Prologue
Wesley
I can’t believe how late I am. It’s as if the world has conspired against me today. An alarm that didn’t go off, a missed bus, delays on the tube, a cab with a flat tyre…If they had a place for me at this facility to park my motorcycle, this wouldn’t have happened. Not that it matters much now—of all the days to be late, it had to be the last. I’ve probably missed sending the presentation. Harold is going to have my arse.
It’s odd that Brian isn’t at the desk to greet me. He must be on break—though, usually the security guards operate as a pair, and they never leave the front desk unmanned. But I’m too late to puzzle it out.
Nose glued to my phone, I punch the button for the second floor and swipe over to my email as I wait for the doors to close. Have they sent it yet? There’s been nothing new in my inbox all morning, which is odd. Surely they would have copied me on the email…
The lift dings, the doors part, and I step off. The carpet squelches underfoot, surprising me enough to make me look up from my phone.
“What the fuc—” The angry exclamation dies on my tongue.
Office buildings are often colored in tones that offend no one. The industrial carpet is a soft blue, the walls are off white, the office furniture is grey. Matilda, who’s worked in corporate offices all her life, described it once as “interior design to calm the inmates.”
The scene before me is anything but calm. Splashes of red on those previously pristine walls. Red seeping into the blue of the carpet, creating a dark purple stain that has spread all the way to the lift. A single red handprint in the middle of the grey wall separator for the two cubicles closest…
My heart leaps into my throat at the carnage, going wild when I see Matilda’s body draped over her desk, eyes open and unseeing.
So. Much. Blood.
An alarm blares from my computer, snapping me out of the waking nightmare. I come to and realize that I’m frozen in place, holding the cloth I just fetched to wipe up the spilled energy drink on the carpet. As I stare down at my shoe in the red puddle, I realize exactly what triggered that spell—even though the energy drink is an unnatural bright cherry red, the sound of it underfoot and the vaguely metallic smell…
I drop the cloth, stomp on it to absorb the puddle so the carpet won’t stain, and head over to my computer to check on the source of the noise.
The alarm is coming from the program linked to Eleanor’s panic button. I know she and Mac—James Mackenzie, the sniper of our trio—are currently out to dinner at their favorite spot. They’re alone, without backup. Mac can handle himself in most situations, but Eleanor isn’t like us. She’s not an assassin; she’s a civilian. And after what she’s just been through, the idea that she’s out there with him, panicking, twists a knot in my stomach.
I’ve been in those cameras at the restaurant before, and once you’ve hacked something, getting back in is easy. As I pull up their feeds, I call up our group chat. I can see the three dots, indicating that Dimitri—our Russian man on the ground and team lead in our merry band of assassins—is already in the chat, typing out his message. But he’s got big, clumsy thumbs, and I’m faster.
3 Musketeers Chat
Eleanor’s panic button just went off
Dimitri
I saw it as well. Report in, James.
Just started the timer. If we don’t hear in 5, we’re mobilizing.
There are a few camera feeds, and I cycle through, searching for that familiar handsome face or long brown hair in the small crowd. I find them at a table in the corner of the building, sitting stock straight and staring at the guest on the other side of the table. I can’t see who he is—his back is to me—but the twin looks of fury on Mac and Eleanor’s faces give me a few guesses.
These cameras are shite. They don’t zoom and have no sound capability. Luckily, Eleanor’s watch has a panic buttonanda bug—though Mac and Eleanor don’t know about the latter. I figure most people wouldn’t like knowing they were wearing something I could turn into a surveillance device, but in my defense, I’ve never used it because the situation has never called for it. Until now.
“—and what happens when you want out of this partnership? You think he’s gonna just let you go?”the man is saying.
My hand curls into a fist. I know that voice.
Felix. What a fucking thorn in our side. As if being complicit in Nicole’s kidnapping wasn’t enough, now he’s cornering Mac and Eleanor.
“If you don’t know who the General is, you don’t know who to protect yourself against. How you gonna keep your lady safe? What’s your exit strategy,ese?”
That throws me for a loop. Is he talking about the General? Our General?
“Well, I’ll leave you folks to it. Enjoy your evening. And think about what I said.”Felix stands and adjusts his jacket. I expect him to turn and waltz out the front of the restaurant, but he circles the table and disappears into a hallway I know leads back to the kitchens.
A few seconds later, Mac responds to the group chat.
Mac
