Dark Zone

43

As soon as Dean put his foot on the edge of the crate he heard it crack. He grabbed the ledge and pulled himself upward as the box collapsed in a heap.

“Too late to switch places with you now,” he whispered to Lia over the communications system.

He thought he heard her growl in response.

Dean balanced precariously on the narrow ledge as he pulled the handheld computer out to scan for a burglar alarm. There wasn’t one, and the two halves of the window were held together by a simple latch at the middle, which was easily undone by sliding his knife in through the crack. He used the knife to swing the far window away, then leaned over to peer inside. Besides making it possible to see into the dark office, Dean’s night-vision glasses could detect beams from infrared devices used on alarm systems. There were none, and a second scan with the PDA failed to turn up a motion detector or more sophisticated bugging device.

“I’m in,” he told Lia as he swung inside.

“I can see that.”

“They don’t have a PC.”

“Smart of them,” said Lia.

The group that had rented the office claimed to raise money for a service that trained nurses. It did actually do this, and in fact donated more than a hundred thousand dollars every year to schools in Egypt, Pakistan, and Iran. But such international operations provided a pretext for passing information among a host of individuals and countries.

While terrorists typically went to great lengths to keep their communications secret, experience had shown that offices such as these in friendly countries often had surprisingly lax security. It wasn’t a case of hubris so much as human nature: if a threat wasn’t imminent, it tended to be ignored. Dean’s briefer had predicted there would be no alarm systems or other common safeguards, and so far it appeared as if he were right.

However, there wasn’t a terribly lot to protect here: no computers and only two lateral files at the side of the office. Both were locked. Dean used the handheld computer to check for electronic security devices — he didn’t particularly want to blow himself up trying to get a bank statement. When he found none, he took out the lock pick and went to work on the lock.

Dean had taken a two-day course in the fine art of jimmying locks after joining Deep Black, but he hadn’t had much time to practice since then. The lock stayed stubbornly set.

And then he heard someone in the hall.

“Charlie, people coming your way,” said Lia. “I can see them turning on lights.”

No kidding, he thought, hiding behind the desk.