“I confirm it.”
“For who?”
She hesitates. There it is.
“For the side that doesn’t want it weaponized,” she says carefully.
Not a nation. Not an agency. A side.
I glance toward the table where my satellite phone sits.
HOLD POSITION.
DO NOT REINSERT.
AWAIT DIRECTIVE.
They want me to freeze. But she’s right about one thing. If she doesn’t show, suspicion locks in. Whoever forced that elevator recall already suspects something.
“You’re not running,” I say quietly.
“No.”
“You’re finishing.”
“Yes.”
Her voice doesn’t waver. She chose this. Whatever this is.
“And if I leave you here?” I ask.
“Then they proceed without interference,” she says. “And whatever moves inside those shipments goes where it was always meant to.”
“And that’s bad.”
“Yes.”
I step back half a pace, creating space between us for the first time since I closed it.
“You’re asking me to break a direct order.”
“I’m asking you to assess the situation.”
“Which I have.”
“And?” she presses.
“And I don’t like unknown cargo.”
A ghost of a smile touches her mouth.
“It’s not cargo,” she says softly.
“What is it?”
“Leverage.”
That word sits differently. Technology as leverage. Information as leverage. Power as leverage. My mind runs scenarios fast.
