Page 28 of Filthy Feck


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Not for the first time, that smile put me on edge.

“Am I going to be allowed to leave?” I queried, my voice unnaturally calm.

“There are many exits from this building,” she demurred. “We will be leaving via a different one than where we entered earlier.”

Uncertain why that both answered my question and didn’t, I got to my feet, rubbed my hands on a paper napkin that had come with the pizza box, and I grabbed my laptop bag, which I’d stowed away after I’d completed my task.

Case in hand, I checked the time and saw that it didn’t line up with the clock on the wall.

Frowning, I rubbed my forehead and followed Black out of the now-silent room.

The halls were empty.

It was nine-forty AM according to the wall clock. Ten-forty according to my watches.

This place should have always been ticking, but it was nine-forty in the goddamn morning, and there wasn’t a soul around.

Over the years of dealing with the government, I’d come to learn that as discomforting as life in the mob was, it was a kinder fate.

The mob would only torture and kill you.

The government would torture you, kill you, erase you, defame your name, malign your family, and maybe toss a couple of your brothers or sisters in jail at the same time.

“Fucking government,” I mumbled under my breath. “No wonder I have authority issues.”

The greasy pizza started to settle heavily in my gut, making me wish I hadn’t eaten the damn thing in the first place.

With every step I took, my level of unease grew as I failed to pass a single soul until, finally, I saw someone.

A guard.

Eyes blank, focus straight ahead. Black suit, black tie, white shirt. Translucent earpiece. Brown hair, a forgettable face.

Black didn’t nod at him, just went to the door and opened it.

As she walked in, she held the door for me, her gaze locked on mine in a silent order to follow.

I wasn’t a moron—this wasn’t a battle I needed to die fighting—so I traipsed in after her.

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.

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