A light rain was falling from dark overcast skies, pattering softly against a grimy, four-pane window in a small second-story bedroom, furnished with a twin bed next to a rickety wooden end table. Christine’s eyes fluttered open in the semidarkness as she stretched under the soft brown blanket. It was either dusk or dawn, based on the gray light filtering through the window. She poked her left hand out from beneath the covers, and brought her watch close to her face. After scrutinizing her watch in the dim light for a moment, she concluded it was 7 P.M.
She had slept most of the day. After arriving at the safe house, Tian had cooked breakfast for Christine and the SEALs, peppering them with questions about their mission. The SEALs were tight-lipped—they hadn’t even told Tian their names—and Harrison had cut her off with a sharp, disapproving glance when she had begun to answer one of Tian’s questions. Christine caught the hint—as did Tian, who apologized for prying. After cleaning up after breakfast, Tian took Christine and the SEALs’ measurements for clothing that would allow them to travel from Guang Chang Boulevard to the Great Hall of the People without attracting attention.
Christine pushed the blanket aside, swinging her feet onto the cold wooden floor as she sat up on the side of the bed. Glancing at the end table, she eyed a travel kit Tian had dropped off. She grabbed it as she stood, then headed down the hall to the bathroom. After freshening up and returning the travel kit to her nightstand, she descended the stairs to the main floor.
Harrison and the other four SEALs were already downstairs. The Lieutenant and Chief O’Hara were standing in the living room while the other three SEALs—Garretson, Martin, and Andrews—huddled around a laptop computer on the small dining room table, the dark brown curtains by the dining room window drawn closed. The scarred wooden table their laptop rested upon was illuminated by a yellow, incandescent lamp hanging from the ceiling.
All five SEALs were dressed in civilian clothes—black trousers with the legs covering the top of their combat boots, each man wearing a different dark-colored polo shirt. Harrison and O’Hara were trying on black, loose-fitting windbreakers. Both SEALs had their MP7s attached to slings draped around their necks and under one shoulder. After zipping up their jackets, each man turned to examine the other.
“They’ll do,” O’Hara said as he unzipped and shrugged his jacket off, tossing it onto three other jackets lying across the back of the couch. Leaning next to the couch were three black backpacks Tian had also apparently procured, lying next to the SEAL duffel bags—now empty. Harrison left his jacket on and she could see a slight bulge in his right pocket, most likely the sealed pouch containing the flash drive loaded with the virus.
Lieutenant Harrison looked up as Christine reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good evening, Miss O’Connor. It’s about time you woke up. I was about to knock on your door.”
O’Hara turned toward her as did the other three SEALs, who looked up from the computer, and Christine suddenly realized she was wearing a thin white T-shirt with no bra. It was chilly in the room and the men noticed her body’s reaction, their eyes moving from her face to her breasts, the outline of her nipples clearly visible through her T-shirt.
Christine crossed her arms across her chest as the front door opened. Tian appeared in the doorway, carrying a shopping bag in each hand. He kicked the door closed with his left heel as he entered the foyer and moved into the dining room, depositing the bags onto the table as Garretson closed the laptop lid.
Tian pulled the contents from the first bag, stacking them neatly on the table. “I’ve purchased suitable clothes for you, Miss O’Connor, along with an assortment of makeup products. I wasn’t sure if you wanted any and I didn’t want to wake you, so I took the liberty of picking up a few things.”
Christine joined Tian at the table, noting a black pair of slacks, long-sleeve dark blue satin shirt, and a short black coat. Tian upended the second bag, dumping a shoe box and an assortment of makeup products onto the table. Christine opened the box and examined a pair of flat-soled shoes with a critical eye before deciding they’d be suitable for running if the situation demanded it. She slipped one on, verifying it fit.
Christine returned the shoe to its box, and after reviewing the products on the table, decided she’d skip the makeup.
“Thanks, Tian.” Christine placed the clothes and makeup back into their bags and Tian disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a platter bearing a bottle of baijiu—a clear liquor sometimes referred to as Chinese vodka—and seven shot glasses, which he placed on the dining room table.
The three SEALs at the table perked up, and one of the girls, Tracey Martin, broke into a wide grin. “Now we’re talking.”
Harrison checked his watch. “We’ll be leaving soon. No drinks.”
“Oh, come on, Lieutenant,” Martin pleaded. “One drink won’t hurt anything. We’ve got a few hours to work it off.”
Chief O’Hara interjected. “Shut your trap, Martin. You know better. No drinks.”
The smile disappeared from Martin’s face as the other girl, Petty Officer Kelly Andrews, smacked Martin across the back of the head. “What answer did you expect?”
Martin rubbed his head. “It can’t hurt to ask.” His eyes shifted from Andrews to the bottle of baijiu, then back to the computer. “Let’s get back to business, then.” He looked up at Lieutenant Harrison. “We’re ready to run through it one more time, sir.” He glanced at Tian, still standing next to the table.
Tian frowned, then returned to the kitchen as Garretson opened the top of the laptop, pulling up a satellite image of the Great Hall of the People. Harrison and O’Hara joined the three SEALs around the table as Christine scooped up her new clothes in one arm, the shoe box in the other.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Christine returned downstairs wearing her new clothes. They fit perfectly. Harrison and the other four SEALs were still gathered around the laptop, their eyes focused on the screen. Harrison looked up as Christine descended the stairs, but said nothing.
Tian exited the kitchen, appraising his selection of clothing. “You look fantastic, Miss O’Connor. I take it everything is suitable?”
“Yes, Tian. Thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Tian added, “I have a few errands to run. I’ll be back in an hour.” Tian grabbed his jacket from the foyer coatrack, exiting the town house without another word.
As the front door closed, Harrison left the other four SEALs and headed toward Christine. O’Hara picked up the platter of baijiu and shot glasses from the table, entering the kitchen as Harrison guided Christine over to the living room where he dropped into a brown, dingy sofa. Christine settled in beside him.
“So,” Harrison began. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” Christine answered. “Although I’m still tired.” She could tell Harrison wanted to talk about something important. He was just breaking the ice.
“That’s typical,” Harrison replied. “Long transits in cold water sap the strength from you. Even more so for someone not used to it. You’ll bounce back soon enough, though.” There was an awkward silence as Christine waited for Harrison to work toward what he really wanted to discuss. Finally, he continued. “This is a dangerous mission, Chris. I have no idea what we’re going to run into once we enter the Great Hall, and I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. So I’m leaving you outside. Once you unlock the door to the Great Hall, I want you to return to the car and wait with Tian.”
Christine shook her head. “That’s not a good idea, Jake. There’s no telling how many security doors you’ll need to pass through once you get inside.”
Harrison shrugged. “We’ll manage.”
Christine knew she had a point, so she pressed it. “We’ve already discussed this. I’m coming with you. The whole way, not just to the front door.”
Harrison’s eyes searched hers for a moment, then he nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Chris. You always were headstrong, and I see that hasn’t changed. But I had to try.” He stood, offering Christine his hand, pulling her to her feet.
As Christine stood, the dining room curtains billowed inward, small holes appearing in the fabric as high-pitched zings pierced the quiet town house. Christine froze, watching bullets puncture the bodies of the three SEALs gathered around the dining room table. She watched in stunned silence as the middle of the three SEALs slumped onto the table, his head coming to rest on the laptop, and the other two SEALs fell backward in their chairs onto the floor. She had no idea how long she stood there, but it must have been only a second before she felt Harrison’s body slamming into her, knocking her onto the wooden floor.
Shards of glass from the dining room window and chunks of plaster ricocheted throughout the town house as Harrison protected her with his body. Turning her head to the side as bullets streamed into the town house, she spotted Chief O’Hara burst from the kitchen in a crouch, sliding next to the dining room table. One glance at the SEAL slumped over the table told O’Hara what he needed to know—blood trickled from a bullet hole in the center of Garretson’s forehead onto the laptop, flowing over the sides of the computer and collecting in a red pool spreading slowly across the table’s surface.
O’Hara extracted the laptop from under Garretson’s head, then flung it across the floor toward Harrison and Christine. The other two SEALs were still alive, crawling toward the living room, leaving slick red trails behind them. Harrison rolled off Christine, joining O’Hara as each man grabbed an injured SEAL by the collar of his shirt, dragging them into the living room as bullets continued pelting the town house through the dining room window.
“Get the computer!” Harrison shouted to Christine as he grabbed one of the black backpacks and O’Hara grabbed a second. “Stay low to the ground!”
Christine crawled over to the computer, which had come to rest only a few feet away, as Harrison shouted again. “The back of the town house!”
Crawling on her hands and knees, Christine followed Harrison and O’Hara, pushing the computer down a narrow hallway as plaster fragments from the town house walls rained down on her. They reached the back of the town house, where a narrow door led to the alley from which Christine had entered the safe house with Peng two weeks ago. Harrison and O’Hara propped the two injured SEALs against the washer and dryer in the laundry room, then Harrison stood and drew his MP7 from the sling inside his jacket and approached the back door. He twisted the knob slowly, opening the door an inch. As he peered through the slit into the back alley, wood splinters began ricocheting past Harrison’s head as the doorframe was peppered with bullets.
Harrison slammed the door shut, then retreated to the laundry room. “Four men to the left.” He squatted to help O’Hara tend to the two wounded SEALs as Christine leaned against the far wall. Harrison checked Andrews’s pulse, but Christine could tell he was already dead. Leaning against the dryer, Andrews had a gaping hole in the side of his neck and the blood had stopped flowing; his eyes were frozen open and glazed. Martin was wounded in the chest and was having difficulty breathing. O’Hara ripped open Martin’s shirt to examine the wounds. Christine could see red air bubbles forming as blood flowed from two bullet wounds, one on each side of his chest. Harrison and O’Hara exchanged grim looks.
“I know,” Martin said. “Both lungs punctured.” He grimaced as he spoke, then held his hand out. “Backpack.”
Harrison opened one of the backpacks for Martin. “What do you have in mind?”
“The alley,” Martin answered. “It’s only a few feet wide. Blow a hole in the wall on the other side, and you can enter the adjacent building while the alley is clouded with debris.” Martin rummaged through the backpack as Christine digested his plan—blow a hole into the building across the alley, then dash across as four men filled the alley with lead.
Piece of cake. But Christine couldn’t think of a better idea.
“We’re not leaving you behind,” Harrison replied.
“Yes you are. I’ll be dead in a few minutes, and you know it.” Martin paused as he was wracked by a coughing spasm, spraying the floor with red specks. “If there’s any chance of escape, you’ll have to travel light and fast. That means without me.”
Harrison and O’Hara exchanged glances again, and O’Hara nodded slowly. Harrison turned back to Martin as the injured SEAL pulled four thin blocks of C4 explosive from the backpack, each block wrapped in an olive-drab Mylar film. Martin peeled off the protective paper covering the adhesive on the back of three of the blocks, pressing all four blocks together as he explained.
“Assuming the wall across the alley is one foot thick, you’ll need five pounds of untamped C4 placed against the base of the wall to blow a hole large enough for you to pass through.”
Martin reached into the backpack again, retrieving a spool of detonating cord and a Gerber tool—a military version of the Swiss Army Knife—and cut off a four-foot length of det cord. He tied one end of the cord into a triple knot, then cut off the Mylar wrapper from one of the blocks of C4. Martin carefully sliced a wedge from the white, claylike plastic explosive, placed the knot of det cord into the divot, then molded the wedge of C4 over the knot so the det cord was firmly embedded in the five-pound block of explosive.
Another reach into the backpack retrieved a handheld initiator and a detonator clamp. Martin unscrewed the bottom of the small, cylindrical initiator, pulling out the detonator—a thin metal tube three inches long, connected to the initiator by shock tube, even thinner, hollow plastic tubing only three millimeters in diameter containing an explosive charge. Martin pulled out ten feet of shock tube, then slid the detonator into one opening of the clamp and the det cord into the adjacent opening. Martin squeezed the clamp shut, ensuring the det cord and detonator were held firmly in place. All in all, it had taken Martin just over a minute to assemble their Get Out of Jail Free card.
“This should do it.” Martin wheezed the words out.
Harrison took the explosive assembly from Martin while O’Hara pulled the MP7 from Martin’s sling, handing it to him grip first.
Martin nodded as he wrapped his fingers around the weapon, but then he placed the MP7 on the floor. “I have a better idea. Leave one of the backpacks with me.” His breathing was already turning shallow and the color had drained from his face, leaving it a pasty white, dotted with perspiration.
After another glance between Harrison and O’Hara, Harrison began transferring items from one backpack to another, handing Martin a half-full backpack. Martin emptied the backpack onto the floor, creating a pile of additional blocks of C-4, det cord, and initiators. The injured SEAL began pressing eight more blocks of the plastic explosive together.
The steady stream of bullets piercing the front of the town house stopped, leaving behind an eerie silence. “Get going,” Martin said.
Harrison took the laptop from Christine and placed it in his backpack, then stood and slung the backpack over his shoulder. He and O’Hara pulled their MP7s, taking up stations on either side of the door. Harrison turned to Christine. “Up against the wall, between the door and O’Hara.” Christine complied, pressing her back against the wall. Harrison added, “I’ll go first, then you, then Chief. Understand?”
Christine nodded, then Harrison pulled the safety clip from the initiator. He cracked the door open and tossed the block of C4 into the alley against the far wall. The doorframe splintered from another round of bullets, and Harrison stepped away from the door, flicking up a lever at the top of the initiator with his thumb.
An explosion rocked the alley, shattering the door as it blew back into the town house, the pieces flying down the hallway. Debris was still ricocheting inside the town house when Harrison jumped through the doorway, and Christine felt O’Hara’s strong hand on her shoulder, pushing her forward. Christine stepped into the doorway, then bolted into the alley.
The alley was clouded with debris and the men guarding it must have been stunned, because there was no sound of gunfire as Christine followed Harrison into a dark opening across the alley. Harrison pulled to a stop a few feet into the adjacent building and Christine almost ran into him. A second later, O’Hara was at her side, the two SEALs assessing the situation.
They were in an old warehouse filled with stacks of crates about thirty feet high, illuminated by a string of lights along the perimeter of the building. The stacks of towering crates formed passageways down the length of the building, and Harrison took off in a sprint into the nearest aisle. Christine and O’Hara followed as Harrison turned right at the first intersection, then left after two more, resuming their original direction.
Christine and O’Hara caught up to Harrison at the other end of the building, where he had stopped in front of a locked door. Harrison fired twice into the lock mechanism, then kicked the door open. After a cautious glance outside in either direction, he disappeared through the doorway.
Christine followed, emerging into a deserted street, faintly lit by street lamps spaced every fifty feet. It was raining and a cold drizzle drifted down from an overcast sky, blocking out the moon and stars. Harrison sprinted toward a door in the building opposite them, firing into the lock mechanism as he approached, knocking the door open with his shoulder. But then he sprinted back toward the center of the street. Christine headed toward him, wondering what he was planning as they pulled to a halt beside a circular, three-foot-diameter manhole cover in the road.
After letting his MP7 fall to his side on its sling, Harrison lifted the heavy cover with both hands, sliding it aside, revealing a rusted metal ladder that disappeared into the darkness. Harrison descended, followed by Christine as the sound of voices and footsteps raced toward them from inside the warehouse. O’Hara dropped down into the hole after Christine, pausing at the top of the ladder, his chest still above street level. He took aim on the nearest two street lamps, one in each direction, squeezing off two quick rounds, dropping their section of the street into near darkness. He then pulled the manhole cover back into place. A low metallic grinding sound reverberated in Christine’s ears until the plate dropped into its recessed location with a metallic clank, enveloping the two SEALs and Christine in pitch black.
Harrison’s voice reached out to her in the darkness. “Sit tight.”
Christine froze where she was, gripping the metal ladder.
A few seconds after Harrison’s order, Christine heard a commotion above them; men shouting, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots. As she waited in the darkness, clutching the rusted metal ladder rungs, the ground trembled, followed by the rumbling sound of a distant explosion. Martin had detonated his C-4.
There was a burst of commotion from the men above them, but the sounds soon faded, eventually ceasing altogether. There was no sign of movement from the two SEALs, until the darkness surrounding Christine was dispelled by a beam of red light. Glancing down, she spotted a flashlight in Harrison’s hand, which he shined around them, then down. They were in a concrete access shaft about five feet in diameter, descending another twenty feet into a tunnel. The light reflected off the tunnel floor, and Christine heard the sound of running water. She wondered if they were about to wade through a sewer pipe, but there was no offensive smell, only the ferrous tang of rusted metal.
“Let’s go,” Harrison whispered as he began descending the ladder.
Christine followed, glancing up occasionally at O’Hara and the manhole cover above him, which thankfully remained in place. As she worked her way down the ladder, she took the opportunity to catch her breath—she was winded from the sprint through the warehouse. Harrison and O’Hara, however, weren’t even breathing hard, a testament to their conditioning. Christine made a mental note—if she survived this ordeal, she’d hit the treadmill more often. You never know when you’ll have to flee for your life.
Shortly after resuming their descent, Christine reached the end of the ladder. Harrison was already standing on the tunnel floor, his boots immersed in a six-inch-deep stream of water. Christine stepped off the ladder into the cold water, rushing past the top of her ankles, and was joined by O’Hara a second later.
Harrison shined his flashlight down the tunnel, first one way, then the other. They were in a ten-foot-diameter concrete tunnel, containing nothing but a relatively clean stream of water flowing along the bottom.
“Looks like we’re in a storm drain,” Harrison commented quietly as he turned to O’Hara. “Which way?”
O’Hara glanced down at their feet. “I’d follow the water.”
Harrison nodded his agreement, then began jogging down the tunnel, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness ahead. Christine fell in behind Harrison, with O’Hara behind her.
* * *
Christine followed Harrison through the underwater maze, frequently reaching intersections where a decision was required. Each time they chose to follow the stream of water, which gained in volume at each intersection until it was now up to her knees, slowing down their pace. As they sloshed through the dark water, Harrison pulled to a stop, turning off his flashlight. In the distance, a faint white light penetrated the darkness.
“Stay here, Chris,” Harrison ordered.
Harrison and O’Hara moved cautiously forward. She could barely hear them as they waded through the water toward the faint disc of light ahead. The two men disappeared, and it wasn’t until then that she realized how cold she was again. She rubbed both arms with her hands, hoping to increase her circulation, but it made her shiver instead. Her hands were ice cold, sucking what heat remained in her arms through the thin satin shirt.
Christine had no idea how long she waited for the SEALs to return, finally spotting a red beam of light in the distance. Her eyes followed the swaying beam as it approached until Harrison materialized out of the darkness only a few feet away, the flashlight in his hand.
“We’ve reached the exit to the storm drain,” he said. “It’s safe.”
He turned and Christine followed him a few hundred feet, pausing at the end of the storm drain, the stream of water continuing into a canal. Although it was still dark outside, the rain had ceased and the clouds had departed, leaving behind an array of stars shining down from a clear night sky. On Christine’s right, the storm drain opening was illuminated by a street lamp atop a steep embankment crowned with a guardrail, and she heard an occasional car passing by.
Christine suddenly realized Harrison was no longer wearing his backpack or black jacket, and there was no sign of Chief O’Hara.
Harrison seemed to read her mind. “He’s gone to figure out where we are.”
The Lieutenant retreated twenty feet inside the storm drain, toward a four-foot-wide concrete ledge about waist high jutting from the side of the tunnel, where the backpack was sitting. He slid onto the ledge, his feet hanging over, then rummaged through the backpack until he pulled out what looked like a ruggedized BlackBerry. Christine joined him on the ledge as Harrison punched a number into the PDA, bringing it to his ear. After a moment, he frowned, tossing the PDA back into the backpack.
“Nothing,” he said. “Satellite communications are still down.”
Chief O’Hara appeared at the entrance to the storm drain. The older SEAL shrugged Harrison’s jacket off, revealing his MP7 hanging from its sling around his shoulder. He tossed the jacket to Harrison.
“We’re on the west side of a canal beneath Jiaosha Road,” O’Hara said.
“Thanks, Chief, but it doesn’t look like that info will help. Comms are down. I can’t get ahold of anyone to let them know where we are. Looks like we’ll have to make it back to the coast on our own.”
“We’re not heading to the coast,” O’Hara replied. His voice was determined, and as the street lamp illuminated the silhouette of his face, Christine could see his jaw muscles working. “We lost Drew and the girls, and I’m not about to turn tail and call it a day without payback.”
Harrison nodded almost imperceptibly. “What do you recommend?”
“We continue the mission. If we don’t insert the virus, the Reagan Task Force is toast.”
“You don’t think the objective has been compromised?” Harrison asked.
“I don’t,” O’Hara answered. “Only the six of us knew our destination.” He looked away for a moment before turning back. “I should have seen it coming. Tian was prying for information. Once he realized he was outta luck, he let his friends move in.”
Like O’Hara, Christine figured she should have seen it coming. Her trip from the safe house to the coast two weeks ago hadn’t gone as planned. Only now did she see the obvious signs. Chinese officials somehow knew she was headed to Tanggu, and they were checking the trains and watching the subway exits. Tian was the man who had held the car door open for her as she left the safe house, and although he hadn’t known the details, he was aware of the basic plan to smuggle Christine to the coast. Her resolve crystalized. If she made it out alive, she’d see to it that Tian was tracked down and killed. What she would do between then and now, however, was up to Harrison.
Harrison considered the Chief’s words at length, finally nodding his agreement. “We’re behind schedule, but there’s still time. As long as we get the virus loaded by 0700, there’ll be time for our submarines to download the new torpedo software. We’re low on ammo though. The extra magazines were in the third backpack. Transportation is going to be a problem too. I can’t get ahold of anyone, and I don’t like the prospect of stealing a car and driving into the city. Public transportation is out—we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
“Transportation won’t be a problem,” O’Hara replied.
Harrison raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
O’Hara gestured toward Harrison’s jacket, lying on the ledge beside the Lieutenant. “Check the left pocket.” Harrison shot O’Hara a questioning look as he reached into his coat pocket, retrieving an iPhone. O’Hara added, “There’s going to be one pissed-off dude when he wakes up from his five-knuckle nap.”
Harrison cracked a wry smile as he turned on the iPhone. “Great job, Chief.”
Christine watched as Harrison launched the Apple App store, her curiosity growing as he searched for and then downloaded a free app. Harrison noticed Christine’s keen interest as he launched the application. “Don’t ask,” he said, the smile spreading across his face.
The application launched and the screen turned black except for a password entry, which Harrison typed in. The app accepted the password and a numeric keypad appeared on the screen. He punched in an eleven-digit number, then placed the phone against his ear.
After a moment, he spoke. “Harrison, Jake Edward.” There was a short pause, then he followed with an eight digit alphanumeric code before continuing. “The team was ambushed in the safe house. Three down. O’Hara and Christine O’Connor also remain. Mission objective is still confidential and remains a go. Require transportation.” There was another pause, then Harrison spoke again. “I need a large, loose-fitting jacket and four MP7 forty-round magazines.” Harrison nodded thoughtfully, then added, “We’re in a culvert emptying into the west side of a canal beneath Jiaosha Road.” There was silence again before Harrison ended the call with, “Understand. Standing by.”
He pulled the phone from his ear—the screen had already gone blank—placing it on the ledge next to him.
“How long?” O’Hara asked.
Harrison shrugged. “Not sure. They’ll call back once arrangements have been made.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” O’Hara said. He looked at Christine as she sat on the ledge, his eyes surveying her from top to bottom. “You’re soaked. We’re going to need to warm you up.”
The Chief’s comment reminded Christine how cold she was. She was chilled to the bone and was shivering uncontrollably.
“You happen to be in luck,” Harrison added. “You’re in the company of highly trained SEALs, experts in thermal rewarming.”
O’Hara grinned as he turned and headed toward the storm drain entrance, taking the first watch as Harrison slid next to Christine. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, then put his arm around her, pulling her close against his warm body. She rested her cheek against his muscular chest, instinctively wrapping her arm around his waist. Even though it’d been twenty-four years since he’d held her in his arms, it seemed natural. His fingers brushed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and that simple gesture brought back strong memories of chilly winter nights in the back of his Ford Escort, fogging up the windows, Jake holding her close afterward in his strong arms.
“You should get some sleep,” he said softly. “This might be your last chance for a while.”
Christine murmured her agreement as she closed her eyes. She could feel the fatigue seeping in. The sound of the water gurgling past her into the canal, combined with the heat radiating from Harrison’s body, helped ease the tension from her muscles, and sleep began to wash over her like a warm sea. She had almost dozed off when the iPhone next to Harrison vibrated. Her eyes opened as Harrison picked up the phone. He typed his password again, then placed the phone against his ear.
After a short wait, Harrison replied with a single word. “Understand.”
Christine closed her eyes again as Harrison placed the iPhone back on the ledge.
“Morning,” was all he said.