technique as she moved through her tae kwon do form.
Eight counts in, eight counts out, three times. Slow and steady. Then one impossibly slow set. She had to gulp for air a few times before the rhythm established itself, then her motions and her breathing attained a fluidity that moved her easily toward the goal of complete balance. A new sensation-the feeling that her lungs had infinite capacity, that she could inhale forever-began to seduce her. Then the metronome reminded her to exhale, and that, too, was amazing, as the air flowed up through her, an inexhaustible source, replenished even as it left her.
Now the three slow breaths seemed too hurried, and her body yearned for the fourth one. When it came to her again, she floated-serene and in perfect harmony. And because she didn’t struggle to maintain it, she stayed there, still breathing, but no longer making a conscious effort. She didn’t know how long it lasted, but when it ended, she felt no loss, no regret. She felt only peace.
My God, Ortega, no wonder you do this…
She moved through the form one last time, just to reintroduce her body to reality. Then she glanced at the clock and realized sheepishly that the entire experience had lasted less than thirty minutes. It had seemed like at least an hour!
She felt so refreshed, it seemed silly to think about sleeping. Yet she also knew she would fall asleep in seconds, thanks to the absence of worry or stress. And she needed to be at her best for the break-in, so she entered the cocoon of netting, slipped between satin sheets, tucked her blowgun under the fluffy pillow and nestled down for a nap.
Awakened by the recorded sounds of birds cawing and waterfalls crashing, Miranda switched off the alarm, then dressed in a sexy black-and-white striped sundress and low-heeled sandals. Then she twisted her hair into a long, loose braid, grabbed a black canvas shoulder bag containing the straw, darts and a flashlight, and headed down three flights of stairs to the ground floor.
The lobby was deserted, although from the sound of things, the bar was hopping. Outside, a doorman was busy attending to a group disembarking from a stretch limousine, so Miranda was able to scoot into the parking lot without attracting attention. Once at the Mercedes, she drove quickly to an unlit area, where she changed into the black outfit and sneakers before following the rest of the route she had memorized on the plane.
It took less than forty minutes to reach the building that served as both laboratory and warehouse for BioGeniSystems, Inc, the company that had refused to pay Kell’s ransom ten years earlier. As Kristie had forewarned, the place was surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. There was a main gate in the front, with a wider one for deliveries in the back. Both were padlocked.
It seemed completely deserted, but the intel had been accurate thus far, so Miranda assumed the Dobermans would be there soon to greet her. Closing the car door as quietly as possible, she tucked the pistol in her waistband and loaded the dart gun, hoping that it would suffice. It was designed to hold two projectiles in its cylinder, which meant she would need to reload once. On the other hand, it would be silent and nonlethal, which was just how she wanted it.
Popping the trunk, she retrieved the chain cutters, which she then used to slice easily through the padlock cables on the back gate. Immediately the dogs began to bark from somewhere in the dark recesses of the lot, so she threw the tool back into the trunk, then pushed the gate open and braced herself, the high-tech straw in her lips and her special glasses ready to detect heat from the animals’ bodies as soon as they came into view.
It was almost surreal, seeing them as blurs of pulsating yellow and red before they took actual shape before her eyes. As soon as the first two dogs bounded into range, she fired, dropping them.
A third animal leapt toward her, his fangs bared, and for a split second she considered using the pistol, but by then her fingers had managed to get the third and fourth darts in place, so she blew one into the monster’s neck just as his body reached her. The impact of his huge, unconscious form almost knocked her off her feet, and to keep her balance she dropped to one knee, pushing the carcass aside, alert for the last dog’s arrival.
To her amusement, this fellow seemed to be rethinking his options. He ran up to within a few feet of her, then whined as if to say, “Don’t shoot me.”
Miranda extended her hand and he moved to her cautiously, then licked her fingers. “That’s a good boy,” she told him softly. “Don’t worry. This won’t hurt a bit. You’ll sleep for a few minutes and you probably won’t remember a thing. Okay?” Jumping to her feet, she took a few steps backward, smiled into his trusting brown eyes, and shot him with a dart.
Turning her attention to the back door of the facility, she saw that it was secured by an excellent dead bolt. Unfortunately for BioGeniSystems, there was a window within inches of the entrance, and no alarm system, so Miranda simply shattered the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door.
“I trained for eight months for this?” Miranda asked with a laugh, then she turned on the slim flashlight hooked to her waistband and surveyed a half-empty storeroom. On the far wall were two doors, one marked “Lab,” the other, “Office.”
Praying that she would find a wealth of information on Jonathan Kell, she headed into the office and was pleased to find a tall set of file cabinets along one wall. Another door led to a small outer office, which in turn had a door to the front parking lot. The blinds in the outer office were closed tight.
Locating the file drawer labeled “K”, she transferred the flashlight to her teeth and began searching until she found a four-inch thick folder with Jonathan Kell’s name emblazoned across the front.
Personnel records. Background checks. Disciplinary reports. Counseling notes. It was more than Miranda could have wanted. She quickly photographed what she needed, then returned the file to its spot.
There had been nothing about Kell’s actual experiments or research, so she searched through the remaining cabinets for more records, then put the barrette back in her hair for safekeeping and moved into the laboratory. Expecting it to be spotless and high-tech, she grimaced when she found long metal tables littered with tubes, vials and equipment in complete disarray. Kristie had mentioned that BioGeniSystems had gone downhill in recent years, mostly due to inferior staff, but also because of the simple glut of similar companies operating in the area with little or no success. There were even rumors that the company had begun working with drug lords in the area, developing methods of refining and purifying illegal substances-a far cry from their original purpose of healing.
There were three regular file cabinets in the lab, along with a fourth one made of stainless steel that was styled more like a safe, complete with a combination lock. Checking the unsecured drawers first, she found five slim bundles of records labeled Jonathan Kell, and quickly photographed them.
Then she stared at the locked cabinet, intrigued but also fairly certain that it contained nothing of use to her. Kell hadn’t worked here for ten years, after all. The safe probably contained current secrets, not old ones. Or maybe it housed the payroll.
Still, she had to open it. After all, Kristie’s scenario called for BioGeniSystems to assume that this break-in was the result of industrial, rather than governmental, spying. And no self-respecting industrial spy would pass up the chance to see what a competitor considered so valuable it had to be locked up!
Balancing the flashlight on a table with its beam directed at the safe, Miranda dug in her shoulder bag for the C-4 that Kristie’s contact had planted in the car. Kneeling, she briefly examined the lock as well as the cabinet’s structure. Then she rigged the explosive directly under the main hinge and stepped back just as it detonated cleanly.
Setting the door aside, she knelt again and examined the handful of files in the interior. They were all labeled “HeetSeek.” The only other contents were a set of six blue test tubes hanging in a chrome rack. Flipping through the papers, she bit her lip, not quite understanding what she was reading. Then she saw two words that sent her mind flashing back to her recent conversation with Ortega.
What was Kell rumored to be working on?
Something called Night Arrow.
“It really did exist,” she murmured, stunned by the revelation. “But Kell didn’t know about it. So these bastards didn’t just betray him by refusing to pay the ransom. They kept secrets from him and he was tortured because of them!”
Knowing that the dogs would wake up shortly, she decided to just stuff these files into her bag rather than taking the time to photograph them. It would fit with her cover, she decided, and she didn’t trust herself to know what to copy and what to ignore. She also wanted to take one of the beautiful blue tubes, but was a little concerned about the danger if the HeetSeek liquid proved to be volatile. The last thing she wanted to do was blow up that beautiful Mercedes and get thrown in a prison for industrial espionage. The CIA would disown her more
