“This feels like a long game,” I whisper to Charlie as we walk down a corridor. We’re in the basement of the CIA, having infiltrated as janitors. Not the scale-and-rappel Mission Impossible kind of action I was expecting—kinda anti-climactic, really—but certainly effective.
“It pays to be nice to people,” he whispers back and holds a door open for me. I push a janitor’s cart. We pass a guy in a suit, headed home after a long night. His eyes skim past our uniforms and cleaning supplies like we’re invisible.
I wait until we’re in the elevator to turn to him. “Seriously, did you know you’d be doing this someday?”
He shrugs. “It seemed like a possibility.”
I bug my eyes out at him.
“Otis is a friend,” he explains. “He owes me a few favors.”
“And he just happens to work at the CIA?”
“Use
