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Chapter 701
Chapter 701:
Maxwell had walked her to the door an hour ago, his face deadly serious. He had warned her about the recent spike in corporate espionage targeting aerospace technology in the Boston corridor, stationed two former Navy SEALs at opposite ends of her hallway, and ordered her to lock the deadbolt.
Isolde had done exactly that. She had kicked off her heels, poured a glass of ice water, and immediately submerged herself in the DARPA satellite algorithm stress test.
Her brain was operating at a terrifying speed, lines of complex code cascading across the screen as she hunted for a microscopic flaw in the telemetry feedback loop. She rubbed her burning eyes. A dull ache throbbed at her temples. The emotional drain of the confrontation with Grayson, layered over the intense mental labor, was pushing her physical limits.
She pushed her chair back, picked up her water glass, and walked barefoot across the thick carpet toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She needed to rest her eyes on something distant.
She stared out at the dark waters of the Charles River and took a slow sip of the freezing water.
As her gaze drifted across the dark facade of a commercial office building directly opposite, a tiny anomaly caught her attention.
A microscopic flash of light.
Isolde froze. She did not turn her head. Instead, she shifted her gaze slightly, studying the reflection of her own penthouse balcony in the glass.
There, tucked into the edge of a large decorative planter, a tiny crimson dot pulsed steadily in the darkness.
Isolde’s heart slammed against her ribs. A cold spike of adrenaline shot straight down her spine.
𝘙е𝗮𝖽 f𝗋𝘰m yо𝘶r ph𝗼ո𝘦 𝘰n
Years of training kicked in instantly. Her brain bypassed panic and dropped directly into tactical survival mode. She knew exactly what that light was — the infrared focusing beam of a high-powered micro-lens camera.
She did not scream. She did not gasp.
Isolde took one slow, deliberate step backward, drawing her body into the heavy shadow of the window drapes.
She rapidly calculated the geometry of the room. The camera was angled precisely, with a clear, unobstructed line of sight through the glass directly to the glowing screen of her open laptop.
They were reading her screen.
Isolde moved. She stayed low, keeping her body out of the direct sightline from the balcony, and crossed the carpet in three silent, rapid strides. She reached the desk and slammed the laptop screen shut.
The sharp click of the latch echoed through the dark room.
She moved immediately to the wall panel and hit the master switch. The remaining ambient lights in the hallway and kitchen died. The entire penthouse plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Isolde pressed her back against the cold plaster wall beside the window, chest heaving silently, a thin layer of sweat breaking across her forehead.
She peered through a narrow slit in the curtains, watching the balcony planter.
The red dot blinked twice in rapid succession. Then it went completely dark.
The watcher knew the target was aware.