The tall and slender Chinese woman known as Angie had been following Chris Allman for twenty-four hours. She looked more like a model than someone who would be hired to follow someone, but that had worked in her favour several times since nobody ever seemed to see her coming. Angie had been about to make her move on Chris Allman when the cops had shown up. She watched the two patrol cars pull in behind the detectives' car and immediately knew that everything had just changed.

Before she could even think about it, the phone rang in her ear. She tapped the wireless earpiece to answer, fearing the worst.

"Protocol Delta-Six-Two-Four," Carmen had said, and then the phone went dead.

Angie had to go dark immediately. They had been burned.

She turned off all of her electronic devices and looked at the car she was driving, wondering how much time she had. Protocol D624 was a standing order to cut all communications for twelve hours, a warning that their systems may have been compromised.

"Goddammit," she swore and exited the car, deciding that the risk wasn't worth it.

Follow protocol.

First things first: she walked past the detective's vehicle, pretended to stumble, and stealthily placed a small magnetic tracking disk on the bottom of the car. Without missing a beat, she walked away down the driveway, pretending to look at her phone. The tracking disk would activate once the lockdown was over, but she already knew where the detectives would be taking Allman, thanks to the markings on the patrol cars.

The next job was to get rid of the car and her clothing.

She easily broke into a grey Toyota parked on the street, overriding the ridiculous electronic lock with ease, and in seconds she had started the engine and was speeding away from where Chris Allman was being arrested.

The closest mall was two miles away, and she quickly drove there, keeping a watchful eye for anyone following her. She abandoned the Toyota in the parking lot, windows down so that it was almost sure to be stolen by someone else.

Six minutes had passed since the order had come in, and nobody had attacked her yet.

Angie made her way into the mall and picked the closest women's clothing store, not caring which one it was. She was only aware that she was losing time but knew all of the steps she needed to take if she wanted to stay safe. She made her way through the store, grabbing clothes seemingly at random but with only one purpose. Once fully equipped, she went directly for the changing room, tore off all of the tags and stripped naked. Everything had to go. Everything.

She dressed in the new clothes, not caring that the bra was one size too big because of course it was. Three minutes and she exited the stall, leaving her old clothes hanging inside. She raised an eyebrow at the incredulous clerk who seemed to be searching for the right words.

"I need to pay for these sweetie," Angie said, and gave the handful of tags to the poor girl.

"You know you can't return the underwear—" the girl said haplessly.

"I'm not planning on returning anything. Just ring it up."

The girl seemed to be struggling with the price scanner. Angie threw two hundred dollar bills onto the counter.

"I don't have time for this. You have the tags, here's my money: keep the change, okay?"

"But—"

As Angie exited the store, the girl sputtering at her from behind the counter, she scanned the mall, looking for the next thing she needed. It was probably a bad idea to leave such a lasting impression on the girl who was definitely going to remember the rude customer now, but it was a risk she had to take.

She wore a ridiculous pink tracksuit that was a far cry from the practical black jeans and leather she had walked in wearing. It was not her style, and that was the point since it served to change her appearance completely. If anyone had been following her from a distance, she was now harder to spot even if she stood out like a pink sore thumb.

After a moment, Angie spotted the phone kiosk she was looking for, only a few stores down. She made her way there and pointed at one of the cheap pre-paid phones in the counter. It was a basic phone, essentially a phone she could use and throw away: a burner phone.

"That one, and no, I'm not interested in any plans or upgrades."

She paid with cash and confident that no one was following her, left the mall by a different door than which she had entered.

She found a cab idling at the curb and hopped in, driving to the other end of the city and occasionally checking for surveillance.

It was always the guy you didn't see who killed you. That was one thing that she knew for certain. She had always made sure that she was the "guy" who nobody saw, so she knew what to look for.

Two hours later, after changing cabs twice and changing her outfit, she arrived at one of the safehouses she had set-up months before. Nobody knew about it, not even her team, and for the first time, she was able to let her guard down. She got rid of the garish outfit, then changed and grabbed her go-bag.

Only then did she make the call.

Follow protocol.

Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing! Riiiiiing!

A click and then: "Thank you for calling ACME Cleaning Services—"

Angie didn't wait for it to finish. She hung up, realizing for the first time that her heart was pounding in her chest. She let out a huge sigh of relief and lowered the phone.

She was safe for now. If the operation had been compromised, the message would have been changed and she would be already on her way out the door. The timed incendiary devices in the basement and the kitchen would have ignited five minutes after she had left, burning everything inside for good measure, and then Angie would have ceased to exist. By morning she would have another identity in another city, possibly in a new country.

For now, that would not be necessary.

The mission was still on.

Carmen called eight hours later, and Angie was ready. She had gotten a new vehicle and had driven past Precinct 14, not expecting to see anything useful, just wanting to know where Chris Allman was being held. She drove to a parking garage two blocks down and waited for Carmen to call. The instant the timer ran out, she turned all of her devices back on.

"Go for Angie," Angie said after tapping her earpiece to take the call. "What's the SitRep?" This was short for Situtation Report, a term widely used in the military.

"Time to get our boy out of there," Carmen said into her ear. "You're cleared for extraction."

"Dirty or clean?"

"It's gotta be clean. No one gets hurt. Just get him out of there."

Angie cursed under her breath.

"You do realize I'm walking right into a police station. I'm going to be compromised after this."

"We have an asset inside. We'll take care of the cameras, and you handle the rest."

"Any idea what I'm walking into here?"

"Roll call was an hour ago. Most of the uniforms are already out on patrol. Sending you the floorplan... now."

Angie nodded, even though Carmen couldn't see her. It was a little comforting that they had a man on the inside, but she still didn't like exposing herself like this. Her phone beeped as a message arrived.

"I'm on it," she said finally. "I'll try not to kill anyone too much."

She hung up before Carmen could respond. She exhaled, steeling herself for the mission ahead.

It was time to get Chris Allman out of jail.