The Boston fog was thick as a black ops file. Rossa opened the door...carefully, slowly. He'd learned his lesson about what happens when you don't look before you leap. Yes, it was only a flesh wound...but the stinging pain on cold winter mornings often reminded him of how much worse it could have been.
Oh, he'd seen it all before. The documents, the safe deposit box in Switzerland. The frenetic transfer of technology. The outbursts, the speculation...the frayed nerves. Sure, Tara did her best to keep a tight lid on everything. But she was only one woman against a world determined to pry the truth out of her, by any means necessary.
Rossa lit up and took a long, deep drag. "Gotta stop smoking," he thought. He had to think about tomorrow. But he also had to face the reality there might not
be a tomorrow. Not if he was careless. Not of he slipped up. Not if those with the USB stick that cost the lives of so many good men didn't come through.
He instinctively placed his hand around the cold steel of his Beretta...he wasn't going to be caught by surprise this time. He looked around the office, bathed in the soft glow of a dozen LCD monitors. Right now, at this moment, all seemed quiet.
Perhaps a little
too quiet...
(to be continued)