Saturday, 9:00 AM. The Georgetown Townhouse.
The morning sun was streaming through the heavy velvet curtains of the study, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The adrenaline of the dawn raid had faded, leaving behind a heavy, exhausted silence.
Darius was in the kitchen, brewing a massive pot of black coffee. Nia was asleep on the leather sofa, her laptop still resting on her chest, the screen glowing with the encrypted signatures of the two biometric keys we had acquired. Ethan was out, presumably sleeping off a hangover in the apartment of a junior legislative aide, continuing his deep-cover infiltration of Capitol Hill.
I was sitting behind the antique mahogany desk, staring at the burner phone resting on the polished wood.
The door to the study clicked open.
