Agent Gray sat at a table. She glanced around herself: no suspicious activity, nothing at all to make anyone think she wasn't just another patron of the local coffeehouse. She shifted her line of sight over to a small sedan twenty feet away, quadruple-checking that her parallel parking wouldn't draw attention. She also couldn't see the reason she'd even come to the establishment in the first place. The small café wasn't crowded and its few patrons appeared to be either the wrong age or gender. Mostly everyone sat inside, anyway, even on a beautiful morning like this—the wireless signal was strongest inside the building. Another quick look ascertained a couple of homeless men further along the edge of the building, but in the opposite direction of her car.
He was supposed to be there, Hannah was sure of it. She'd followed him too closely to consider otherwise. That he wasn't made Hannah uncomfortable, the kind of uncomfortable that usually precedes some sort of terrible, unforgettable event. Seconds after acknowledging her discomfort, she saw the bomb. He was there. Hannah jumped up, grabbing a small leather wallet off of her utility belt. Making a scene—like evacuating a coffee shop because of a bomb—would only let him know she was there, something she had desperately wanted to avoid, mostly because she was paranoid that he already knew she was investigating in the first place. Then again, her duty didn't allow for letting innocent people die in an explosion she may have been able to prevent.
She began flashing her badge at the patrons outside the café, alerting them to the fact that she was a federal agent and they needed to run to safety. As she was doing so, she popped a quick look at the timer, which counted down from five minutes. Five minutes to evacuate an increasingly crowded coffeehouse with a slightly panicking crowd would not be enough. She knew it and she knew that he knew it. He'd planned it that way. Ten seconds later, a booming fireball erupted from outside the café. Hannah instinctively leapt to the ground and covered her head and neck with her arms. She had managed to escape the brunt of the blast but flying debris from the near-collapse of the building left her bruised and bloodied. How many of the others were as lucky, she didn't know yet. The inside of the building was starting to go up in flames and Hannah quickly dialed 911. She had been outside, thankfully, helping escort a few others away from the coffee place. Fifteen minutes later, the fire department and several ambulances arrived. The firemen got the blaze under control fairly quickly and Hannah spotted a few EMTs assisting what appeared to be naval Petty Officers. She flipped open her phone, dialed a familiar number and relayed a message to the operator that answered.
A police officer walked over and began asking questions. She showed him her badge and said some of her colleagues would be there shortly. Hannah gave a quick statement and allowed an EMT to lead her to an ambulance to be checked over. She sat on the edge, letting her longish legs dangle. In five minutes, a large white utility truck with red and blue stripes pulled up and stopped with a well-known abruptness. Three special agents stepped out and quickly surveyed the scene. The police officer who took Hannah's statement spoke briefly with the oldest of the three, then went to talk to his fellow officers. Another truck pulled up, a twin to the first that had arrived. She watched as the men did their jobs, hoping they wouldn't notice her. The EMT checking her over seemed fussy about her injuries and she let him. Normally, she would have insisted she was fine and gone about her business, even if she'd been severely bleeding from the head. Now, Hannah had no desire to participate in the circus before her. Second thoughts piled up around her and she realized, far too late, that if the older agent so much as caught a glimpse of her…well, it wouldn't be good.
The police officer came back and spoke to another one of the agents, who was asking questions. His sunglasses glinted in the morning light, sunglasses that Hannah would have bet anything came from some high-end retailer. She saw the policeman nod in her direction and the agent's head turn with it. He took off his sunglasses, adopted a grim expression and quickly went to inform the older agent. He looked over at her and she stared back, willing her bruised and bloodied face not to betray any emotion as the coffeehouse smoked and crackled off to the side.
