Now here he was, his words unmistakable.
Through the blur in Sydney’s head came one of the questions that Tems had just asked the agents.What are you going to tell the director?
The director of the CIA.
Sydney’s eyes opened again. That meant the director didn’t know—that meant the rest of the CIA didn’t know. That meant that this was a rogue cell operating within the CIA, a rogue cell that had been responsible for the assassination of the US president.
Tems had been working here with a CIA team targeting the president. They had gone through with the assassination, with his help.
And he had gotten Niall killed.
Had done iton purpose.
Sydney clutched her chest and gulped in lungfuls of air until it hurt.
Inside, Tems stood up. “I need to find my way back to them now,” he muttered. “Otherwise they’re going to be coming for me, and I’d rather we not make all of this even more complicated than it already is.”
Sydney’s thoughts spun as the trajectory of their mission changed in her head. Now it was less about Tems’s safe exit out of the country as a fellow Panacea agent and more about getting him onto the plane in order to extradite him back to the States and have him—and indeed the rest of this rogue cell—arrested for treason.
That meant she needed to get out of here right now, before Tems discovered her snooping around. She needed to tell Winter what had happened, had to make sure they got back to the airfield and pretended they knew nothing of what had just occurred, and get Tems on the plane with them, playing along long enough until they landed and were in Panacea’s cars.
Sydney pushed away from the wall and looked around. There were two guards circling now, perhaps as a result of the flash of light that had made the infrared cameras temporarily malfunction. She could see one of them making their way gradually in her direction, the glow from their flashlight trembling against the ground.
Her eyes darted up to the top of the station. Then she rose, placedher boot on the edge of the windowsill that no one could see, and pulled herself up right as the guard came around the corner.
She crouched in complete stillness against the outside of the balcony as the man drew near, his flashlight illuminating the gravel where she had just been. She held her breath, looking on as the man swiveled the light back and forth in a bored motion of habit. He shined the light toward the gate, finding nothing.
Then he pointed his flashlight again at the ground in front of the window where Sydney had just been. This time, he held the light still, studying the ground.
He must have noticed the sand that her boots had shifted.
Sydney cursed silently, listening as the guard called for his friend to come over.
“Hey,” he said in Mandarin. Sydney crept quietly to the edge to see the man waving at the second guard.
The second guard, a woman, approached. “What is it?” she replied.
The man pointed his flashlight down at the ground. “Does this look like a different boot to you, or is it standard issue?”
The woman bent down to study the floor, pointing her own flashlight at the same spot. Then she shrugged. “It doesn’t look like ours,” she said. “Maybe it’s the Americans.”
“They didn’t come to this window,” the man said. He shined his flashlight on the windowsill. “There’s some dirt here.”
Sydney hated when guards were competent. She crept to the opposite side of the roof and glanced in the direction where she’d left Winter to wait. There was a drainpipe running along the side of the building here. If she could slide down quietly enough, she could make a run for the back gate before the two guards arrived on the scene—that is, if Winter could see her up here and unlock it for her.
She peered into the darkness, hoping he’d notice her, hoping she’d see him.
For an instant, she thought she had made a mistake, that they couldn’t possibly connect in the darkness like this.
But then she saw a slight movement near the trees surrounding the outer rim of the wall. A second later, the flash of a hand signal she would recognize anywhere. His making a scissor movement.
Winter was watching. He had seen her.
Sydney pointed once at the back gate.
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. She knew he had gotten the message, could tell that he was no longer near his position by the trees. A warmth pooled in her stomach, giving her a surge of comfort, reminding her that she still had a partner on her side.
Below her, she could still hear the guards talking. She swung one leg over the side of the roof and found her footing against the drainpipe. It was old and rusted, but it seemed like it would hold her weight. She didn’t have time to debate it, anyway—a second later, she had swung onto it and slid down with a low hush of wind. Her boots hit the ground in a soft thud.
