"Because your sniper on the balcony? He's asleep. My tranquilizer darts have chamomile extract. Very calming." She tilted her head. "And the chip you're holding? A decoy. The real one is inside the pawn you pawned off to your mistress last night."
Izzy stepped from the shadows. "Loud gets you killed. Quiet gets you the chip."
Izzy unwrapped a piece of dark chocolate—her only vice. "I didn't. But a good agent makes the enemy think she knows everything." tajni agent izzy
Amateurs , she thought.
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." "Because your sniper on the balcony
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."
He smiled and tossed the rook into the air. She didn't flinch. She let it fall, roll across the floor, and stop at her feet. Then she kicked it back. Very calming
Her mission, should she choose to accept it (she already had), was to retrieve a stolen memory chip hidden inside a cursed, antique chess piece. The piece was about to change hands between a corrupt Interpol liaison and a Balkan arms dealer known as "The Collector."
The rain over Sarajevo fell like a curtain of needles, each drop a potential threat. In a grimy café near the old Austro-Hungarian quarter, a woman nursed a cold espresso. Her name was Izzy, but her passport said "Elena Horvat." Her real colleagues knew her as Tajni agent Izzy – Secret Agent Izzy – though the Agency simply called her Codename: Chameleon.
