Page 48 of Fox in Plain Sight

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Nick exhaled a sigh of relief when the guard at the gate at the entrance to the CIA campus returned his identification and lifted the gate to let him pass. He pressed his foot on the gas and accelerated the Toyota, driving down the long driveway flanked by trees and bushes.

The entire Langley campus was surrounded by a thick forest, sitting there like an island. Several massive parking lots—all above ground—surrounded the large building, or rather buildings, since CIA headquarters was really made up of three separate but interconnected buildings. Once inside any of them, a person could get to any part of it—given the right access credentials of course.

An inner courtyard was partially covered with a massive tent-like canopy, other areas were open and provided some greenery to relax within the concrete-and-glass structure.

Nick drove to the parking lot closest to the main entrance. In case something went wrong, he would need to get to his car quickly to leave the CIA campus before they locked the place down. It was still early. Many employees were only just arriving. He’d timed it that way, knowing that during busy times he had a better chance of slipping through unnoticed. In the morning, everybody was too concerned with getting their first cup of coffee and not fully awake yet.

Nick exited the car and locked it, then walked calmly toward the entrance. From the corner of his eye, he observed other men and women doing the same. Some held paper coffee cups, others carried briefcases. Most were dressed in suits or other business casual clothing.

For three years, Nick had waited for this opportunity, and now it had finally come. As if he still belonged here, he walked through the glass doors, entering the white-and-gray marble-and-granite entrance hall. Nothing had changed. A row of turnstiles awaited him. Beyond them the well-known CIA seal made of white-and-gray granite tiles was laid into the floor.

He lined up at one of the turnstiles, waiting his turn to swipe his identification card. The person ahead of him marched through it quickly, and he followed, swiping his card.

A high-pitched beep sounded, and a red light flashed at his turnstile.

Adrenaline shot through him.

Shit!

A security guard walked up to him, glancing at his ID. “Sorry, sir, we’ve been having some problems with this one this morning when people come through too quickly. Please try again now.”

Nick plastered a fake smile on his face and nodded. “No problem.”

Heart beating in his throat, he swiped his card again. A green light flashed at once.

“Go ahead, sir,” the security guard said, waving him through. “It’s all good now. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

Relieved, Nick marched through the turnstile and walked to the end of the hall. Sweat trickled from his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his starched dress shirt. Another incident like that, and he’d have a heart attack at thirty-three.

Focusing on the task ahead, Nick let his gaze roam. He still knew his way around, though it had been over three years since he’d last been at Langley. The maze of corridors had never seemed daunting to him before. He’d loved the challenge, loved to figure out the fastest way from point A to point B.

Acting as if he belonged there, Nick walked confidently. He never hesitated, always planned ahead, his mind constantly mapping out the path in front of him, so he would never have to stop to orient himself. He wouldn’t give anybody a reason to look at him with suspicion.

He didn’t take the elevator, but used the stairs instead, not wanting to be in a confined space from which it would be difficult to escape should anybody recognize him. Though it was unlikely, there was always a chance of running into somebody who knew Sheppard and therefore knew the badge that hung on Nick’s pocket wasn’t his, even though the picture was of his face.

It felt like an eternity until he reached the right corridor. He approached the door that said Restricted Area and stopped. Outside of it were a card reader and a camera.

Nick swiped his card, then lifted his face toward the camera, knowing that a facial recognition software was about to scan his face and compare it to the picture on file—the picture he’d uploaded to the CIA’s systems himself.

Several seconds passed, then he heard a click. Nick pushed against the door. It opened inward. He stepped through it and let the door close behind him. It was quieter here, though he knew he wasn’t alone. Along the corridor were several rooms with their doors closed.

“I’m in,” he whispered into the tiny mic hidden beneath the lapel of his jacket.

“Good, I’ve got you.”

He heard Yankee’s reply in his ear and sighed with relief. The GPS in the heel of Nick’s shoe was sending back a signal to his fellow Stargate agent. The infrared system Michelle had tapped into and showed Yankee how to use, was doing the rest.

“Walk straight ahead,” came the first instruction through his earpiece.

With an outward calmness, Nick passed the closed doors until he reached a bend in the corridor.

“Now left.”

He turned left.