decorated modestly with landscape paintings that now hung askew or had crashed to the floor. It gave the whole place an eerie, post-apocalyptic feel.

“Roger that,” Del said. “Eagle Eyes not receiving, but picking you up on security cameras above you.”

Moving quickly and quietly, she checked one of the posted maps at the end of the hall, where it split left and right. An occasional crash punctuated the distant hum of panicked voices as desperate employees tried to barricade themselves against the unfolding chaos.

It was Flynn’s voice she heard next. “Where the hell is your team, Swan one?”

She didn’t lie. “There was a cave-in. I was the only one who got through the tunnels.”

A heavy pause came back to her.

The voices of two men sounded behind her, and she ducked into the analyst department. The large, central room was a maze of overturned furniture and scattered papers.

Controlling her breathing as she heard them turn down in the opposite direction, she froze when a security guard’s radio squawked. A woman shouted in the distance for help, and he took off running.

Again, Meg felt the itch to help, but she knew she couldn’t. The mission had to come first. Once she had the USB in her greedy little hands, though, she would do what she could.

“The safe is on the second floor,” Del told her, “inside the Chief of Mission’s office in the southwest corner.”

Giles Marchetti was a Senior Foreign Service Officer at the US Department of State with twenty-some years of experience in diplomacy and national security. He’d been after the Romanian embassy job for ten years and had the language skills, diplomatic experience, and all-around magnetism to land it when it was finally open.

She cracked open the door and let herself out into the hall once more. “Heading that direction now.”

Here and there, she had to duck into other offices, a women’s bathroom, and the lunchroom to avoid various staff members. She spotted another guard, this one stumbling around with a bloody sleeve and his gaze darting around wildly. “You there,” he yelled at her. “What are you doing? Everyone is supposed to be gathering in the health center.”

The embassy had a health center? Was that a sophisticated term for a gym? “On my way,” she lied.

Her fingers automatically brushed the grip of the ultrasonic weapon, its presence reassuring and sobering. She didn’t want to use it against anyone who might be an ally, but he didn’t know she was on his side. He’d probably already encountered intruders, and she was another threat in his eyes.

She flashed him the janitor’s badge. “I was trying to help some of the others first. How’s your arm?”

There was a cut on his forehead, leaking blood into his left eye. He brushed at it and waved off her question. “I’m fine. Turn around and head to the gym.”

Yep, just as she’d thought.

A woman limped around the corner, sobbing and clutching a framed photo to her chest. The guard went to help her, and Meg did the same, getting both of them to the stairwell door.

As it closed, she pivoted and ran toward her intended target, double-checking the directions posted on every corner and following the arrows. Marchetti’s office was in sight when she heard a voice shout, “Stop! Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

It wasn’t a guard, but a man dressed in a suit. His voice was tight and demanding, his adrenaline surging. He raised a weapon, eyes narrow with suspicion.

She showed him her hands, attempting to appear non-combative. All she needed was to get shot before she even made it to Marchetti’s. “I’m here to help.”

He hesitated, grip tightening on the stock. “Prove it.”

“You don’t have time for this,” Flynn barked at her. “Del will?—”

Static filled her ear, and she tapped the comm.

The man, thinking she was going for a weapon, fired.

As she dove for the floor, bullets rained down…