Safe House, Triangle, Virginia
“Some ops are deep-cover, off the radar, full-black…” Bayer plopped a cardboard box on the rented kitchen table of the CIA safe house located just outside the back gate of the Quantico Marine Base and collapsed into a chair. “…and then there’s this deal.”
Shake slid into an adjacent seat and began to pick at the flaps on the box. “No support from your outfit—is that what you’re trying to say?”
“C’mon, Shake. I’m not asking you to do something like this completely on your own hook.” Bayer tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and slid it across the table. “Memorize this number and then destroy the paper. There’s a new type of cell phone we’ve developed—untraceable and hard as hell to monitor in a certain band-width. That number is my phone. Yours is in th
