The Project 02 - The Lance by Alex Lukeman

chalk white, clenching her jaw.
    "You got him, he went over the balcony. The bullet missed your lung. Don't worry."
    Nick was pumped from the adrenaline and he was angry. He'd blown it. He should have made sure she stayed outside. He told himself Rivka was an experienced agent who knew the drill. It didn't make him feel any better.
    Running footsteps and shouts in the hall told him they'd have help soon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

    The safe house sat back from the road on ten acres of rolling Virginia countryside, shielded by a spread of giant oaks planted fifty years before the first shots fired in the Civil War.
    The house was a classic ante-bellum southern home, two stories of weathered brick with a slate roof, paned windows and a wide chimney rising at each end. A railed gallery painted white ran along the second story and formed a columned porch along the front of the house. The gallery looked out over fields where Bobby Lee's boys in butternut and gray had passed in a vanished time. A low wall of fieldstone marked the boundaries of the property. Signs warned trespassers away.
    Th e trees and landscaping hid cameras and sensors. It would take a rocket propelled grenade to get through the innocent looking front door. The windows were authentic in style, but they were made of bullet proof glass.
    Elizabeth believed that a safe house needed to be safe. There was even an emergency escape tunnel. Maybe it was overkill, but it was satisfying to anyone with reason to be cautious or paranoid.
    Elizabeth 's paranoia was in full bloom.
    Stephanie had hacked into NSA and was probing for anything to hint at what was going on in Dysart's mind. The security monitors on the wall above her in the darkened room showed nothing except serene countryside straight from a realtor's dream book. The ground alarms were active and silent.
    Ronnie and Selena were in the kitchen cooking up spaghetti and meatballs. Except for the weapons on the kitchen table it could have passed for a normal dinner hour in America.
    Elizabeth 's white silk blouse was limp, stained with dark rings under her armpits. She wrinkled her nose at the sour smell of her own stress. Stephanie's fingers moved across the keyboard, entering a steady stream of commands.
    Elizabeth began coughing, trying to catch her breath. Sharp pain spread through her chest. Not now!
    "Are you all right, Director?"
    "Yes." She coughed. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."
    She got to her feet and went into the bathroom and closed the door. Coughing, she reached into her purse for a small black case. She opened it and took out a syringe and glass vial. She fitted a needle, punched through the rubber seal on the bottle and drew 5cc of clear liquid into the syringe. Her fine, thin boned hands trembled. She pushed air out of the syringe, sat on the toilet, exposed her thigh and injected the liquid.
    She waited for the symptoms to pass. In a moment, she began to feel better. She found the inhaler in her purse and took a deep breath into her lungs.
    The doctors had said the attacks would come more often, but she hadn't expected it so soon. She looked in the mirror, at the dark shadows under her eyes. She flushed the unused toilet, patted water on her face and went back to the computer room.
    "What have you got, Steph?"
    Lines of code streamed across the monitor. Stephanie's fingers flew over the keyboard. " I'm into the main servers and past the firewalls. Now I'm after Dysart's emails. He's got sophisticated encryption, something I haven't seen before, but I think I'm close."
    " Will anyone know if you get in?"
    "Yes . But they won't know who did it or where it came from. I won't have much time once I crack it, but I'll download everything as fast as possible. We should get most of it before the system shuts me out."
    The screen cleared an d a list of files appeared.
    " I'm in!"
    Stephanie tapped a key . A window appeared with a moving bar marking progress of the download. Elizabeth watched. Ten per cent