"Three main sources," she said, pulling out her phone and setting it on the table. "A mid-level agent with the FBI. An analyst with the CIA. And a colonel at the Pentagon."
The room went quiet again.
Charlie exhaled slowly. "That's a hell of a roster."
"It's also a hell of a problem," Silas added. "Those aren't organizations we want sniffing around Dominion Hall."
"They already are," Amelia said. "That's why I'm here."
Caleb leaned forward. "Who do you trust most?"
Amelia didn't hesitate. "The FBI agent. He used to be a field guy, but he got shot in the line of duty. Paralyzed from the waist down. He's a good guy. Wants to do the right thing."
Murmurs rippled around the table. Respect, maybe. Or at least, understanding. Everyone in this room knew what it was like to take a bullet and keep going in whatever way you could.
"Who's the weakest?" Atlas asked.
Again, Amelia didn't hesitate. "The colonel at the Pentagon. He's a ladder climber. Ambitious. Ego the size of Texas. Thinks he's smarter than everyone in the room and doesn't mind telling you about it."
That got a few grim smiles.
Everyone in the room had dealt with officers like that. The kind who cared more about their next promotion than the mission. The kind who'd throw subordinates under the bus if it meant a shinier medal on their chest.
There was back and forth in the room—debate about which source to approach first. Whether to start with the most trustworthy or exploit the weakest link. Whether to go in person or start with a phone call.
The consensus formed quickly.
"We go after the weak link," Noah said.
"Make him think he's getting something out of it," Ryker added. "Stroke the ego. Get him talking."
Amelia nodded. "Exactly."
"Can you patch my phone into this room so everyone can hear?" she asked, looking around the room.
Elias was already moving, fingers flying across his keyboard. "No problem. Give me three minutes."
I watched him work. A few clicks that connected her phone to the room's sound system like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Two minutes and forty seconds later, he gave her the thumbs up.
Amelia picked up her phone, took a breath, and dialed.
The call connected on the third ring.
"Emerson," a voice said through the speakers. Smooth. Confident. Cocky.
The colonel.
I hated him already.
"Hi, Colonel," Amelia said, her voice warm, friendly, with just a hint of deference. "Do you have a minute?"
"For you? Always." His tone dripped with self-satisfaction, like he was doing her a favor just by answering. "What can I do for you?"
My hands curled into fists under the table. I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the guy.
But Amelia had it handled.
