Hush you fool! I have Chrome open, they’re listening!
So do I!
We are compromised, and no longer safe. [slides stack of paper into messenger bag, slips quietly out of office, peeks into bedroom and gazes sadly at the sleeping wife and child, whispers] “I will miss you the most.” [swallows back tears, tip-toes down hall and out front door]
Five seconds later, Conrad bursts through the door, darkly-clad S.W.A.T. agents behind him. “In here!” he screams shrilly, leading the charge to Justin’s office. Crashing through the door, and it’s empty. Conrad looks at the coffee cup sitting on the desk. He feels it. “Still hot,” he mutters quietly. Sitting down in Justin’s abandoned chair, he swivels, lights a cigarette and looks cooly about the room. “Johnson,” he begins reflectively, his eyes wandering over the knick-knacks and paintings.
Down the street in a nondescript sedan, the man sits and watches the commotion swirl around his house. He breaths into his hands and looks down at a box on the console. He picks it up and fingers the red button on its face, looks back to the house and the police cruisers and the men in black and sees what they don’t see. Sees the packages wrapped in brown paper and taped to the underside of the floor down in the crawlspace, sees the wires spiderlegging between them to the transmitter in the center. He feels the button with his thumb. Through the open door and between the batons and tactical armor, he sees a flash of pink and blue, sees the confused and crying face and the bundle of blankets in her arms. The edge of the button is hard and he traces it with his thumbnail.
[“Push it!” I whispered hoarsely, as my eyes read on.]