Chapter 8 - THE SHADOWS OF WASHINGTONThree thousand miles away in Washington, D.C., the rain was falling just as hard against the reinforced glass windows of the FBI’s headquarters.
Special Agent-in-Charge Marcus Vance stood in his private office, staring at a flashing red light on his secure terminal. A classified alert had just pinged the national security database—a silent alarm triggered by a satellite phone ping originating from an abandoned industrial pier in a city two hundred miles away.
Vance stared at the screen, reading the incoming text message attached to the alert:
Case closed, Vance. You can take the credit. — L.B.
Vance slowly closed the laptop lid. He walked over to his office window, looking out over the rain-slicked streets of the capital, a slow, wry smile spreading across his face.
He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a thick, sealed manila file labeled OPERATION BUCKLAND – CLASSIFIED, and slid it directly into the heavy-duty paper shredder beside his desk.
May you like
The machine roared to life, chewing the remaining loose threads of the Buckland syndicate into useless strips of confetti.
As the shredder whirred to a stop, Vance muttered to the empty room: "Rest in peace, Leo."
