As if reading her thoughts, the fire alarm suddenly shut off. No surprise; security would have seen it for the distraction it was. It didn’t matter. The hall was crowded now, people milling about, starting conversations. It had bought her the time she needed. She followed the glasses, shifting through and around and behind the crowd. The cameras would catch her, nothing she could do about that, but with this many cameras and this many people, so long as she wasn’t drawing attention to herself, it would be a matter of luck for someone to be looking at just the right monitor.
There. A women’s bathroom, right where the map said it would be. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. One mirror, two sinks, five stalls, and a faint odor of shit. She went into the middle stall and locked the door behind her.
Shannon sat on the toilet, then pulled off the boots and set them in front of her. The dress followed. From her purse she took a pair of light jeans and wriggled them up over her hips. The blouse was silk and wrinkled from being packed so tight, but it was okay. The best part were silver flats, which felt wonderful after the ridiculous boots. Shannon reached up to her hair, undid the plastic clips, and pulled the wig off. The blond hair and dress and glasses all got tucked into the boots; she’d drop them in the trash on the way out.
Now for the fun part. She unhooked one of the smaller icicles from her necklace. The tip of a hypodermic needle glinted in the overhead lights. Using a compact mirror from her purse, she moved it carefully up to her eyebrow. Needles were not her thing, but she ground her teeth and went to work. There was a tearing as the point penetrated. She squeezed gently, then pulled it out, moved it over, and repeated the process. Each injection pushed a few CCs of saline into her forehead. With bone on the other side, the liquid had nowhere to stretch the skin but outward. A larger amount would have looked comical, but the tiny injections just changed the lines of her forehead.
When she was done with her right eyebrow, she moved to her cheekbone. It hurt.
She was just finishing up the left side with the second icicle hypo when she heard the door to the bathroom open.
Be an analyst needing to pee, Shannon thought. Be two assistants gossiping.
“Ma’am?” The voice was female, brusque. “I’m going to need you to come out here.”
Crap.
The good news was that it was just one guard, which meant they didn’t know she was in here. This would be a routine check, security forces sweeping and clearing the building.
The bad news was that the guard would be armed and ready. Shannon could handle herself, but going toe-to-toe with a DAR commando wasn’t a favorable-odds proposition.
Find a way, kiddo. Move like water flows.
“Excuse me?” Shannon said. “I’m using the bathroom.” As quietly as she could, she spun on the toilet seat, the porcelain cold through her jeans.
“I understand, ma’am, but I need you to come out right now.”
“Are you kidding me?” She planted a foot alongside the toilet, then another. “I’m in the middle of something.”
The guard moved to the other side of the door. Shannon could see the tips of her combat boots, and then the door banged, hard.
“Now, ma’am.”
“All right, all right. Jesus. Can I wipe?” She squatted beside the toilet, trying not to think about how often the floor got mopped, then rattled the toilet paper dispenser.
“Ma’am, if you don’t step out in five seconds, I’m kicking the door open.” She spoke from only feet away, and Shannon could picture her, standing at the ready, her weapon in hand but not raised. From that angle, the guard wouldn’t be able to see anything.
“Five.”
Shannon lay flat on the ground, perpendicular to the stall. Flexing one leg up, she hit the toilet handle with her toe.
“Four.”
The flush was immediate, the leonine rush of water in a public bathroom. She took advantage of the sound to slide under the wall to the neighboring stall, her hands and face brushing along the tile.
“Three.”
Well that was fairly disgusting. She rose silently.
“Two.”
Shannon opened the stall door and stepped out.
The woman was built, strong muscles layered in bulky body armor. She wore a ponytail and a pissed-off expression, a fully automatic submachine gun slung on a strap around her shoulder, her right hand on the grip, her left reaching for the door. She looked extremely competent, and Shannon knew she’d been right, no way she could have handled this woman face-to-face.
But from alongside and by surprise was another matter.
Without hesitation, Shannon lunged forward and slammed the icicle hypodermic into the side of the woman’s neck.
The needle was only half an inch long, and it caught in the muscle, but the intent wasn’t to kill, just to shock and distract her, which it did, the guard yelping as she spun, her left hand going to her neck instead of to her gun, giving Shannon the opening she needed to throw a roundhouse kick into the commando’s nose.
The guard collapsed. Shannon went with her, wrapped the gun strap against her neck. The woman tried to throw punches, but Shannon stayed close and kept the pressure on, twisting the strap tighter and tighter.
When it was done, she dragged the woman back into the neighboring stall and leaned her against the toilet. Searched for a pulse, found it strong. She’d have one hell of a headache when she woke up, but wake up she would.
Shannon closed and locked the stall door, slid under yet again, and then took a moment to look in the mirror. The guards would be looking for a five-eight blonde with a different outfit and a different face. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but it would do.
She washed her hands and stepped back into the hallway.
The odds of her getting out were no longer looking impossible. But it would still be a risk—security would be checking everyone thoroughly.
A bank of clocks on the wall showed the time in London, Chicago, Los Angeles, Singapore, and, of course, here in Washington, DC, where it was 16:45.
Shannon smiled. The DAR might be the biggest intelligence agency in America, but it was still a government office. Which meant that for most of the thousands of people who worked here, it was fifteen minutes till quitting time. Fifteen minutes until they flooded the exits.
She headed for the commissary. May as well have a cup of coffee while she waited.
CHAPTER 13
“Well diddle me sideways. Aren’t you famous? BFFs with the president?” Bobby Quinn stood framed in the door of his apartment, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“That’s right. Show some respect.” Cooper puffed out his chest. “Genuflecting is preferred, but from my old partner, a deep bow will be sufficient.”
“How about I turn around when I bow, so you can kiss my—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper grabbed his friend around the shoulders, pulled him into a bear hug. “It’s good to see you. Let’s grab a beer.”
“Man, I’d love to, but I just this minute walked in from the airport, back from Cleveland. I’m whacked.”
“Did I mention I was buying?”
“On the other hand, alcohol is part of a balanced diet.”
The sign outside declared the bar was called Jack Chittle’s; the interior was sunken booths and Christmas lights burning year round. Cooper’s knowledge of beer ended with knowing he liked it, so he let Quinn order for them, a pitcher of dark stuff called milk stout. It was rich and delicious, with hints of chocolate and coffee, and it tasted even better after they added a couple of shots of Irish whiskey.