He toggled on his mic. “Generator?”
“Permanently offline,” another voice reported.
“Proceed.”
Parker could just about make out the shadowy shapes of the men who’d handled the generator heading to the garage. Their new task was to search the building and eliminate anyone inside.
The three who’d dealt with the power line were out of sight, heading toward the guesthouse to do the same.
Once the teams finished, they were to meet Parker at the back of the main house.
Glancing at the Russian, he said, “Stay close,” and exited the trees in a crouch.
By the time Ed reachedthe place where he’d spotted the men, the rain had already obliterated most of their tracks.
He followed the remaining traces for a couple hundred yards before they vanished completely. Still, it was enough to confirm they were indeed heading toward Stone’s place.
He decided to take a path that would put him closer to the front of the property, hoping from there he’d be able to see where the others had gone.
He picked his way carefully through the woods, keeping each step as quiet as possible. He’d be little help if the intruders realized he was behind them.
Finally, he caught sight of light coming from Stone’s house ahead. Before he made it another ten steps, however, the house went dark.
He cursed under his breath, sure that the power outage wasn’t the storm’s doing.
He sacrificed a bit of stealth and picked up his pace, not stopping until he reached the edge of the open area surrounding the property.
He scanned Stone’s property. Not a soul in sight.
That was a problem. He should have seen at least one or two members of the CIA team that had been on watch since shortly after Felicity’s arrival.
What Eddidsee was the open side door to the garage.
If he’d been the one planning a raid on Stone’s house, thefirst thing he’d do was check for potential hostiles in the guest house and garage apartment.
Staying low, he moved along the stone wall at the front of the property, getting closer to the garage.
When he reached the front gate, he came to a quick stop.
Lying in a puddle beside the driveway was the body of a CIA guard. He crouched beside the man to check for a pulse but realized there was no need. The man’s throat had been slashed, and his eyes stared blankly at the cloudy night sky.
Ed shut the man’s eyelids, then continued along the fence until he was as close to the garage as he could get. He checked around again to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then he sprinted to the back of the building.
No shots rang out, which he took for a good sign.
He peeked around the corner. The open door was ten feet away. He moved to the jamb and, after hearing nothing from the other side, slipped through the doorway.
The entryway was a small room with stairs on the left, leading up to the apartment, and a door to the right to the garage proper.
He took the stairs, moving as fast and silently as he could. At the top was the door to the apartment. It was closed but unlocked.
After he eased it open, he could hear movement somewhere on the other side. He made his way through the small living room and into the hall from where the noise had come.
There were only three doors—two for bedrooms and one for a bathroom. All three were open.
A hushed whisper came from the farthest bedroom.
Ed checked the other two rooms as he passed. Both were empty.
