Page 37 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

Georgia’s voice sounded a little lighter. “Just like that, huh?”

His hand stopped moving.

“Never mind.” She edged away, but left her palm nestled in his. “I understand what you’re trying to say. I’ll quit over analyzing everything.” Her laugh was rusty. “It’s not like you’re an undercover FBI agent, right?”

“Right, I’m not.”

Not FBI anyway.

“How long are we going to have to stay in here?”

“Until that tank moves on. Could be a couple minutes. Could be longer.”

“Is it safe in here?”

Peter took the flashlight from her and switched it on, covering the front with his palm, allowing only the smallest amount of light to escape. The room behind them was full of building materials, wood planks, cement blocks, and metal beams.

Georgia took a couple steps into the room. Her hand came up to cover her nose. “Oh my God, what is that smell?”

“What smell?” He couldn’t smell anything besides the mixed scents of smoke and garbage that seemed to permeate the air. He put his ear to the door. The tank was still sitting out there. Idling.

“Come over here,” Georgia said.

Peter turned to see that she had taken a few more steps and was looking behind a stack of planks. “It’s getting worse.”

“Ok. Just stay where you are.” He moved toward her, but the stench of rotting flesh assaulted him long before he reached her. “Smells like something died.”

He walked past her and weaved his way around the piles littering the floor. He came back a few seconds later.

“Did you find anything?” Georgia whispered.

“A dead body, just like I figured.”

“A body? As in a person?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but it’s been long enough to stink. Someone did a good job on him. Slit his throat from ear to ear.”

“Oh my God.” She stared at him as he walked past. “You say it like you’ve seen it before.”

“Unfortunately, I have. I’ve spent a fair amount of time in countries where murder is a part of daily life.”

“That’s awful.”

She sounded genuinely sympathetic. Peter shoved regret out of his mind. It wasn’t his fault that the world as she knew it had come crashing to a halt. It wasn’t his fault that she’d seen and been subjected to things she should never ever have had to deal with. Good people like her should be able to live their lives without fear. He knew it wasn’t his fault. So why did he feel guilty?

His errand had been nothing more than a routine delivery of some sensitive information to Mitchell. Peter often acted as a courier of information for a variety of law enforcement organizations: CIA, Interpol, MI6. He knew guys in the Navy SEALs, Special Forces, and Marines, but he hadn’t heard a word, not even a hint that something like this was going to happen.

How could a terrorist organization get their hands on a nuke and plan an operation as big as this one without someone bragging or gossiping about it?

Someone had fumbled the ball but feeling guilty wasn’t going to earn him any points. To win the game, he had to intercept the opposing team’s play and score against them with only seconds left on the clock.

He snuck a peek out the door again. The tank was still sitting in the middle of the street.

“Do you think whoever killed him might come back?”

“I doubt it. At least not tonight. But someone owns all this stuff, so we can’t just sit here all night.” He took another look. “Wait. There’s some activity going on.” He paused, watching three men scurry around the tank before getting in. “Looks like they’re getting ready to move out.”

A few minutes later the rumble of the big engine faded away. Peter opened the door and eased his head out. The tank was gone, the street quiet.

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