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“Move,” Vlad commands.
I comply. Both Vlad’s and the guard’s hands are relaxed.
At least Sloane isn’t here of her own volition. But what the hell do they have her doing? Phlebotomists aren’t so rare that they’d need to hire an American scientist. What is she testing for?
From the courtyard, I give her a discreet salute. A casual nonverbal goodbye.
She remains in the doorway, watching me. Her fingers go to her lips. My breath catches. No. Not now.
Time slows. She swallows. Leans against the wall, much like the cigarette smoker.
It’s oppressively hot. A sheen covers all exposed skin. I’m two feet behind Vlad. I bend to tie the laces on my boot to buy time.
The pills act quickly, but how quickly? What did they say? Three to five minutes?
I’m a five-minute walk from a building without windows. Once I’m inside, all hell could break loose, and the only way I’d know is if I went upstairs to the one room with a window.
If she passes out moments after I touched her, will they suspect me? Will they let me jump in an ambulance with her on my first day here?
My fingers graze the firearm on my side. It’s loaded. No safety. One armed man to the front, one to the back. There’s a sniper on the elevated platform.
Sloane wobbles. Crashes to the ground. The guard shouts. I run. Find my phone.
I press Max’s pre-entered number.
White foam oozes from between Sloane’s lips. I place two fingers on her neck. Make a show of holding out my phone and calling.
Her pulse is strong.
“We need an ambulance,” I say in English. Then repeat it in Russian. Then repeat it in English.
I lift her in my arms. She’s dead weight. Unconscious.
Fuck. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s for show.
I take off at a steady jog for the gate at the front of the compound. Today was not the plan. Yes, Max should be close by, but this was not the plan.
“Wait,” Vlad barks.
I’ve reached the second large two-story building when a siren sounds in the distance. Max.
Vlad’s hand falls to his waist. His gun.
“She’s having a seizure,” I yell.
A lock dangles over the metal bar locking the entrance doors.
The siren draws closer. Louder.
I could shoot the lock, shoot Vlad. But then we would have the international incident they instructed me to avoid.
Think, Knox.
“Open the gate!” I shout in English.
The guard from this morning steps out of a small building.
One in the corner reaches for his rifle.
