Spy School: Outbreak

Chapter 24

Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport

Atlanta, GA

May 9

1800 hours

For once, I just want to go to an airport normally. I don't want to sneak on, or get on a CIA jet, or do it on a CIA mission. I just want to buy the tickets myself, not pack spy gear, just go on a normal vacation, maybe with Erica. And I swear, if I ever have to enter another ventilation shaft, I'm going to flip my lid.

Nevertheless, I had to do both of those things. Although, in the HJAIA's defense, the place had some of the cleanest ventilation I had ever seen, not that I had to see much. I had argued against this, saying that if we were noticed we were screwed, but Erica, who was crawling behind me, was adamant about not giving us a chance to be spotted.

"So," I whispered as a thought occurred to me. "What am I looking for exactly?"

She faltered. "I...actually don't know. Anything incriminating or out of the ordinary I guess."

"Like Murray Hill?" I asked, looking at the figure directly below me. I couldn't see his face, but I'd remember that mop of greasy brown hair, the nearly pregnant potbelly, and that shambling gait anywhere.

We both froze. I managed to crane my neck to look back at Erica. She pointed downward, mouthing the words, He's down there? I nodded. I watched him, pressing my face against the grating to keep him in my line of sight. He eventually disappeared behind an unmarked door, which swung shut behind him.

"What are you waiting for?" Erica asked. She punched out her grating, swung through, and landed on the floor of the terminal. I followed suit. Here we exercised one of Erica's favorite activities. Pretending to have access to something completely off-limits. It was something she taught me. If you pretended that you had the authority and ability to do something you weren't allowed to do, people generally disregarded you.

She reached the door, and I saw the flash of a blade as she removed a throwing knife from under her shirt sleeve. She nodded, indicating that I should do the same, and opened the door, revealing...more doors. I wasn't completely lost though. I listened for the sound of Murray's footsteps and was not disappointed. The sounds were coming from a hallway branching off of this one. I drew a pistol and attached a silencer. It wouldn't completely mask the gunshot, that was impossible, but it would muffle it enough that the entire airport wouldn't hear it.

I turned back to Erica, looking for the OK. But I didn't find it. Instead, I found her lying there unconscious, a syringe in her neck, plunger depressed. Then I felt the sting of one in my own neck and the unmistakable sensation of having something injected into your carotid artery. I heard Murray's voice, "Eaaasssy Ben," and my vision grew foggy, then tunneled, then finally went black.