“Yes,”Kellasays, “but there’s a blind spot against the building until you reach the cross street.”
“Goodenough.”I’mnot going to walk out the front door because whenIgrab this briefcase as it’s handed off from one bad actor to another, at least one of them is going to hack into someCCTVcameras and backtrack to whereIcame from.Andthey can’t see me walking out of a shopthat my asset walked into not long before.I’mnot about to burn him.
Butthis place does have a back room, soIpretend thatI’mreally drawn to some clothes near it.JustasIget to them, a woman pushes the door open with her body, her arms full of folded pants.Likea gentleman,Irush forward to hold it open for her, and thenIslip inside as it closes.
Itake two steps into the back room and see another shop worker, standing at a table, looking like she’s been folding shirts all neat and crisp but is now frozen mid-fold, just staring at me.
“Doyou have a back door out of here?”Iask. “Ijust saw that my ex-fiancée and her mean friend are sitting at one of the café tables out front.IfIexit that way, they’re going to start throwing things at me.Ihave a job interview in fifteen minutes, andIcan’t go there with shaved beef, onions, andCheez-Whizon my shirt.”
Iam currently wearing a fitted t-shirt and drawstring cotton pants with elastic at the ankle, and at the moment,Ican’t think of a job where this would be appropriate interview attire.MaybeIshould get into the habit of wearing a suit on missions like my brothersJaceandMilesdo.Exceptthat would meanI’dhave to stop doing the opposite of whatMilesdoes, andI’mnot willing to do that.
“Yes, of course,” the woman says, and instead of just pointing toward the door, she actually rushes to it and opens it for me.
Igive her a smile. “Thanks.Youtotally saved me.”
ThenIstep out and take off all-out running,keeping close to the buildings as the sound of theLibertyBellechoes in the distance.
Thetrick to getting people to do what you want is to mention one bad thing that could happen to you— the ex-fiancée and mean friend throwing things at me.Don’tlet them think about it for too long before mentioning a second bad thing— not wanting to be embarrassed at a job interview.Theperson might not relate to the first thing, so the second thing has to be more universally relatable.
Sayingsomething specific is important, too, like theCheezWhizon my shirt, because that gets the person picturing it.Andonce they picture it, it’s as good as real.Inevitable.Andonce it’s inevitable, people are always more than willing to help out.
Kellasays, “Oh!Isee you’ve already shot off like a bullet!Soyou’ll get there in time, assuming the guys doing the handoff are the on-time sort.”
Assoon asIget toSixthStreet,Icut across the grassy area by theLibertyBell, not slowing my pace at all.Iran track all through high school and college, andIstill train as thoughI’mtrying to win gold in the 800-meter run.
Iweave in and out of tourists and leap over a dog lying in the grass next to its owner.Awoman must’ve decided she forgot something and spins around unexpectedly.Idodge, but we still manage to brush shoulders enough that she nearly gets knocked off balance.Icall out a “Sorry!” asIexit the park and turn ontoMarketStreet, passing by a tour bus that looks more like a boat with wheels.
Thesounds of the city surround me— people talking, cars, buses, and trucks running, dogs barking, constructionsounds in the distance, occasional horns honking, and street vendors calling out to people.Itry to tune it all out asIrun.JustlikeI’mtrying to tune out the way my lungs are burning and focus only on the adrenaline coursing through me.
Inmy ear,Kellasays, “I’mlooking at the cameras in front ofPawsandReflectand see clown number one leaning against his car— a black late-modelChevroletImpala— so not a tiny car, after all.He’sexhibiting classic shady character behavior: glancing around casually, but the nerves just below the surface are evident.”
I’mon the wrong side of the road, andIdon’t have time to wait for cars to stop at a crosswalk, soIrun between a gap in the cars.Onlyone honks at me, soIcount it as a win.
“Well-played game ofFrogger,”Kellasays. “Okay, clown number two just stepped out of the building, holding the case, and flanked by his personal fan club.He’sheaded towardShadyClownand the blackImpala.”
“Isee him.”I’monly about two hundred and fifty feet away.I’mrunning likeI’mjust out for a jog, not running like my life depends on it, because people ignore joggers.Everyonenotices run-for-your-life-ers.Butreally, my speed suggests that my life depends on it.It’sall in the facial expressions.Mineare calm, likeIrun marathons in my sleep and this is just a lightSundayjog.AndIwill catch up to the man with the case before he reaches the man at the car.
“Ibet you a coffee you can’t snag it before he makes ittwenty feet.”
“Youowe me so many coffeesIcould start my own café.”
I’mpicturing exactly howI’mgoing to do it asIrun.Thesidewalk is extra wide, soImove to the middle, looking likeI’mnot on a collision course with the case-holding man.Atthe last second, though,I’llveer toward him, go right between him and the man on his right, grabbing the case asIdo.ThenIreally will run with life-depending speed around the corner and use evasive maneuvers untilI’velost them.Ican feel my body drawing in more oxygen, muscles tensed, already preparing for the burst of speed it will need.
Ahundred feet from my target, the man with the case is a dozen feet from his target, andIspot the one thingInever wanted to see on this mission.Theone thing guaranteed to throw a mammoth-sized monkey wrench into the system.
ZoeSteele.
EventhoughIam running fast, frustration and anger still manage to hit me hard as she steps out from the doorway that the man with the case just passed.Everyoneon this street is dressed casually— jeans, t-shirts, shorts, sneakers.Evenfrom this distance,Ican see thatZoe’sblonde hair is in a low ponytail, and she is wearing a deep purple top cut just low enough to bring the eyes up from her black leather pants.Dothey not teachCIAoperatives how to blend into a crowd?
Now, instead of my body preparing for the extra burst of speed it’ll need, heat is building.Andnot heat in a “sheis so hot” way, even though she is and once upon a time,Ieven made the mistake of falling for it.
No, it’s heat more like blood boiling.She’scloser to my target thanIam.Zoegives me a look of surprise, whichIdon’t trust is genuine, and then her expression turns sly.Likeshe already knows she’s won.NowIdosummon that burst of even faster speed.
She’sfaster, though.Shegrabs the guy’s case in exactly the same wayIwas about to, hadIbeen closer, and she heads to the same cornerIwas going to head toward.Shecannot be here collecting this case.Itcontains informationIgot frommyasset.TheoneI’vebeen developing for weeks.
Irun past the men, who’ve barely had time to realize the case was ripped out of their hands, asIchaseZoe.Iturn the corner to see that she’s halfway up a two-story building she is scaling.Shegets to the flat roof on top, turns and gives me a wink, then disappears across the rooftop and out of my view.
Iwant to go after her.Toclimb that building.Toget to where she’s going even faster than she can.Icould easily beat her in a running race, and she knows it.Whichis why she’s on the rooftops where she’s out of sight.ButIdon’t chase after her, even though my body desperately wants to fight for this win.Tochase her across this city, ifIhave to.
