Snippet #2820866

Isaac had been waiting for the past two hours. He knew the appointed time was near, but hadn't bothered to check his watch. Enough years in the field, he'd figured he knew about when the Aschen would show up. They knew him as Michael - an obvious alias, especially without a last name to go with it. But in this game, few who survived longer than about six months ever used their real names. As Michael, Isaac's beard was scraggly, speckled with grey, his hair natural and cut short. He was dressed in worn combat fatigues and a flak jacket, and surrounded by solid metal crates stacked against the walls of what used to be the common lobby for the building. Years ago, this place had been another relatively nice place to live in a solidly middle class neighborhood. But families with children hadn't lived in the building for most of the last decade, making it the perfect spot for activities best unnoticed by law enforcement.

Unfortunately for Ladon, the reason that "Michael" wasn't too concerned about law enforcement interfering with the exchange about to take place was because the apprehension team was already in place. They were hidden strategically upstairs and in the surrounding buildings, their heat signatures on infrared already pre-planned to emulate the appearance, movements, and locations of squatters, transients, and middlemen transporting highly illegal goods with this apartment complex as a staging ground. Isaac knew the people on that team. He couldn't communicate directly with any of them; it was too risky. But a dedicated satellite aimed at the complex was transmitting high-quality video feed to the operations center, and he knew they'd come when the time was right.

So when the knock came, and then the door opened, Isaac stood, briefly. He gave the pre-arranged code word, and then resumed his seat, but he did not relax. No one in this kind of situation ever did. "Didn't know if you were even real," he said, almost dismissively, never taking his eyes off the man.