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much of the past eighteen months searching for.
    Anya, the woman he’d been charged with liberating from a Russian prison last year. Once known by her code name Maras, she’d been one of the Agency’s best field operatives in her time. She had also been an infrequent but profound influence on his life ever since that night, her presence often heralding great upheaval and danger.
    But as much as it galled him to admit it, she was also his lifeline; the one person on this earth who could unravel the web of deceit and betrayal that reached to the top echelons of the Agency. Only time would tell whether she held the key to setting things right.
    However, there was always a chance that his enigmatic contact wasn’t Anya at all. If so, he intended to be ready. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the solid frame of the 9mm Sig Sauer automatic, taken from the glove compartment of his car just before he’d dumped it. He always kept a weapon there these days.
    The corner of 1st Street and Delaware was, on the whole, a pretty unremarkable area for such a meeting. Looking around, he saw little of interest on the unassuming tree-lined roads except an apartment complex to the north-east, with rows of two-storey residential houses opposite. The cars parked beside them confirmed his suspicion that this was a less-than-affluent neighbourhood.
    A Baptist church stood on the south-east corner. Judging by the sounds drifting out on the cold air, it was the kind of place where they did a lot of gospel singing and tambourine banging. At least someone was having a good evening.
    Traffic chugged past on both main roads, less congested here than on the big freeway a short distance to the north, but enough to make crossing a dicey affair. There were almost no pedestrians, save for an overweight old man out walking his dog on the grassy area near the low-rise apartments. Drake couldn’t hide a flicker of amusement as the man pretended not to notice his charge hunker down and leave a big steaming turd on the grass, walking on as if nothing had happened. He’d used the same tactic himself when forced to take the family dog for morning walks as a kid.
    The only thing missing in this picture of urban blandness was Anya. That wasn’t surprising in itself. She always controlled the time and place of their meetings, and saw to it that he didn’t find her until she wanted to be found, but it wasn’t in her nature to be tardy.
    Pulling his jacket collar up, Drake looked down at his watch. It had been well over ten minutes since her text message. Where was she?
    The light levels were falling rapidly up on the roof. It was winter, the sun had set about half an hour earlier and darkness was descending on the capital. For Anya, it was perfect. The brightly lit highway in front of her made picking targets easy, while the gathering dark kept her position safely obscured.
    Not that she had to worry – there were few buildings in the vicinity that overlooked this rooftop. That was one of the reasons she’d chosen it in the first place.
    ‘One minute.’
    Gritting her teeth, she heaved the bulky weapon up on to the metal air-vent cover beside her, allowing it to rest on its integral bipod as she worked the bolt action, drawing the first round into the breech.
    The KSVK held five rounds of 12.7 x 108mm armour-piercing ammunition; powerful enough to punch through the metal skin of the average APC and kill anything on the other side. Two targets, five rounds, no time to change magazines.
    ‘Thirty seconds.’
    Anya reckoned the wind speed at about 6 or 7 knots, blowing more or less straight towards her from the east. It wouldn’t divert the rounds off target, but it would contribute to a slight drop in shot as each projectile had more air to travel through. She adjusted the scope’s lateral compensation a couple of notches and settled in behind it, finding a comfortable position for the butt against her shoulder.
    ‘Twenty seconds.’
    Closing her eyes, she