“Sightseeing?” Sydney suggested, her eyes following the traffic.
“Recon,” Niall answered, “on an alleged plot to assassinate the US president.”
At this, Sydney’s head whipped sharply to Niall. “Rosen’s under threat?”
“Mr. Rosen, yes. His dissenters have always had dangerous intentions, but their actions have escalated lately.”
Sydney turned back to the simulation. Her hands were gripping her elbows hard enough now to leave white marks fading against her skin. She’d met the president once, at a private White House security event. She knew to distrust politicians, had too much intel on too many of them not to, but Rosen was different. He was the kind of person who inspired loyalty, who had a way of speaking that made you love him—believe in him, even. His campaign promises may have been lofty, but somehow, he made it seem possible, and more importantly, like he meant what hesaid. She remembered the way he’d shaken her hand at the event and the kind smile he’d given her, how he’d taken the time to quietly thank her for her work in taking down a homegrown terrorist group in Montana.
Suddenly, she understood the delicate nature of their mission. Rosen was the most beloved president they’d had in decades. If he was assassinated, the streets would explode with riots. It would be a murder of John F. Kennedy–level proportions. It would destabilize the entire globe.
“We’ve been tracking the threats closely alongside the CIA,” Niall continued.
“Now, Mr. Rosen is scheduled to attend the Warcross gala as a celebration of how the global economy has come together over technology. Earlier this year, our analysts sniffed out a plot by a rebel group to assassinate Mr. Rosen at that gala.”
The world around them shifted again, and this time they found themselves standing outside what looked like a neo-Palladian palace in the middle of the city, surrounded by lush lawns and tropical trees. Banners in the colors of the Singaporean flag fluttered on either side of the entrance steps.
Sydney shook her head. “Why target Rosen right now?”
“The rebels plan to pin the blame on China. They’re hoping to trigger a war between China and the United States, with Singapore trapped in the middle as the proxy country. We believe they have an arms deal with China that is motivating them to do this.” Sauda tapped the air, and the simulation shifted again. Now they were standing in the marble lobby of the gala building, the sound of other people’s footsteps and voices echoing around them.
“We’d sent Tems to gather information on this rumor, which he would then pass to the US authorities arriving for the gala in order to stop the assassination attempt—without any of this information going public, of course.”
“You mentioned the CIA’s involved?” Sydney asked.
“Yes.” Sauda made a swiping motion in midair, and the scene around them shifted to another part of the gala building—a hallway down which now walked several people in suits. The simulation suddenly froze on this scene. “Niall will be on a separate flight. Once he arrives, he’ll head to the CIA’s setup there to coordinate their work with our agents at the Sapphire Cross.”
Sydney’s stomach sank at the familiar, bejeweled cross pins glittering on the trio’s suit jackets. “Can’t President Rosen just say he’s unable to go?” she said. “Broke a finger? Caught the flu?”
“Bad diplomacy,” Niall replied. “The president won’t be cowed by a mere rumored threat. Besides, the culprits will simply postpone their plans for another time. The CIA wants them arrested as soon as possible, as you can imagine. It’s not much of a choice.” The man gave her a dry scowl. “A bit like how we need you to rescue Tems.”
Sydney wanted to snort. Bad diplomacy, indeed.
“So, what happened to your agent?” Winter asked.
“Last week, Tems was supposed to reach out to us and deliver preliminary intel he’d gathered on the assassination ahead of the gala. He never showed.”
Sydney swallowed, but her throat felt like it had a rock lodged in it.
Niall nodded. “We believe he might have had his cover blown, or has someone on his trail that’s making it difficult for him to communicate with us, or is in some similar trouble. He told us in his last message that he will still be present at the gala. So we’ve arranged secret transportation for him out of the country on that night, possibly the only place with enough security for him to be safely present. We think if you can find him at the gala, we can smuggle him out from there. But he can’t get out alone. He’ll need new identification and another agent to help him.”
“That’s where we come in, I’m guessing,” Sydney said.
Sauda pursed her lips, then eyed her and Winter. “Your mission,” she concluded, “is to go to the gala and get the Arsonist out of there without causing a scene. We’ll tell you when and where to meet him.”
Sydney took a slow, deep breath in, but her lungs were already reacting to the thought of being in the middle of a political crisis.
Beside her, Winter nodded. “So all you need from me is to get Sydney in?”
Niall leaned his elbows against the table. “You’ll be putting on the biggest concert in Singapore’s history a day before the gala. We can easily get you onto the gala’s guest list, and you’ll get Sydney in as your bodyguard.”
“You mentioned you had a date ready?” Sauda asked.
“Yes,” Winter answered, his voice clipped.
“Good. Name?”
“Gavi Ginsburg.” Winter looked away and focused instead on the simulation around them.
