"You have to stay here. If we're caught, it's your job to carry through with the rest of the plan. You'll have the cooperation of both our groups of friends. Remember, come out of hiding twelve hours before the summit is set to start. The world leaders will already be here or be in route. They won't be able to change the venue. Once they've given you the location, try to get our people there ahead of time. Convince the leaders to leave. Tell them what we suspect, but only them. The guards who are with them could be under orders from the president. I'd warn them now if it wasn't for all the listening ears that can't be trusted."
"We have been over it many times, Belle. I know what must be done."
Neither Belle nor Shark were recognizable. Belle's beautiful red hair was covered in a mousy brown wig. Her eyes were dull gray, and her face appeared twenty years older. It was also plumper. Prostheses had been added to her cheeks and nose. Beneath her food service uniform, she wore a padded suit, adding forty pounds to her thin frame.
Shark wore glasses. His classic nose was covered in a bulbous prosthesis. His skin was wrinkled and darkened. His thick silver hair had been covered in a very obvious, cheap toupee. He was livid. "You've ruined me, Belle. I'm disgusting. Why couldn't you make me younger and better looking like I asked?"
"Because, my friend, you are too handsome to improve and older is easier to accomplish. At least I refrained from adding a pot belly and bad teeth." The horror on his face was priceless.
The plastic boxes, two each in case one didn't work as expected, were hidden in their waistbands. They were in the off position until after Belle and Shark made it through security.
James was solemn as he said goodbye. "I'll alert David that you're on the way. If he doesn't reply, we'll have to abort. It would mean someone else was at his station."
"He'll be there. The director's too worried about finding my hideout to watch for me under his nose. He doesn't believe I'd dare to enter his domain."
Belle's nerves didn't kick in until the transport entered the CIA grounds. It was a shuttle that exchanged staff during every shift. She and Shark blended in with the other workers, tired, old, and poor. Exiting the shuttle, she elbowed Shark in the side. He was flirting with one of the women. He shrugged his shoulders at her admonishment and grinned sheepishly. "It comes naturally," he whispered.
His inability to control himself made her laugh. It soothed her nerves and steadied her shaking hands. Relief overwhelmed her when she saw David checking fingerprints and badges. When she and Shark reached him, a clear piece of plastic was placed over the scanner instead of their hands. On it were the prints of vetted workers, who would now be paid for their day off.
Following the workers to the kitchen, they received carts filled with meals. They were assigned the mailroom, storage facility, dock, and the prisoners. James and David had pulled it off. They would have to deliver all the meals in the order they were listed to avert suspicion, but their badges would open the basement.
One by one the meals were delivered. The recipients didn't glance at the faces of the servers. To them, the servants were as much a part of the fixtures as their chairs, useful but anonymous. So far, the disguises had held up. The scanners hadn't set off any alarms.
As they approached the basement, the nerves returned. Under the fat suit, Belle was sweating. Even Shark, who had nerves of steel, caused the cart to rattle with his shaking hands. Belle opened the lock with her badge and was thankful to see the light turn green. The narrow entryway meant they couldn't walk side by side. Belle took the lead. Overhead lights did little to ease the dank darkness. The basement reminded her of a crypt or a tomb. It used to store the boxes full of important case records, but that was long ago, before the days of computers and databases.
The cells were lined up on her right. She studied the locks as she handed the sandwiches and bottles of water through the grated window. The prisoners didn't receive the same hot meal as the rest. Plates wouldn't fit through the windows and staff were not allowed to open the cells. The meals varied little. Scrambled egg sandwiches and water for breakfast. Mystery meat sandwiches and water for the other two meals. It was a life sustainable diet, but not tasty.
The weredragon in the cell was the first person to look her in the eye and express appreciation for the food. He appeared resigned to his fate. There was a calmness in him that she hadn't expected. He showed no signs of the mind control. The second cell held another who was almost as calm, though he was slightly hostile. His terse thank you as he snatched the sandwich was more in keeping with what she expected.
Taking a deep sustaining breath, she approached the third cell. She knew it held Blayze. Shark patted her shoulder in encouragement, reminding her she wasn't alone.
A body slammed into the metal door. A growl had her jumping backward into Shark. The face in the window was that of Blayze, yet different. His eyes were wide and feral. His teeth were bared and snarling. He reached up and ripped the bandages off his head. She saw the bald spot, where his head had been shaved, and the bloody stitches in the center.
