The perfect way to recruit agents.
He stopped quietly outside and unlimbered his heat gun from its shoulder holster. He turned the knob and walked in.
And was suddenly aware that all noise had stopped, the air was heavy, and the dust motes in the stream of sunlight that lanced through the window were perfectly still.
"You took a long time getting here, Martin."
She was standing in front of her desk, looking exactly as when he had seen her on the ramp in Chicago and on the street in the Paris suburb. A tall woman, a little on the thin side. Thick black hair that hung loosely about her face, making a frame for a pale skin and cold, green eyes. It was a hard, capable face with just a suggestion that at another time and another place, it might have been a beautiful face.
Now.... A drawn face, with a tinge of sadness to it.
Stan leveled his heat gun. She didn't move a muscle but patiently waited for him to press the stud.
Don't talk to her, Tanner had said. Kill her on sight. But he hadn't come to kill her. Not yet. Not before he found out some information.
He lowered his arm.