Prologue
All I hear are screams. All I see is red.
How everything could have gone to shit so quickly and unexpectedly grates at me. I grind my teeth and take cover behind a market stall that sells jewelry. The vendor fled minutes ago.
Bullets fly everywhere, their target unknown to me.
This was clearly a setup.
But how? For whom?
I’d never screwed up an assignment as thoroughly as I’ve messed up this one. My civilian casualty count was five until today. That number has jumped by more than thirty, if I had to guess.
“Fuck!” I whisper to myself, trying to determine my next course of action.
If I want to get out of here alive, I need to make it to the rendezvous spot, but it lies between me and a dozen bullets.
I’m not much of a crier, but if I were, this whole situation would have me sobbing. Not only have I caused the death of innocents, but my target got away, and my intel was wrong. I’m back to square one with this case. A case I’ve been working on for almost five years.
Worse, this kind of fuck-up on my part will likely end my career.
I’ll be lucky if I don’t also end up in jail.
But I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on saving my own ass.
I peek around the wooden leg of the market stand and see a few more bodies fall to the ground. Rivulets of red stream from each one, staining the cobblestones. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down my rising emotion.
Now is not the time to panic. Nor is it the time to feel guilty. That can, and will, come later.
I press on the comm in my ear, trying to reach my team. “Anyone have anything? I’m a sitting duck here.”
Silence answers, and my heart thuds harder in my chest.
“Gray? Come in, Gray,” I say, my voice squeaking with my rising anxiety.
There’s slight static through the comm, and Gray’s worried voice comes through. “Nova?”
“Status? Escape route?” I ask, knowing I don’t have time to chit-chat.
“Status?” he asks, his tone full of confusion. “I can’t get a hold of the rest of the team. Their comms went dead a few minutes ago.”
“Shit,” I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, fearing the worst. “You’re still safe?”
“Yes. Still at the rendezvous spot.”
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
“Without backup?” Gray sounds downright afraid.
“What choice do I have? I’m seconds from getting a bullet through my head.”
The line is silent for a few moments.
“What can I do?” Gray asks.
“Secure the rendezvous spot and get us some damn backup. I don’t care if you have to call the president himself.”
“Copy.” I can hear him typing away on his computer. If anyone can find us help in a pinch, it’s him. He’s the best tech guy we have at the CIA.
