April 18th, 11:00 p.m. The Bronx, New York City

This chapter is dedicated to Johnethengert, the second wattpadder to read the entire story.

Safe houses were typically dark, dank and musty places with high ceilings where on occasion, certain unnamed activities occurred that would call into question American Intelligence's adherence to due process. Danny stood across the street opposite the entrance to the location he was given—131 Claremont Avenue in the Bronx. When he received the text, he walked through the warped and smudged double glass doors which looked as if they hadn't been wiped down in over twenty years. They slammed shut behind him like a vault.

The chance to cut and run was no longer available. The deserted lobby's black and white checkerboard linoleum floor was littered with garbage and lit by two red exit signs over metal doors on opposite sides. It was dingy, dust-covered and deserted. The scent of an unidentifiable mold found his nostrils and made him wince. Toward the rear, he saw one tarnished elevator door. Beyond that was a wall with a heavy metal door. The only modern piece of equipment he could identify was the camera protruding from the ceiling, its glassy, black semi-globe panned back and forth, and its blinking red light unceasing.

After about five minutes, the door opened and a fair skinned woman with flaming red hair tied back into a ponytail and wearing jeans and button down collared shirt motioned him inside. With a bright smile, as if she was shepherding around a celebrity, she said, "Hi, I'm Lindsey. We've been expecting you, Mr. Strong."

He entered into a cavernous warehouse room that was totally empty save for some folding chairs and a lone table. Four long rows of spotlight racks sat high above, indicating prior industrial use. On the right side of the room from where he stood, two small offices with windows faced out onto the main floor. An enclosed office hovered above them on a mezzanine with two elongated picture windows, not unlike those of a maternity ward.

"Hey! Do you know you have the same name as that guy who was on—"

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yeah, I get that a lot," he said. "But I'm a bit taller."

She chuckled. "Wait here, Mr. Strong," she instructed and walked through an inner door and out of sight.

Really? Like I have a choice?

Actually he did but the calling to serve his country that had lain dormant for so long had reemerged, guiding his decisions. Within a minute, she entered through a door from one of the lit offices and approached him, walking tall, wearing navy blue pants and a white blouse with the customary matching blazer. Behind her followed Javi and Lindsey.

"It's good to see you again, Danny."

"Good to see you again, too," he said with guarded interest. "So, what's this all about? You know I haven't been in the game for a long time."

"True. We all thought we'd lost you."

And no one thought to look me up. "Joanne," he started. He really wanted to say, Fuck you but professionalism won out.

Joanne extended her arm, palm facing out to silence him. "We need to keep moving, just you and me." She motioned to the exit door.

She shuttled him out of the warehouse where a black Cadillac SUV with tinted windows was waiting for them. Lindsey and Javi entered in the front, Joanne and Danny the rear. As the car made its way out to the street, they sat in the back seat, both looking straight ahead, both silent.

Joanne broke the uneasy lull. "I know it's been a long time since we've been in touch."

He stared out the window at more warehouses lying silent and vacant in the night.

"To the point, this assignment's timetable is extremely aggressive," she said. "We really need someone with your profile on a NOC basis. You do understand, don't you?"

"NOC?" he asked, expressing reservation at his non-official cover status in his tone. It would mean being a ghost for the Agency.

"Yup. Based on what happened to you, they..."

"Don't want me back on the books. Expendable. I get it." After Kelly died in what had been deemed an act of Fratricide during a reconnaissance mission in Afghanistan, he spiraled into a depression, spending days on end in his apartment, sometimes in nothing but his underwear, watching television. Soon after that, Danny turned to pain killers, which led to heroin. Within six months, he was relieved of his duties at the Agency without so much as a 'Thank you', just a 'Don't call us, we'll call you' letter of disengagement. He internalized his separation as an unofficial disavowment from what transpired in Geneva, rather than a reprimand for his descent into drug induced depression. Either way, his pariah status was undeniable, having not received communications from any of his colleagues or superiors.

Joanne nodded and said, "Take it as a stepping stone, before making you official again. That's all."

He had second thoughts about buying into whatever Joanne had in mind, but recalled that she was good at her job. Too good, in fact. She could be very crafty when she had to be, like his first assignment in Geneva where Joanne was station chief. They had since worked together in various assignments for the Agency before Kelly died. One could never tell what Joanne was holding back at any particular time.

"I may be interested," he said, pursing his lips.

"Good, because this assignment was ready made for you. We need someone who is available with a delicate touch."

"Meaning?"

"It'll involve someone with your expertise."

Danny couldn't help but smile inwardly. His role with the Agency had been, to put it bluntly, that of a Lothario for foreign embassy employees with access to top secret information. My God, if Kelly had ever known. "I have obligations, Joanne."

"Please. You had obligations. We know all about what happened at Parkchester. So, I think you'll have the time for this assignment. Not only that, we'll use your ready-made personal trainer work to draw the subject in."

Danny relented. She's thought it all through.

Joanne briefed him about how they learned about the proposed auction through surveillance of hand-picked international weapons dealers who were invited to participate.

Danny sat back. "So what's so special about this chemical weapon, anyway? I thought it was always the delivery system of the weapon that was the roadblock."

"What Dr. Carrie was able to accomplish has yet to be achieved by any known government or terrorist group on earth. From what we've been able to piece together, the molecular structure of this neurotoxin duplicates itself like a virus over a coverage area previously unheard of. With only 8ml of the substance, an entire city's population could be wiped clean within an hour or two before the chemical reaction dissipates from its epicenter. It's the chemical equivalent of the Neutron bomb."

"All this from a recent grad student hooked on heroin?" Danny asked. "I remember from briefings that chemical agents couldn't compete with nuclear technology when it came to mass destruction."

"She found a way," Joanne replied. "That auction can never take place but there's something else you need to know." She drew a breath. "This afternoon in Central Park, the FBI agent assigned to the subject was killed."

"Shit," he said, resisting the urge to scratch the hair on the back of his neck.

"He last reported that he was to meet the subject there, so we tracked them. Our surveillance photos show her giving him a small package shortly before he died—run over by a truck on Central Park West. But when we commandeered the body, we found red discolorations on his fingertips, indicating that he'd been poisoned, we think by the nerve agent."

Danny's mind raced with the thought of the diabolical irony of a gift-wrapped box of poison. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard and said, "So, this chemist's a killer, too?"

"You make your own conclusions. I already have. As far as we know, the only other person who has access to the toxin is her mother and security personnel."

Nothing like a family show to make things interesting.

"I'm in." There was nothing else to look forward to. The thrilling rush of the spy game coursed through his veins like a pulsing electrical charge.

So Joanne and Danny finally reconnect. What do you think happened in the past to make it an uncomfortable reunion? Are you sold on the uniqueness of the neurotoxin?

Copyright © 2016 by Alan Field. All Rights Reserved.