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The second I did, I found a man standing by a wall of windows that overlooked a parking lot.
It, too, was empty.
What the fuck was going on here?
Since when was CIA HQ a ghost town?
Had there been a nuclear strike and I hadn’t heard it overnoxxious?
Black cleared her throat in a quiet prompt as she closed the door. I half expected her to step behind it but she didn’t. She remained in the room with us.
“How’s your first time at Langley been, Mr. O’Donnelly?”
“May I ask with whom I’m speaking?” I inquired politely once the stranger at the other end of the room finished his spiel.
His answer wasn’t forthcoming, so I strode toward the table that filled up most of the cavernous area and set my briefcase on it.
The table had to seat at least eighty people but only the three of us shared the same breathing space.
Because no one had pulled a gun on me yet—there was still time—and because I was in a boardroom and not a cell, I dragged out a chair, sank back into it, and kicked up my feet.
Black sighed at the sight, much as she’d done earlier when I’d done the same in that other barren office. “Director Reinier is gracing you with this meeting.”
My brow puckered at that.
Reinier.
The director of the CIA.
Here.
In front of me.
The man who’d sold Star out.
For the first time in my life, my brain froze.
Sometimes, it worked so fast that it outpaced my heartbeat, but at that moment, it literally stilled.
Was this what impending death felt like, or maybe I was just dealing with an aneurysm?
But my eyes were working.
My ears too.
I could still taste the spice from the pepperoni, and the air conditioning was on high for some bizarre reason considering we were in the depths of winter, and my nose discerned the faint notes of the aftershave I’d sprayed on earlier.
No, Iwasalive. I wasn’t dying.
Had I just entered a room where one of Star’s mortal enemies was breathing and existing?
One who was within arm’s reach…?
Fuck.
7
CONOR
