The electronic keypad on the outside of the door suddenly beeped.

The red light turned green.

The heavy door began to slide open.

I raised my weapon, aiming at the widening gap of darkness.

I held my breath, the front sight of my Glock aligned with the center of the opening.

The heavy steel door slid back with a low, metallic groan.

A tall figure stepped into the dim yellow light of the safe house, hands raised to shoulder height.

“Evelyn, it’s me,” Marcus said, his voice low and steady. “Don’t shoot.”

I did not lower the weapon.

“You’re late,” I said, my finger remaining light on the trigger.

“The perimeter was hot,” Marcus replied, stepping inside the threshold. “I had to take the long way around the train tracks.”

I used my left hand to slide the manual deadbolt back into place, locking the heavy steel door behind him.

“The main power line was cut,” I said, keeping my eyes on his face.

“I had to bypass the local grid junction to get in without triggering their silent alarms,” Marcus said.