"I'm pulling up the quickest route for you right now," Finn replied before a digital map appeared on the built-in screen in the center of the dashboard.

Meg glanced at the display, orienting herself with the blinking spot indicating her present location against the winding, blue line leading to the airport across town. She looked up just in time to see a tractor pulling onto the road, and she yanked the wheel sharply to the left to avoid a collision. 

"Are you all right?" Finn asked. "I noticed a sudden spike in your heart rate. I ignored the readouts last night for obvious reasons, but now that you're on the road--"

"Yes, I'm fine," she snapped, internally cursing herself for letting the Yard implant her with a bio-tracker microchip. Even an international spy needed the occasional moment of privacy, even if she was fooling around on work-time with a high-profile target.

She had less than a mile of uninhibited road before coming up to the end of a long queue of cars stopped at a red light. Meg tapped her French-tipped nails on the wheel. "I'm going to need you to do your magic on the traffic signals."

"On it." The affirmation came immediately.

She sighed, looking for a possible way around the gridlock. There was none. A few seconds later, the light turned green and the cars began to move. With a racing driver's precision, Meg skillfully cut in front of a maroon Honda on the right, floored the accelerator, then weaved in front of a black Jeep. As expected, the next light gave the go-signal as well and so did all of the others she came across even after turning right three blocks later.

Agent Finn was a gem.

"How much time do I have left?" She continued to speed through the city traffic under the shadows of giant swaying palms.

"Twenty-three minutes."

Not even she could manage to make that. "Stall the plane, Agent Finn. Nothing extreme. Just a false little mechanical error report that can be resolved in just enough time for me to make it there."

There was a brief pause before he answered. "I need additional clearance for that."

"Well, get the damn clearance!" she yelled.

"Copy. I'll be with you in a sec." He went off-line, temporarily leaving her alone. 

Of course, she wasn't totally alone. Agent Huck Finn - obviously not his real name, but an alias given to an operations support technician at the Covert Analytical Network Design Yard - was just Meg's remote wingman out in the field. A whole slew of analysts back at headquarters - and probably in other top secret, redundant back-up locations, as well - could track her whereabouts, listen to their conversations, and provide assistance as soon as she asked for it. But as a senior CANDY agent, Meg had a lot of discretion on how she ran her ops. Only her handler, Director Stoker, could override her. 

"Agent Capulet?" Finn came back on the line just as she merged onto a four-lane highway, heading toward the 'Aeropuerto'.

Meg crossed three lanes and floored the gas pedal. "Copy."

"I was just informed that flight 793 heading to Washington has been delayed due to an inexplicable spike in tire pressure during the pre-departure check," he said with slight hint of amusement in his voice.

She laughed. "Well done." She sped along for another half mile, passing an increasing number of orange, diamond-shaped signs. "The GPS is showing me to take the next exit, but there seems to be road construction up ahead."

"So . . . that shouldn't be there." Finn's tone was hesitant, maybe even unsure. 

The reply didn't quell Meg's growing unease. "Pull up a live satellite feed and give me an alternate route, stat."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, becoming uncharacteristically formal.

Shit. Thorough prep was key to a successful mission. Any time something unexpected happened, things went bad.

"My exit is blocked. I repeat, my exit is blocked. I need an alternative route, NOW!" Meg demanded as she flew past the barricaded road that would have taken her to the airport's cargo entrance.

"In two hundred feet, there'll be a restricted access road on your left for emergency vehicles only. Make a u-turn there and take the first exit off the highway," Finn instructed with his usual confidence. "Go left at the overpass, then straight for another mile."

With no other options, Meg followed the directions. Soon she was passing a chain link fence and could see the end of the runway beyond.

"Gate C is ready for you," the agent on the end of the line said. "One hundred fifty feet on the right. No need to slow down, the way has been cleared."

"Finally, some good news," she replied, seeing the small security booth flanking the open gate. Slowing just enough to take the ninety-degree turn without hitting the uniformed guard standing at its entrance, the Tesla's tires screeched as it fishtailed before driving onto airport territory.  "Where's the plane, Finn?"

Meg dodged a catering truck and then overtook a baggage trailer before cutting across under the wing of a parked plane.

"Off-gate outside Terminal 2 to your left. It's the only A330 on the tarmac in the immediate vicinity, so you can't miss it. Just watch out for the --"

"Firehoses?" She finished the sentence as her car was doused in water. Turning on the windshield wipers, she frowned. "Yeah, found those."

"Sorry about that. I should have mentioned you were in the plane wash area." Finn laughed. "It means you're close. Do you have visual?"

"Affirmative," she said, coming up on the waiting aircraft. A man in an orange vest was ready for her, signaling directions to park in front of an adjacent cargo loader. "Thanks for your help, Finn. Agent Capulet signing off."

Pressing the 'valet mode' button before opening the door, she swung her legs over the threshold and got out. "Try not to scratch it. I just had it washed," she instructed the befuddled looking baggage handler, who probably didn't know what to ogle harder: the exotic car or the beautiful woman driving it.

She retrieved a carry-on from the trunk and handed her boarding pass - pre-printed thanks to Agent Finn - to the flight attendant at the bottom of the mobile stairs. 

"It is a pleasure to have you on board with us today, madam." The woman smiled before ushering her to a first class seat.

When her car had been loaded and the cabin doors were secured for take-off, Meg sat back and sipped chilled champagne in a solo-salute to having another job completed. Tomorrow she'd hand off the package to Stoker and start her well-deserved vacation. Two weeks on Mykonos wouldn't make up for having continuously worked for the last two  years without a break, but at least it was something. 

By the time the plane reached its cruising altitude, however, a text from the Yard quickly spoiled her outlook:  Monday 0800. YTS2. Keep your bags packed.