He wished he could erase his memory from Islamabad so easily. But he needed it. If he was to remain honest to his mission and his country he must not go cutting valuable information from his memory banks. The eight Agents’ purpose here was far too important to the future of his species for him to give in to the whims of his conscience.

Returning from his daily trip to the city, he mounted the subway steps once more and wandered out into the autumn evening. The street was alive. People were standing on corners and congregating around the doorsteps of their apartment buildings. Latin music, both old and new, blared from various small stereos and a couple of cars, their doors open to let the sound out, even as its high volume corrupted and warped the car’s cheap speakers.

Shahim navigated the groups of people that always populated the streets of his neighborhood in Queens, finally stepping through a group of three laughing Puerto Rican men at the door of his building. They ignored him, as they always did; he was harmless, the poor rag-head.

Entering his walk-up, he climbed the steps three at a time to the third floor and stopped at the door to his studio apartment. As he always did, he scanned the door handle, the frame, and the tattered mat in front of it before entering, the risk of discovery ever present.

On the handle were three fingerprints that had not been there that morning, his resolved sight picking them up as he scrutinized the metal with his eyes’ wide spectrum. Seeing this, he looked up, and through the wooden door. Activating the advanced radar and infrared beacons in his right eye, he reviewed the room behind the door. The radar passed back limited information through the cheap wood, but his infrared heat sensors returned confirmation that there was no one in the room.

It was entirely possible that one of his more dubious neighbors had merely tried the door on the off chance that it might be unlocked.

But there were other possibilities, and the Agents, like any covert operative, tended toward assuming the worst. He activated his weapons array in his left eye, but kept it in its sheath. He could deploy it in a moment if he was, indeed, in trouble. Then he stepped forward and inserted the tendrils in his forefinger into the keyhole and opened the door.

No clicks, no electronic signatures indicating an explosive device had been activated.

He entered. His sensors had confirmed that there was no on in the single-room apartment so he was momentarily confused by the sight of the woman sitting on his only chair.