It was not his business phone, but the encrypted one he kept locked in the desk drawer.

The screen lit up in the dim room, casting a sharp green glow onto the dark wood.

Marcus walked back to the desk and picked it up.

He stared at the screen, his forehead furrowing into deep, hard lines.

“Elena,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp.

I stopped, my hand freezing on the doorknob.

“What is it?” I asked, turning back.

He turned the phone toward me so I could see the screen.

It was a live video feed from the security cameras at the front gate, but the video was distorted, flickering with heavy static.

Through the snow and the static, I could make out the shape of a single, unmarked black SUV idling just outside the perimeter wall.

The headlights were off, but the exhaust plume rose thick and white into the freezing air.

“That isn’t the feds,” Marcus said.

I stepped back from the heavy desk, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Who is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper in the cold room.