CHAPTER NINETEEN
Reid exited Piazza Mattei and ran a short distance down Via dei Funari. Despite the cold February weather, there were quite a few people out—and many of them had either paused, puzzled by the sound of nearby gunshots, or hurried along to get to shelter. There were cell phones in hands everywhere he looked. Too many.
He had no idea how Morris could even be walking after dropping from the window like that, let alone running after him. He had to remind himself that this was not a foot soldier or terrorist lackey, but rather a well-trained field agent—perhaps as well-trained as himself.
Reid slowed to a brisk walk, trying to appear inconspicuous. But his heart rate did not slow. He felt as if it might pound out of his chest. Morris was an active agent, and he had tried to k
