Free Shadow Maker by James R. Hannibal

entrance just as the three of them came up the stairs. She eyed the bags suspiciously.
    â€œ
Jó estét
,” said Nick, bidding her good evening. He did not speak Hungarian, but he had picked up a few phrases on previous operations and he had boned up during the crossing. The woman just frowned at him and started up the stairs.
    â€œThese people keep odd hours,” whispered Drake once she had passed the first landing.
    They gave her three minutes to clear the stairwell and then started up, pausing to listen at the third floor. A rhythmic thumping sounded from the hallway. Nick peeked around the corner and couldn’t believe his bad luck. The old woman lived on this floor. Her cane thumped into the worn carpet with every shaky step. Nick stepped aside and nodded for Drake to lean out and take a look.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me,” said the big operative when he ducked back into the stairwell. His eyes widened. “You don’t think she’s—”
    Nick shook his head. “No, although, at this point, I’m not averse to Tasing her.”
    After another few seconds, the thumping stopped and they heard the scrape of a key in a lock. They waited until they heard the door open and click closed and then Nick checked the hall one more time. “We’re on.”
    They moved quickly, padding down the hall without a sound until Scott caught a toe on a lump in the carpet. His shoulder thudded against the old woman’s wall. Nick shot him a glare.
    The engineer winced. “Sorry.”
    The old woman did not reappear and they continued on. At the door marked 307, Nick pulled a small black leather wallet from his coat and flipped it open. A few years ago, it would have held the snakes, rakes, and hooks of his lockpick set, but picking locks was now a dying and largely unnecessary art. These days, the wallet held bump keys. Nick checked Grendel’s dead bolt and doorknob and then selected a matching pair, handing one to Drake.
    Both men drew pistol-style Tasers from their coat pockets and inserted their keys into the door locks, Nick standing at the dead bolt, Drake crouched in front of the doorknob. After a final check that his teammate was ready, Nick whispered a count to three and they both gave their keys a sharp bump and a turn.
    As the door swung open, Nick and Drake rushed in with their Tasers leveled, searching for targets. They saw no one. Scott opened his mouth to speak, but Nick shut him up with a sharp look. He pointed at Drake and with a wave of his hand, directed him toward the kitchen while he moved silently into a short hallway at the back.
    The door on the left of the little hall was too narrow to be an entrance to a room. It had to be a closet. Nick checked the door to the right. The knob turned easily and he pressed into the room. Again, there was no one.
    Drake appeared at his shoulder. “The kitchen and living area are clear.”
    â€œSame,” said Nick, pocketing his Taser. “No one’s here.” He returned to the living area and shut and locked the apartment door.
    â€œDo we even have the right apartment?”
    â€œIf I could have permission to speak now, I think I can answer that,” said Scott.
    Nick nodded. “Speak.”
    The engineer pointed over Nick’s shoulder to a short, unobtrusive rack that stood against the front wall of the apartment. There were four shelves, each holding a whirring silver box, ten inches wide, flat and unadorned except for a single green LED blinking on one end. A bundle of cables ran from the rack to another silver box that sat on a small desk. That box was connected to a laptop with a simple USB cable. “This is the place,” he said.
    â€œThat’s it?” asked Drake. “That’s our terrorist communications network.”
    â€œIt is. At least, it’s the heart of it.”
    Drake strode over to the rack. “Then let’s pull the plug and get out of