Amateurs , she thought.
"I prefer 'strategic listener,'" Izzy said, cuffing him with a polymer zip-tie. "Now, about that pawn…" tajni agent izzy
The Collector’s face drained of color. For a long moment, neither moved. Then he laughed—a dry, defeated sound. "They say you’re a ghost. A whisper in a crowded room." Amateurs , she thought
"The… the old library," he stammered.
Izzy adjusted her scarf. In this light, she looked like a weary journalist. A flicker of movement reflected in her spoon. Two men, eastern European build, ill-fitting suits. They’d been following her for three blocks. For a long moment, neither moved
At the National Library, a gutted shell of a building scarred by war, The Collector waited. He held the ivory rook, its base hollowed out for the chip. "Agent Izzy," he said, not turning around. "I expected someone… louder."