She looked down at the small device, which rarely made any noise save for her frequent alarms and very infrequent calls. Apparently she had received a response to her profile on a dating site. Knowing what this meant, she checked the site immediately. They all had false profiles there, allowing any other member of the team to ping them whenever they wanted, while remaining relatively anonymous in the process. It was one of many covert methods they used, somewhat at random, to blur their lines of communication to the eyes of those that were watching. The site’s servers added a layer of complexity to the task of tracking their sources, and combining this with the innocuous code words and phrases Ayala had provided them with, and they had a relatively safe method of sending the occasional message to each other when something could not wait for the next of Ayala’s regular visits.

“Loved your ad. You look cute. I am from the South as well. I am hoping to go back very soon. Maybe we can meet up. -Mr. Little”

Madeline recognized the meaning of the message as soon as she read it: that her cover in Florida was in jeopardy and that she had to return there immediately. Madeline stared at the monitor for a moment, then checked her other dummy e-mail accounts and even looked at the various classifieds where they also posted information. Nothing. No more information.

She had to act, she knew that. She had to move. Now. But she was frozen with, she did not know what.

She stared, a sense of numbness settling over her. A small part of the back of her mind began thinking about flights. She realized this and watched it, almost remotely, as this part of her stepped up and went through the schedule of flights back to her hometown, one of the many things Ayala had made her memorize for just such an occasion. She knew what she had to do. As if by default, she eventually stood, went to a drawer, gathered one of her fake persona packages with its complement of credit cards and matching driver’s license, and slipped her real ID and credit cards into a purpose made slit in the lining of her purse. Thus prepared, she turned for the door. There was nothing else for it. She walked out as if impelled. She had just over three hours before the last flight to Tampa. She had to go.

* * *