Eddie and the woman sit on the bench, talking.Pedestrians pass, but most of those hurrying by in this section seem to be aiming for the ferry station.
I shuffle toward the railing, my manufactured favoring of my right leg convincing even to myself after hours of practice.Every movement rehearsed, every limp earned through repetition.Deception, like ballet, demands muscle memory—and god, I’m tired of performing.
The woman’s posture is too perfect for her age—military bearing disguised as elegant confidence.Professional, not personal.
“They’re exchanging something,” I murmur into my comms, angling my phone to capture photos while pretending to take pictures of the harbor.“Small package.She’s handing him what looks like a tablet.”
Through my camera lens, I catch her profile as she removes her sunglasses to clean them—a calculated move that gives Eddie a clear view of her face.Trust building.She wants him to see her, to feel connected.Or maybe she’s gaining a clearer view of him, judging him.
“Maybe payment instructions,” I whisper, recognizing the choreography.“She’s establishing personal connection before tackling business.”
The woman stands, smoothing her silk blouse with manicured fingers that catch the afternoon light.Her fingers brush his as she passes the device—small contact, deliberate.Connection offered, control established.I know the dance because I’ve led it.
Eddie pockets the device and pulls out his phone, presumably checking the contents.His shoulders relax and he actually smiles—I read it as genuine.Whatever he sees, he’s pleased.
“Moving,” I report as she walks north of the ferry terminal.“Jake, she’s headed your way.Silver hair, purple ensemble, black Prada bag.”
But instead of continuing along the river, she turns sharply left toward the parking garage.Smart.No CCTV in the stairwells, minimal witnesses.
“Shit.We’re going to lose her.Jake, can you?—”
“On it.”
Eddie’s now holding the tablet she gave him once more, his expression shifting from satisfaction to interest.I’d bet she just handed him an assignment—or an opportunity.
My own phone buzzes with an encrypted message.
Facial recognition running.Checking CIA, State Department, private contractor databases.
Eddie stands, pockets the device, and heads south, the opposite direction from his contact.Professional trade completed.No lingering, no sentimentality.Minimal interaction.
“He’s moving to South Street,” I report.“Looks like he’s checking his phone.Ordered an Uber or Lyft.”Smart.You can’t bank on a cab this time of day down here.
Classic misdirection—meeting was the real purpose, ferry station provided cover.Anyone down here is in a hurry.
“Got her,” Jake’s voice crackles through my earpiece.“Black Mercedes, dealer plates.Should I hot wire a car to follow?”
“Negative,” Hudson’s voice carries.“Noah, Winston’s bringing the car around on South.Hop in.You follow the target as far as you can.”
“Copy that.”
In my periphery, I catch Noah reach the curb and hop in the back of the car I took to get here.
I start the slow shuffle back toward my pickup point, mind racing through what I’ve witnessed.The woman’s age and bearing suggest she could be classically trained.Ex-government, possibly intelligence.The kind of person who could run a network brokering intel without getting her hands dirty.
“Quinn, any hits yet on the facial recognition?”
“Still processing.But Brie, there’s something else.I checked Eddie’s credit card charges.He was in Georgetown yesterday.Double-checked it wasn’t an online charge or a misdirected merchant charge.Found his license plate on CCTV.”
Georgetown.DC.That’s where Senator Crawford lives.The Sanctuary doesn’t have a location in DC.
What are you up to, Eddie?
My phone vibrates again.
Adrien
Everything okay?I know where you live and work.Ghosting isn’t an option.
