That was a bit embarrassing for a tier-one operator like Gentry, but he’d known from the beginning he would be up against a lot of different opposition forces, and he’d be taking a risk operating inside the city.

If the cops hit this storage locker now he would lift the Glock and he would point it at them, but he wasn’t about to kill a cop. He might squeeze off a couple of rounds into their body armor just to make himself feel good, but there was nowhere to run, so if the cops hit, he’d die right here, sitting Indian style and enjoying the sound of the morning spring rain.

But he wasn’t just barricading himself here to die. Instead he was waiting a few minutes more for the early part of the morning rush hour, where he wouldn’t be one of the only vehicles out on the street, and then he would climb aboard the Yamaha 650 and get the hell out of town.

But not too far. Despite this morning’s setback, he still had work to do here in the District.

For now he just worked on calming his body, relaxing himself, and waiting for the right time to run.

—

Matt Hanley was the last to enter the conference room, and as soon as he did so he realized the meeting had begun without him.

Not that he cared. If he had his way he wouldn’t be here at all, but he’d been summoned by Carmichael, and Carmichael was his superior, so he had no choice but to attend.

As he sat down at the table in an open wingback chair, he looked around at the attendees. Suzanne Brewer was in the middle of a presentation. She stood in front of a digital map of the city and addressed the room, perfectly coiffed and dressed.

Mayes and Carmichael were present, of course, as were many of the other Violator Working Group members, along with a team of techs sitting in chairs against the back wall.

And there was one more attendee. Down at the end of the conference table sat a big man with short blond hair, much of it turning gray. He wore a suit and tie, his face was cleanly shaved, and he had a small notebook in front of him.

But Hanley wasn’t fooled—he knew a shooter when he saw one.

Hanley turned away from the man, presuming him to be a JSOC liaison or someone similar, but as soon as Brewer finished her presentation and sat back down, Hanley’s head swiveled back to the man at the end of the table.

Matt hadn’t seen Zack Hightower in five years, and he was almost certain he’d never seen him without a beard, so he forgave himself for not recognizing him. Calling out across the length of the table he said, “Morning, Sierra One. Welcome back to the land of the living.”