Chapter Eighty-Eight
Raine
I’ve gone over the last packet—the one that includes every reference to Dr. Julian Voss in black and white as well as Brett’s second affidavit—a dozen times in the last twenty minutes.
Not changing it. Checking it. Making sure I haven’t missed anything.
I’m about to go over it once more when the notification comes in.
New message from: Dr. Julian Voss
The subject line is blank. One attachment.
I think I’m prepared. I’m not.
The moment I see Asher, my hand flattens on the table, and my fingers spasm.
I catalogue the damage before I can stop myself. His face. The stillness that takes effort. The way his eyes don’t quite track to the camera anymore.
“Say hello, Mr. Locke.”
Asher’s lips part. His chest rises and falls, but there’s…no response. No defiance. No sound at all.
The tremor in my fingers gets worse. They slip off the trackpad, almost sending the mug of tea across the table.
A man steps into the frame. He’s older, a little soft around the middle, in a pressed suit, with white threaded through his hair.
Voss.
He turns to the camera, and almost…smiles.
“Agent Calder, as you can see, Mr. Locke is alive. However, I want to be transparent with you about his current condition. The accelerated protocol he’s been subjected to has resulted in significant cognitive decline.
His capacity for complex thought, for recognition, for sustained connection to reality has been compromised.
Mr. Locke is present in his physical body.
Whether he remains present in any meaningful sense is, I’m afraid, up to you. ”
I watch Asher’s face while Voss talks, searching for something—anything—of the man I—
The man I love.
Voss gestures toward Asher. “What you’re seeing is the result of a process that, once begun, is quite difficult to reverse. I want you to understand that before you make any decisions about what comes next.”
Asher doesn’t react. He looks…defeated.
Two men move into the frame, uncuffing him from the table.
They haul him upright, and I can’t breathe.
His shirt is torn, stained almost black with his blood.
His head hangs forward. I don’t think he can stand on his own.
The two men in standard GSD gray drag him toward the door without looking back.
Voss turns to the camera again. “Agent Calder. You have three hours to surrender yourself to our Kent facility. Every minute you wait, Mr. Locke’s condition will continue to decline. What remains of him now is salvageable. What remains in three hours may not be. The choice is yours.”
The recording stops.
The room goes soft at the edges. The table under my hands is so far away, I can’t feel the grain anymore. Someone’s breathing too quickly and too shallowly, and it takes me too long to realize it’s me.
My thumb drifts to my index finger and finds nothing. Desperate, I dip my hand into my pocket to find Asher’s coin. It’s on the dresser.
Pressing my fingers together, I wait for my pulse to thrum between them. It’s racing too fast.
I waited too long. I did this. I destroyed him.
I count my heartbeats until the table no longer feels like something theoretical and the edges of the living room come back into focus. I need to see him again. Before I respond, I have to see him once more.
The second time, I notice the tremor running through his shoulders—and how he’s trying to keep it under control. The way one of his hands is balled into a fist, while the other is looser. The way he lists to one side, corrects it, and lists again.
I tune out Voss’s words, my entire focus on Asher. Searching for any part of him that might be left.
The motion is so small, I almost miss it. His left thumb brushes his index finger.
I hold my breath. He does it again. I stop the video, rewind, and play it back.
His eyes flick to Voss. To something else in the room. Back again. He’s being careful. Hoping no one will see.
The motion is intentional.
Asher is there. He’s completely there. Whatever they did to him, he found the one signal only I would understand.
Which means Voss didn’t break him. He tried, but he couldn’t. So he took Asher’s voice, hoping I wouldn’t know the difference.
The right response keeps him believing I don’t.
It takes me five minutes.
Dr. Voss,
I’ve seen the video. I can’t let you keep hurting him until there’s nothing left. Not when there’s a way for me to stop it.
Mr. Locke needs medical attention. I’ll arrive at the Kent facility in exactly forty-five minutes. But I have two conditions.
First: You allow me to say goodbye to Mr. Locke. In person. Give us that.
Second: The car service that drops me off will wait at the curb. Your people will put Mr. Locke into it, then step away. The driver will have instructions to take Mr. Locke to the nearest hospital for treatment.
You’ll agree to these conditions because unredacted copies of the founding memo and the disposal orders, all of which include your name, will automatically be sent to the Public Integrity Project in ninety minutes. Unless I stop them.
When I see that Mr. Locke’s car is safely away, I’ll disable the drop. What happens after that is up to you.
Raine Calder
I take two slow breaths, counting through each one, before I re-read the email. If it’s not perfect, Asher will pay the price.
I can’t let you keep hurting him until there’s nothing left.
Voss needs confirmation that he’s right. That Asher is the one pressure point that matters to me. He built a program targeting women. He clearly did that for a reason. This line gives him exactly what he needs. He’ll see weakness. Not calculation.
The conditions are clear. Framed as facts, not requests, because requests can be refused. He’ll read the first one as desperation. Good.
For a moment, I consider mirroring his language. Adding “surrender.” But my temples throb, the memory of the current flowing through my brain so strong, it feels like it’s happening all over again.
Mirroring his language is the worst thing I can do. I change nothing, and hit Send.
Inara picks up on the first ring. I’m not surprised. “Are we a go?”
“Yes.”
“Talk to me,” she says. Already operational. Already ready.
“Voss made contact. I have forty-five—forty-three—minutes before I need to present myself in Kent. Asher—” My voice fails me without permission. I swallow, try again. “He’s in bad shape. I don’t know what they did, but he can’t talk.”
There’s a brief pause on the line. “Can’t…how?”
“He tried. There was…nothing. His mind is still there. He was able to give me a signal—briefly. But he’s bleeding, I don’t think he can walk, and he’s—”
“Raine. Listen to me.” She’s quieter now. Serious in a way that stops me from spiraling. “Hidden Agenda’s doctor used to be Air Force Pararescue. Everyone who’s ever served knows that PJs are off the charts batshit, but also the most capable medics on the planet. Doc will know what to do.”
Her confidence reassures me enough I can breathe again. “Okay. You’ll be in position when I get there?”
“Yes. On a roof four hundred meters from the facility. Full view of the lobby. I scoped it out on street view, then had Doc and Natasha do a drive-by. They’re waiting at the Siren Coffee on Revival Way. Meet them there, and Nat will be your driver.”
“The GSD Security Service is highly trained. I don’t know how many Voss will send. At least two with Asher. But for me…”
“I can handle two in under sixty seconds if you and Asher are clear. Most important thing you can do? Stay low. If you can, tell Asher to do the same. Doc will be around the corner, ready to breach as well. Natasha’s been out of the field for a long time, but she was a Ranger.
She hasn’t forgotten how to clear a room.
Trust me, Raine. We’re the best at what we do. ”
She says it like we’re talking about something mundane. Gardening or painting or birdwatching. Not taking down a corrupt government organization that erases women.
“If you’re still in Bellevue, you need to get in the car,” she says. “I’m running one last gear check and then I’ll be on my way. Packing a couple extra goodies for Nat. Just in case. Gas mask, det cord, signal jammer… The basics.”
The basics?
“Wait. I…you wouldn’t have access to a small flash bang, would you?”
She laughs. “Hon, I could get you a rocket launcher if you asked. A tiny little flash bang? Pretty sure there’s one in my glove box. But I’ll throw a handful into my bag. Natasha will have them for you.”
I almost laugh. The sensation is so at odds with everything happening, it catches me off guard. For a moment, I focus on the laptop screen, at the still of Asher’s face staring into the camera.
I’m coming. I choose you. Always.
“Raine,” Inara says, breaking the silence that’s gone on too long. “I’ve got you. Both of you. Understand?”
“Yes.” I do understand. I don’t entirely know how to handle that understanding. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me when you and Asher are safe, and this Voss asshole is six feet under. For now, get in the car.”