The window in Aamani Patel"s office looked out on a green field that stretched on for about a hundred feet before ending in a line of pine trees near the edge of the property. Beyond that, the buildings of Ottawa were barely visible.
Sunlight streamed in through the pane, falling on a desk with a black surface where not even a single speck of dust glittered. Aside from a small picture of a man in a ball cap, there was no sign that any human being called this office home.
Anna stood before the window with arms crossed, frowning through the glass. “So, here we are,” she said with a shrug. “Meeting with the representatives of the government"s intelligence agency.”
She turned, glancing over her shoulder, a lock of hair falling over one eye. “You"re sure this is the right choice?” she said,
