“Zero three sixteen,” Sydney said automatically.
“Did you ID any of the others present?”
Sydney pulled the wallet out of her pocket that she’d stolen from Eli’s killer, then flipped it open for everyone to see. Inside was the faded driver’s license of an unsmiling man with dark eyes and a coarsely shaven beard, the ID stuffed into the same slot as a crumpled wad of Corcasian cash.
Recognition sparked in Niall’s eyes. “You stole this off of him?” he asked.
Sydney nodded. “All of them spoke Corcasian. The third also spoke English. One had a slight irregularity in his walk, possibly an injury somewhere on his right leg.”
“That’s Edward Johannsen,” Sauda said, nodding at the ID. “One of the buyers we’ve been tracking.”
“What does that mean?” Sydney asked.
“It means the Corcasians are in town with the express permission of their government, and that their prime minister sanctioned Eli Morrison’s murder. I wouldn’t be surprised if they also sent the sniper after Penelope. They will try a hit on her again soon.”
“Why would they want her dead?” Winter asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sauda replied.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Sydney said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Niall said, “because your jobs there are done.”
Sydney blinked. “What do you mean, done? We need to put together a new mission.”
“As in, we’re bringing you both home. We’re not entangling ourselves in official Corcasian government business without regrouping with the CIA. Everything just got a lot messier.”
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I thought Panacea operated free of all the red tape that the CIA has to deal with.”
Niall fixed a stern gaze on her. “Don’t be such a child,” he grumbled. “We can take certain liberties, but we aren’t here to start a bigger war than we want to prevent.”
“We haven’t solved anything!” Sydney hissed.
“You weren’t there to solve anything,” Sauda said coolly. “You were there to do a job. And now that job’s dead.”
“What about all that talk of making the world better? Of saving the lives of half a million people? Of being able to do what’s right over what’s diplomatic? Or was that just recruitment talk?” Sydney clenched her teeth. “That ship’s still bound for Cape Town. We leave now, and half a million people will die.”
“Then so be it,” Sauda snapped. Sydney quieted instantly. Sauda’s temper came rarely, but when it did, it seemed to suck all the air out of the room, leaving Sydney breathless.
“What’s the first rule?” the woman said in a low voice.
“Come home alive,” Sydney murmured back.
Sauda nodded once. “The ripple effect of Eli’s murder has only just begun. We answer to higher powers. We’ll do what we can, we’ll figure out a new path, but we also know when we must step back. You can’t save the world if you’re dead. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sydney whispered. She could feel tears of fury welling in her eyes.
“Say it louder.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She could see Niall looking at her with those furrowed brows, the expression in his eyes more sympathetic than stern, telling her silently to behave. He opened his mouth for a moment, but then closed it.
“Good.” Sauda glanced at Winter, who still sat silently, watching the exchange, his face still haunted. “Apologies for the mess you’ve been dragged into, Mr. Young.”
“What about Winter’s appearance at the final party tomorrow?” Sydney demanded. “Penelope has thousands of guests in attendance here, and I suspect she’ll push through in order to avoid a scene. She doesn’t know about her father yet, either. We pull Winter out now, and it’ll look too suspicious.”
“Let her figure out her guests and her scene,” Sauda said. She glanced at Niall. “Flight ETA?”
