Ham nodded toward the pendant. “Then let’s see what your people know that we don’t.”
Jayden plugged it into her laptop and entered her codes. The device hummed, processing her biometrics, confirming her location. A green light pulsed.
The screen came to life.
Schematics. Technical drawings. A familiar circular shape with brushes and sensors—a cleaning robot. What looked, frankly, like a Roomba. But modified. The internal cavity had been hollowed out, replaced with a canister and dispersal mechanism.
Jayden’s blood ran cold.
“What is it?” Dakota stepped closer, reading over her shoulder.
“Modified cleaning robots.” Her voice came out hollow. “Six units, according to this. Designed to release aerosolized compounds through ventilation systems. They’re loaded with neurotoxin—the compound that Leonid Volkov developed in Bangkok.”
“Martin stole the obsidite canister in Montana to make these,” Ham said quietly.
She glanced at him. “The obsidite taken from their mine on Mariposa, in the Caribbean? The one that Phoenix tracked?”
Ham hesitated for a moment . . .
“I was briefed on the op, including the takedown of Tomas, the Bratva leader, in New York City.” Her voice lowered. “And the attempt on our hacker’s life in Arizona just a few weeks ago. I also know about the money stolen in Montelena over a year ago, the money that nearly got my bosses, Ziggy and London, killed. The Bratva used that to buy the mine.”
“It’s clearly a long game, with Alan Martin at the helm,” Ham said. “And Jones, Inc., is just the tip of the spear, the operations group connected with the Caleb Group.”
“I know about Logan Thorne’s covert organization,” Jayden said, glancing at Dakota. “I just didn’t know we were all friends.”
Dakota looked away.
Ham’s voice cut in. “We are when it comes to protecting our president. Why Martin and the Bratva keep taking hits at him, we don’t know. But we do know that their next attempt will be at the Opera House, tomorrow.”
Silence. Then, “I’ll bet these things are programmed to activate during the president’s speech. To send out the neurotoxin.”
“Mass-casualties event,” Ham said grimly. “Everyone in the Concert Hall.”
“Everyone in the building, potentially.” West had moved to look at the schematics. “Depends on how the ventilation carries it.”
Dakota’s face had gone pale. “The sniper, whoever has those rifle components—they’re the backup. If the Roombas fail, they take the shot manually.”
“Two-pronged assassination,” Jayden said.
“We’re working on an antidote from the sample we got in Thailand, but it’s not ready,” Ham said. “We need to find these devices and neutralize them.” He studied the schematics. “Where would they hide these things?”
“Maintenance areas,” Jayden said. “Service corridors. Anywhere cleaning equipment belongs and no one looks twice.”
“That’s half the building.”
“Then we search half the building.” She met his eyes. “We have eighteen hours.”
“And the sniper?” West asked.
“The assassin has been on that tour the whole time,” she said slowly. “Hiding in plain sight. We’ve been looking at the wrong people—Blake Brennan, Riley Stewart, the Novaks. All red herrings.”
“Then who?” West asked.
Jayden stared at the wall screen. The tour-group photos. The timeline of events. The list of suspects they’d compiled and crossed off one by one.
Something nagged at her. A face. A moment. Someone who’d been there all along, someone she’d dismissed . . .
Someone with a gender-neutral name.
