Flee by Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath Read Free Book Online

quickly located a
pirated ftp program with a keygen. I snatched it, installed it, and accessed
the ftp URL for Channel 5 News. It was a site I'd hacked before, and the
passwords were still the same. Their ftp address was where the www.NBC5.com
server was located and all their online data was stored, and it took me less than
a minute to open the file locker with the full-sized unused png photographs of
the death scene.
    I
found what I was looking for on the fifth photo I viewed; a close-up of the
woman from the elevator. Her lower body was a mangled mess, but her face was largely
untouched.
    Like
the hit woman at Stretchers , she had short dark hair and blue eyes. And
like the woman at Stretchers , she was a dead ringer for me.
     
    "My job is to train you," The Instructor said. "But I
don't know what I'm training you for. I can guarantee you'll be told to do
things you do not want to do. Things that violate your principles, your humanity,
even your patriotism. But a weapon doesn't question why it was fired, or what it
was fired at. You're a weapon, a tool to be used by the government or the
military. I pray your handler has enough principles, humanity, and patriotism
for the both of you."
     
    Two
hitwomen, both with my face and body. A former KGB assassin. Jacob compromised. Stretchers compromised. My ID blown. Cory on the loose. Kaufmann
kidnapped.
    I
had no idea what it all meant, and which facts were related to each other. Nor
did I have time to dwell on it. Protocol dictated I establish a perimeter,
interrogate my unwilling host, then evaluate the intel.
    Kaufmann
threw a wrench into normal operating procedure. If I'd been on a mission, things
would be different. But the only bright spot in the fact that I was operating
on my own, not under any direct orders, was that I could make saving him my
first priority.
    Whether
Uncle Sam approved or not.
    The
ICU—a spook acronym that wasn't actually an acronym at all but rather a literal
meaning—was a net of spy satellites that could be aimed by field operatives.
Any agent with a laptop computer and the required longitude and latitude could
zoom in on almost any area on the planet, within two minutes of giving the
command.
    Unfortunately,
Jacob was cut off before I could get the latest ICU uplink data. But Google
Earth wasn't a bad substitute.
    I
loaded the program, which began by filling the screen with the familiar round
and blue view of the earth from space, conveniently facing North America. I
used the mouse scroll wheel to zoom in, each revolution bringing the world
closer and closer, first over Illinois, then over Chicago, streets and buildings
and eventually cars and people coming into detailed focus.
    Instead
of degrees I punched in the street address, and got a close up satellite
picture of 875 N. Michigan, revealing a familiar Chicago landmark. Google Earth
also let me superimpose street names and store locations over the picture. Then
I clicked on a camera icon at street level, and got a full, 360 degree panoramic
view of the whole area, dated from ten minutes ago. I quickly figured out a
route, entry and exit points, and visualized how Cory would run it.
    If
his plan followed my assumptions, and I knew him well enough to be sure it
would, neither Kaufmann nor I would live through this.
    Steering
my thoughts away from Kaufmann's fate for a moment, I pinged Victor's router,
got the URL, and quickly synced my phone to his WiFi. A minute later, I was
uploading my doppelganger's fingerprint to Jacob's database. I wasn't at all
surprised I didn't get a hit. I saved the search offline, then spent two
minutes erasing all of my tracks from Victor's hard drive.
    I
checked my watch, saw I only had fifty-two minutes remaining, and went to the
dryer for my shoes and socks. I locked the door behind me when I left the
apartment, using the keys I'd found on Victor's kitchen table. I took the alley
exit, pausing for a moment to get my bearings. I smelled garbage and car
exhaust.