Cliff Ryder - The Finish Line

"Fantastic. Have you been checking the road cameras for a description?"

A small frown appeared on his face. "I was getting to that. The computers are scanning for it now. We found them about twenty miles out of Paris, and once more after that at fifty miles, then they seem to have pulled off the highway at a place called Valenciennes. Do you want to order an intercept?"

Kate scanned through her screens, bringing up a map of the area around the town. She continued her conversation while issuing orders to Judy after patching her in. "No, she's with an operative right now, and I'm assuming he is still in control of the situation at the moment. However, a surveillance team could meet them on the road into Brussels, which is her likeliest destination. But I'll assign a team to cover Calais, as well, in case she thinks she's clever — or crazy — enough to double back to England. Give the team the specs on the car, and update them every time you have a positive ID from a road camera. If Louis has a team that can get there from Paris, fine. Otherwise, scramble whoever is closest to them."

"Affirmative. Anything else?" Judy asked.

"Yes. Send Louis a request that he sanitize the bodies of the Midnight Team members killed during the incident. They must be removed from the French law enforcement and any records pertaining to them erased."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure? We just got a message suspending all French directorate activities…" Judy began.

Kate gritted her teeth in annoyance at the bureaucracy that Judy insisted upon interfering with her cleanup operation. "Put it through, and tell them this is straight from the director, and priority one — they'll get it done."

"I'll send the message, and assign someone to backdoor the French mainframe."

"Thanks, and keep me updated, of course."

"Of course," Judy said.

No sooner had she disconnected than her computer chimed again. "Go for Primary."

A girl's lilting voice, accent colored with equal parts Middle Eastern and British prep school answered. "This is B2S. I have good news for a change."

Born2Slyde was the handle of the new caller, and Kate's top hacker. Like the others, she was a freelancer, although a very well paid one on permanent retainer with Room 59. When Kate had taken over as director, she had made it clear she wanted the best of the best for the electronic surveillance and infiltration department, no matter where or who they were. She knew B2S was the third daughter of a prominent oil sheikh — and just about everything else there was to know about her — Room 59's vettors being no slouches on the job themselves. In the end, it all came down to what she could do — everything but make computers stand up and dance, and Kate was pretty sure she was working on that, as well — and if she was committed to the same goals that the other operatives were, which she most certainly was. Kate often thought B2S would do what Room 59 assigned her for free, since it combined the two things she was most passionate about — hacking, and making a difference in the world.

"That would be a refreshing change of pace. What have you got?"

"Your mystery woman's name, record, basically everything I could find on her, which wasn't much. I'm posting it to you now."

Kate bolted upright, her weariness forgotten over this revelation. "B, if you were here, I'd kiss you, and never mind what anyone else would say about it."

"A simple thank-you will suffice. It's pretty standard stuff, but it was hidden mega deep. Either she's been very good at living off the grid, or she's done a fantastic job of erasing her tracks."

"Most likely the latter." A locked folder popped up on Kate's monitor, and she unlocked it and spread out the virtual pages. "Margaret Britaine, eh? You're right about not much being here — shuttled around foster homes for much of her childhood…reunited with her brother at age twelve. They've been close ever since. Awarded a full scholarship to MIT when she was sixteen, dropped out three months before graduation, then nothing for the past eleven years — until this."

"Yup. I can do some snooping around on some sites I know, see if anyone knows anything."

"Pursue anything that would help us get a lead on what she's been up to in the last decade — besides getting people killed all around her. I'm going to take a close look at what you found here and see if anything pops up. Great work, B."

"As always. I'll text you if I get a line on anything solid."

"Sounds good. Primary out." Kate took a minute to get up and stretch her cramped muscles, working out the kinks and tension from the past several hours in the chair. Walking to the minifridge, she removed a diet ginger ale from inside, glanced longingly at the tiny bottle of Jack Daniel's on the door and shook her head, popping the soda open and pouring it into a glass before returning to her chair and sitting back down and slipping her VR glasses back on.

"All right, Ms. Britaine, let's see who you really are."

Maggie walked out of what passed for a small strip mall in rural France, a row of shops designed to ensnare tourists that also carried enough items to serve her purposes, as well. Quick visits to a clothing store, then a grocery with a bathroom allowed her to alter her appearance yet again, leaving the old clothes in the trash and changing into comfortable jeans, a black blouse and tennis shoes. Pulling her hair back from her face, she secured it with a spiraled blue headband with a small butterfly on it. Using a bit of foundation to mask the dark circles under her eyes, she examined herself in the mirror.

Not bad. I could pass as a young mother on vacation, or a rich girl slumming across France with my boyfriend — maybe. She knew she had a problem, though. What was she to do with David? She certainly couldn't take him to Brussels. Leaving him here was good enough. He could get the medical attention he no doubt needed, and those other guys had to be well off their trail by now; otherwise they would have tried something already while she was stopped. Yeah, best to break this off sooner rather than later, before he tries to figure out a way to mess up my next rendezvous.

Making sure the clothes were hidden deep in the covered wastebasket, Maggie shouldered her laptop and walked out of the bathroom. Leaving the store, she slipped on a large pair of sunglasses that covered her eyes and then some as she headed for the car.

She caught David staring as she got in. "Yes?"

"Nothing, just — you clean up well."

She tossed him the extralarge light gray pullover sweatshirt, with the word Provence embroidered across the front in large blue-and-plaid letters, that she had purchased in the clothing store.

"This is certainly inconspicuous," he said.

"It fits with our new disguise of a tourist couple driving across France. I couldn't find a zip-up, sorry." Another white lie, but Maggie had told so many in the past hour, she was sure another wouldn't matter.

He gave her an odd look. "Couple, eh? I think you got the better wardrobe."

"But of course." She watched as he tried to maneuver into the garment in the cramped space. "Why don't you just step outside and slip it on? I won't go anywhere, I promise."

He nodded. Opening the door, he levered himself out with difficulty, holding the sweatshirt with his good arm. Leaving the door ajar, he began working his way into the sweatshirt.

As soon as his face disappeared into the shirt, Maggie shifted the car into gear and pulled away, careful not to hit him. Fifty feet away, she stopped, reached over and pulled the passenger's door closed, then sped away, trying not to look into the rearview mirror but unable to help herself. She saw David standing there in the parking lot, staring after her.