Regan always said getting a plane was easy—it was keeping it that was the hard part.
As they packed their meager possessions into the unremarkable black SUV Phoenix had purchased, the sun was just starting to set. Behind them, the Asheville safehouse was silent, already cleared of their presence—no digital footprint, no DNA, no fingerprints. They would revert to their previous state as ghosts vanishing into the darkness from which they had momentarily emerged.
“Eighteen minutes,” Phoenix declared from the passenger seat behind his laptop. He created digital breadcrumbs with his fingers as they moved across the keyboard, leading any assailants on a crazy chase to Seattle. “That is the amount of time before Victor's access to the Swedish files is flagged by the automated systems. Before th
