Prologue

Silently she slipped through the trees. She paused briefly below the last oak tree, crouching to catch her breath. The moonlight gleamed off her alabaster face. She shook her long black hair out and took a deep breath. Her dark eyes focused on the building ahead. Nothing moved. Only an eerie light filtered out through the dirty windows. A small yellow-white plume of smoke curled out from the chimney. Crickets chirped in the background, filling the night with their song.

As her breathing returned to normal, she reached under her black leather skirt and eased her pistol out of its holster strapped around her thigh just above her black stocking. Silently she checked her load and then took one last look around the clearing. She sucked in a deep breath and hurled herself across the grassy field between the trees and the factory ahead.

Right and left she looked as she raced across the grassy clearing, crouching low to keep as low a profile as possible. The only sound she made was the soft squish of her sneakers in the damp grass. Her long black hair flapped behind her as she raced for the building, hoping that no one was watching that side of the building. Moments later her shoulder crashed into the gray brick of the building. Her hair momentarily blew into her face.

Quietly unzipping her black leather jacket just a bit, she drew a black scarf from around her neck and tied her hair back in a ponytail. So far, so good, she thought as she caught her breath again and began to ease her way along the brick wall toward a window.

When she reached the window, she gently pushed on it. It was latched. She tried a second and then a third. She was relieved to find the third one unlatched. She winced as is squeaked, but opened. She pulled her self up by her arms and slipped through, dropping silently into the darkness. Her sneakers thumped as they made contact with the building's concrete floor. She quickly slipped behind a row of boxes just inside the window.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she glanced around the room. It was a huge open room, filled with huge stacks of boxes, rows and rows of stacked boxes. She could see a light in the distance between rows of stacked boxes.

Taking another deep breath, she slowly worked her way through the maze of stacked boxes toward the light, pausing at each intersection to make sure no one was behind or beside her and then headed again toward the light and sounds. Gradually the light grew brighter. She could make out the instructions in Spanish on the box sides. "Fragile" it said. She wondered what this place shipped when it wasn't being used as a drug factory.

Finally she reached the end of the boxes. Holding her gun to her cheek, she peeked around the last box. There were six of them, huddled around a long table. Chemical apparatus was strewn over the table. A large beaker brewed over a Bunsen burner and yellowish vapor rose from the beaker. She still could not make out the words of the men. The huge air handlers were too loud for that. But she knew what they were making. Nirvana is what they called it on the street. $500 an ounce is what it cost. And it was very addictive. Even inhaling the smoke could get you addicted.

Chapter 1 »