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Kendra swept the rest of the ground floor, corner by corner, room by room.
The cold and the dark and the silence conspired to make her burden worse. Her mouth was dry, her muscles were tight, and her nerves were frayed. But she couldn’t afford to seek relief by flicking on a light switch or peeling back a curtain.
All she could do was push forward, probe the shadows, brave her doubts.
Once Kendra was sure that the ground floor was clear, she returned to the middle of the house. She approached the grand central staircase. It was broad and majestic, with handrails made out of carved wood and glossy ivory.
Kendra mounted it backwards, taking each step slowly, carefully.
Above her, the second floor was rimmed by a long balustrade balcony which looked down on the entire staircase, which made it the perfect strike point for an ambush.
Don’t rush. Take your time. Do it right.
Kendra aimed her gun this way and that way, her laser puncturing the gloom. She listened to the gentle creak of the steps below her; the steady tick-tock of a grandfather clock close by; the constant purr of the air conditioning.
Head swivelling, Kendra logged in the angles, the lines of sight, the lines of fire. She measured them, ready to react at the slightest flicker of movement, at the smallest sound that didn’t belong.
The seconds stretched.
The short hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Kendra reached the landing that divided the staircase.
Rounding the banister, she took the next flight of steps by climbing forward. But she remained cautious until she crested the top of the staircase itself. And slowly, very slowly, she swept the balcony, employing a technique known as slicing the pie, acquiring the widest possible angle.
All clear.
Kendra paused only to suck in a breath and exhale, then she carried on with her search, corridor by corridor, room by room.
Finally – finally – she slipped into the master bedroom itself.
It was tidy and airy, sumptuously decorated in a baroque style.
Her eyes fell on the four-poster bed.
There was paper strewn all over it – pamphlets, booklets.
Frowning, Kendra approached and picked one up, and she blinked, her insides cramping up.
Goddamn...
Her written Farsi was basic, but she knew extremist literature when she saw it.
Jaw clenched, Kendra flicked through the others, and it was all the same. Extolling the virtues of the Supreme Leader. Encouraging global resistance. Calling for the destruction of the West.