Chapter 6 - The Anatomy of Fear
The silence on the other end of the encrypted line lasted four agonizing seconds. Outside, a heavy semi-truck roared past on the interstate, its headlights sweeping across the diner’s interior, bathing the man in the black suit in a transient, ghostly white light.
"Negative," the voice in his earpiece rasped. It was a voice synthesized through a digital scrambler, sounding like dry gravel churning in a steel drum. "If you take her inside a public establishment, the local authorities will be forced to respond. We cannot afford an investigation in Blackwood County before the transaction is finalized."
The man in the suit—whose real name was Vance—did not argue. He was a professional. He had spent twelve years in private military contracting before being recruited by the Foundation. He understood the math of clean operations.
"She gave the cook details," Vance said quietly, keeping his voice below the ambient noise of the diner's exhaust fan. "The vehicle description. The time. The entrance vector."
"The cook is a non-entity," the voice replied instantly. "A dishwasher with a heart of gold. He will assume she is hysterical. But if he becomes a variable, eliminate him after the target is secured. Do not lose sight of her, Vance. She has the hard drive."
"Understood," Vance said. He ended the call, sliding the phone back into his tailored pocket with a seamless, fluid motion.
Across the room, Maya had finished half the fries. Her hands were still shaking, but the severe hypoglycemia that had driven her to near-fainting had receded. She was looking around the diner now, her survival instincts re-engaging.
Her eyes swept past the counter where Richard was counting bills. Past the front window where the rain had turned into a thick, misty fog. And then, her gaze drifted toward the back corner.
Toward the jukebox.
Vance didn't look away. To look away or make a sudden movement was a amateur's mistake. Instead, he allowed his eyes to remain totally dead, looking through her rather than at her, leaning back with the bored posture of a weary businessman waiting out a rainstorm.
May you like
Maya’s eyes lingered on him for two terrible seconds. She saw the black suit. She saw the slicked-back hair.
A sudden, sharp gasp escaped her throat. She slid out of the red vinyl booth so fast her knees slammed into the underside of the Formica table, sending her water glass spilling across the floor.
