Chapter 5 - The Conservatory Trap
Mark’s muscles locked. He strained to catch the identity of the second speaker, but the rumble was too low, muffled by the lush foliage and running fountains of the indoor garden. He had to reach the antique birdcage before they noticed him.
Stepping back from the grate, he took the exterior glass terrace, braving the icy drizzle that swept across the balcony. Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw Chloe pacing between two towering ficus trees. Across from her sat a man in a dark tailored trench coat, his back turned to the window, holding a heavy leather briefcase.
Mark slipped through a service hatch behind the orchid displays, keeping low among the terracotta pots and damp loam. The scent of blooming jasmine was thick, almost suffocating. Ahead, suspended from an ornamental iron bracket, hung the large Victorian brass birdcage.
He reached up, his fingers brushing against the cold, tarnished filigree. His hand reached through the cage door, feeling the fake bottom. Beneath a layer of dried moss, his fingertips touched the smooth, cold surface of a modern encrypted flash drive wrapped in black electrical tape.
As he pulled it free, a dry twig snapped beneath his boot heel.
The conversation halted instantly.
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""Who's there?"" the trench-coated man barked, his voice echoing sharply off the glass domes.
Mark scrambled backward into the ferns, his heart hammering against his ribs. The beam of a tactical flashlight sliced through the darkness, illuminating the ferns inches from his face, followed by the metallic click of a chambered pistol.
