Arlington, Virginia
The man who calls himself Bayer looked frazzled as he stepped into the Davis condo and shrugged out of his coat. Chan took the coat but didn’t welcome the senior CIA man with her usual hug. The icy atmosphere wasn’t lost on Bayer, who just nodded and headed for a seat near the living room fireplace. He was left alone staring into the fire for long minutes before Chan Davis came out of the kitchen with a pair of drinks in her hands.
Bayer smiled, sipped and shivered. “Damn, I needed that after today.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t slip you a Mickey.” Chan slumped into a seat on the other side of the coffee table. “It was a tough choice between scotch and cyanide.”
“Have you heard from him?” Bayer put his drink on a coaster and tugged at his tie.
“Two text messages—both vag
