Olivia was sleeping deeply when she was jerked awake by a low growl from Helmut against her cheek. She laid her palm on his neck, whispered, “What is it? What did you hear?” She’d seen several foxes racing through the trees by the park at night. But Helmut was trained and he was smart. It didn’t matter that she lived in a quiet neighborhood, she wasn’t going to ignore his warning. It had been drilled into her at the Farm, when she’d first joined the CIA, to be cautious, to always double-check. Olivia slipped out of bed, pulled on her wool robe and sneakers, picked up her Glock from beside her cell phone on the bedside table, and walked slowly to the living room, Helmut as silent as a ghost at her heels, as he’d been trained. She went down on her knees and gently lifted the bottom edge of the drapery with the muzzle of her Glock, looked outside. It was dark, no moon or stars to give her any light. She scanned the trees out toward the park. Helmut’s tail thumped on the floor. Time passed. She was turning to pet him when she saw a quick flash of light, gone in an instant, as if a palm had quickly covered a flashlight. Her brain went to red alert. She was immediately operational. Someone was out there, and that was all she needed to know. She eased down the drapery, moved away from the window, Helmut beside her.

She dressed quickly in sweats and boots, shrugged on a thick dark overcoat, pulled a black watch cap out of her coat pocket and covered her hair. She realized she was shaking from the damnable weakness and cursed her body. Didn’t matter, she’d gut it out, find out who was out there. Olivia went down on her knees and looked into Helmut’s eyes. “You’ve done your job. This isn’t practice. Stay, sit quietly until I tell you to come.” He immediately sat on his haunches, but he didn’t look happy. She gave him a quick squeeze and moved as quickly as her body allowed through the kitchen, threw the dead bolt, and eased out the back door.

Olivia walked quietly around the side of the house, her Glock at the ready. There was only a slight wind, barely stirring the stark branches of the red oak trees, but it was icy cold, hovering toward freezing.

She stopped at the front corner of her house, eased down on her knees, looked toward where she’d spotted the flash of light.

She quieted her breathing and eased herself into the night sounds around her, listening for anything that didn’t belong. And she heard it, a man’s voice speaking a few words of English in a near whisper before he switched to Farsi. She strained to make out his words, but couldn’t.