Eleven
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. I had already decided that the old man was like an old dog: once he thought he’d found a scent, he wouldn’t let go. I was certain he’d had my office gone through the night before, looking for fingerprints. Finding none would only whet his eagerness. I didn’t underestimate him. No matter who he was, he was certainly important, and it would be only a matter of time before he would clamp down on me.
He was old enough to be patient, but not old enough to be careless. Sooner or later, when his efforts to get my prints continued to fail, he’d simply have me arrested and have my prints taken. And there was still the problem of the message I’d received saying that one of the four agents was a traitor. All of them knew that I was an agent and knew my code name.
