“Did you ever think that you would go from being kidnapped to assisting me with one?” I ask her, smiling so widely that my scar pulls against the corner of my mouth.
She laughs, a deep, husky noise that stirs in my loins. “No. No, I didn’t. And I gotta say, it’s kind of a rush. If I weren’t already pregnant…” she gives me an ardent look.
“Yes. It is always good to practice,” I agree. She laughs again. “But first, we must end this.” I tap my earpiece to unmute myself. “Wesley? James?”
“Just getting into place,”James replies.
“I’m here,”Wesley confirms.
“Then I will meet you at the entrance.”
44
Wesley
This is like being in the ladies room at a night club.
Fred’s behavior leading up to tonight made it obvious that he was expecting trouble—him and whoever he’s working with at SmarTech, which we assume at least includes the CEO and board. They stand to make millions off this product, and they know the stakes, so it’s not surprising they’d want to ensure the launch goes off without a hitch.
So we prepared for it.
“Cameras are down,”Madison confirms.“You have 20 minutes before the alarm goes off and the backups come online. Make it count, SpyderMan.”
20 minutes to get in, find Fred’s office, log into his computer, get into the program files, and shut it all down. We have to pull this off tonight; otherwise, the program will be sent out, it will proliferate and adapt—as AI is wont to do—and we’ll lose our shot to contain it before it becomes a juggernaut.
With Madison’s help, I can do it. With Dimitri and Mac’s backup, I can do it.
I can do it.
SmarTech offices are in a large, stylized glass and metal structure on the outskirts of Ulysses. The entrance is grand, austere and sleek, with doors of glass and chrome that open up into a big room with polished concrete floors and a desk with two guards to direct visitors down the hallway and workers through the turnstile.
But it’s 7 PM on a Saturday, and this is a Monday through Friday, 9-5 office building. There’s no reason for there to be security guards.
Because they’re not security guards.
“Butcher,” Dimitri greets the larger of the two.
His chuckle is dark and knowing as he stands from the desk where he’s been resting his feet. His accent is just as thick as Dimitri’s. “Ghost. It has been, what, eight months?”
“What a ridiculous question. Why would I keep track of this?” Dimitri asks.
There’s a single second of heavy confusion following his statement, then all hell breaks loose.
The other bloke who’s leaning against the desk reaches into his holster and produces a gun, aiming for me, as the Butcher leaps at Dimitri with a knife. The sound of glass splintering and the sight of blood oozing from a single hole in the man’s forehead happen simultaneously as Mac steps in with the kill shot from above.
In the wake of the bullet, glass shatters behind us, falling and ricocheting off the floor in a million sparkling shards. As I duck and cover, Dimitri and the Butcher are locked in, exchanging blows.
“Go!” Dimitri shouts, dodging a hit.
I take a running leap over the turnstile and burst through the internal doors.
“Take the first left,”Madison instructs in my ear.
I do, hurrying, feeling exposed. It’s eerie in here—dark and silent—and my heavy footsteps are the only sound. Mac can follow my progress through the halls, since the offices lining the outer walls have large windows, but he’s a last resort. The clock is already ticking after that first shot—the authorities might already be on their way—and we’ve only got 20 minutes. 18 now, most likely.
“Janitor, three o’clock!”Mac says.
Up ahead, the hallway disappears to a hard right. I don’t have time to wonder if he’s really a janitor or another hitman as the bloke rounds the corner and catches sight of me. He freezes behind the large rolling trash and pulls an earbud out.
