Page 76 of Critical Mass
The massive desk dominated the center of the room. Built-in bookshelves lined two walls. A wet bar occupied one corner. The space was expensive but impersonal—not somewhere Ravenscroft spent leisure time.
Hudson’s internal clock started counting. Two minutes and forty-five seconds. That’s all he had.
He moved to the desk, his footsteps silent on the Persian rug.
First things first: He placed a listening device just under the desk.
Then he grabbed his phone and, using its light, scanned the surface.
A leather planner sat open. Hudson’s pulse quickened as he photographed the pages, the camera’s slight click sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room.
Two minutes, fifteen seconds.
Hudson carefully pulled open the top desk drawer, wincing at the slight squeak of wood on wood.
He paused, listening.
No change in the conversation from the dining room. No footsteps approaching.
Inside the drawer: pens, business cards, notepads. Nothing incriminating.
He photographed it anyway. Sometimes patterns emerged later that weren’t obvious in the moment.
Second drawer. Files labeled with shipping company names—legitimate businesses. But underneath, a manila folder with no label.
Hudson lifted it carefully, opening it to find shipping manifests. His eyes scanned quickly, photographing each page. Container numbers. Arrival dates. Origin ports.
One minute, forty seconds.
His training screamed at him to keep searching, to find more evidence, to make this risk worth it. But his instincts—honed by years of operations—told him time was running out.
Hudson closed the drawer, checked that everything was exactly as he’d found it, and turned toward the door.
That was when he heard them.
Footsteps in the hallway. Not rushing, but purposeful. Coming closer.
Hudson’s heart rate spiked for the first time since entering the room.
He was too far from the door to slip out unseen. The windows had alarms—he’d noted the sensors earlier. There was no other exit except?—
The door handle started to turn.
Hudson’s mind raced through options in the fraction of a second he had left.
Hide behind the desk?
Too obvious.
Claim he got lost looking for the bathroom?
Weak excuse.
Admit he was snooping?
Career-ending.
The door began to open, light from the hallway spilling into the dark study.
