“We’ll deal with them later. What about the journalist’s data?”
“Fragments have started to appear on secure channels. Nothing mainstream yet, but I sense it will gain traction.”
I snorted, genuinely amused. “A journalist with partial information? Hardly our worst problem. We’ve weatheredcongressional inquiries and UN investigations.” I gestured toward the glass wall overlooking the financial district. “The world prefers comforting lies to uncomfortable truths. Control is what everyone ultimately wants, Alban, even if they lack the courage to admit it.” I savored another sip of whiskey. “As for Ms. Durham, her credibility erodes with each outlandish claim. Our friends in the media have already begun the work of dismissing her as paranoid and unstable.” That was the easiest way to handle the situation. And with her current life events—her brother’s supposed death and chasing dead ends—I suspected it wouldn’t take much to convince the world that she was unreliable. “Have our remaining assets lie low while we assess exposure risk.”
“And Specter?”
I considered this, swirling the amber liquid in my glass exactly twice. I had designed Specter myself—the evolution of our conditioning methods after the failures of the Prima generation. Once, I considered him nearly perfect—controlled aggression, minimal personality artifacts, and excellent tactical assessment.
“If he’s compromised, eliminate him. If not, leave him. Reconditioning a faulty asset is rarely worth the investment.”
Alban cleared his throat. “There’s a complication, sir. They have him.”
This gave me pause. He didn’t have to say the name for me to understand. I set my glass down two inches from the edge of the coaster, giving Alban my full attention. That was an undesirable complication.
“When?”
“Within the last hour. He was extracted from the facility with multiple wounds. He’s in their custody at a secure medical facility.”
“Interesting. And very quick intervention.” The timing suggested a pre-arranged extraction. Someone else was moving pieces around my board. The only question was—who?
I tapped my fingers against the polished mahogany. “Monitor the situation. We have people on surveillance. Specter may still prove useful, even in custody.”
“With respect, sir,” Alban said, his voice carefully modulated, “Specter spent significant time with the Durham woman and Reaper. His loyalty is no longer with us.”
I studied Alban, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the careful neutrality of his expression. He was hiding something—fear, perhaps. Or knowledge.
“You don’t think he can be trusted?”
Alban’s eyes dropped briefly to his tablet. “I believe his conditioning has degraded beyond reliable parameters.”
“I see.” Interesting term—degraded. As if humanity were a form of decay rather than merely an inefficient operating system. I rose from my chair, buttoning my vest before sliding my hands into my pockets.
“You know, Alban, even broken toys can have their uses. Sometimes the cracks are what make them valuable.”
I moved to the window, gazing down at the city beneath us—a jeweled tapestry of light and darkness, utterly oblivious to the games played in offices like mine. A million souls, eachbelieving themselves free while following paths my algorithms had predicted years ago.
My gaze drifted to the darkened screen showing the São Paulo facility. “Perhaps our methods need refinement. The Quinta subjects remain stable, but only by sacrificing operational longevity.”
“Will that be all, Director Dresner?” Alban asked.
I smiled at my reflection in the window, looking at the curvature of lips that conveyed confidence without warmth. “Have the jet prepared. I believe it’s time we paid closer attention to our European operations.”
Chapter 28
Maeve
I jolted awake, hand shooting under the pillow for a weapon that wasn’t there. My fingertips found only cool sheets. Wrong. Dangerous.
Panic slammed through me as I scanned unfamiliar walls. Weathered blue paint. Gauzy curtains. The rhythmic crash of waves mixed with the harsh cry of seagulls that sounded too much like warning sirens.
It took my mind a long moment to perceive everything that had happened and convince me that I wasn’t in immediate danger.
Colombia. Beach Cabana. Two days since we arrived.
Right. Not safe—just safer.
I pushed myself upright, wincing as my body registered its complaints. The gash at my temple throbbed less today, though the bandage needed changing. Bruises had faded from purple to a sickly yellow across my ribs. Progress.