Chapter 5Slipping Through My Fingers
“Leonard Burroughs” was the most recent agent who had been instructed to meet with a representative of an organization with ties to the CIA. He, or rather I, was to go to the Montgeron district of Paris, to a certain building on Rue Fourier. It was like any other office building in the City of Light, an unremarkable pile of concrete and glass, although this one was undergoing renovation.
Hide in plain sight. That was the old adage. Mark would have approved. He always said, “People are idiots, Quinn. They only see what they expect to see.”
I took the modern elevator up to the sixth floor and stepped out into the dim corridor, to the chaos of construction. It appeared to be deserted. Plaster dust covered everything that wasn’t buried under sawdust. Ope
