CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Fitzpatrick gripped the steering wheel tightly in his gloved hands, watching the storefront from across the street in downtown Arlington, Virginia. The black SUV was parked at a meter, and though the windows were tinted too dark for anyone to see inside he had still taken the precaution of disguising his appearance. He wore large-framed sunglasses, a brimmed cap, and temporary red dye in his beard.
After a few minutes Agent Zero emerged, carrying two small bouquets. Fitzpatrick seethed at the very sight of him. How sweet, the mercenary thought bitterly. He got flowers for his little girls.
The CIA safe house was four and a half blocks away, disguised as a brownstone in an upscale residential neighborhood. There were biometric locks on the doors, bullet-resistant glass
